As I'm sure all of you are aware, the country music band Confederate Railroad lives in my hometown of Chattanooga, Tennessee. Some of the guys from the band are regulars at the gas station where I work, and we often chat about the sorry state of today's music industry. Nashville has become too commercial, unlike when Confederate Railroad was burning up the charts with such heartfelt hits as "I Like My Women Just a Little On the Trashy, Slutty, Infected Side," and my personal favorite, "Rape Me," from their In Yeewteerow album. Recently some of the guys got plastered and I had them arrested after they tried to mate with my gas pumps. After being released from prison, they returned to my store, and we had the following conversation:
Me: Oh, shit, is that thing loaded?
Them: Put your fucking goddamn hands in the air, bitch!
Me: Wait, dumbass, you left the safety on.
Them: Damn. Thanks. Okay, now fucking MOVE IT! Into the van! Revenge is a dish best served Confederate style! Yee-haw!
They then forced me to spend nine hours reading old Snuffy Smith comic strips they'd collected. Then they used a hot needle and a cigarette lighter and some crayons to tattoo the General Lee into my ass. With my pants down, we had the following conversation:
Me: Hey, jerk, that's not my bellybutton.
Them: Heh heh. That's not my finger either.
Now everytime I taste my usual dinner of cornpone and hard tack, I think of them, and I weep. I'm thinking of quitting the gas station and going to work at Cracker Barrel. After all, only stupid Northern tourists eat there, so I figure I'm safe, since everyone Up North is a fag or a colored or a liberal or Jesse Fucking Ventura anyway. Liberals are nice, I've heard, so long as you speak slowly and make no sudden moves. What the hell am I talking about? Oh yeah, Merry Fucking X-Mas. Since I don't actually like anybody, especially not my relatives, I'm not giving new presents this year. That is-- I will give presents, but I am gonna find the shit I have borrowed from everyone over the year and wrap it up real pretty and give it back to them. I expect them to do the same with the shit they borrowed from me. We'll change the name of the holiday to National Give Me My Fucking Shit Back Day. That way I don't have to listen to them bitch about how X-Mas is too commercial or what the fuck ever. If they really believed X-mas was too commercial then they wouldn't all be at the goddamn mall right now maxing out their credit cards. What I like about credit cards is, if you cut them up, they make good guitar picks. Hey, look, a floating piece of lint. Well, my attention span is maxxed out.