Tuesday, May 12, 2009

Rednecks 'r better 'n ya think.

I was reading the news today and it seems that our boys and gals in the military are doing such a great job in Afghanistan (I do not mean that in the slightest bit sarcastically. They are kicking butt.) that they are running the scourge of the Muslim world, the Taliban, clear into Pakistan where they have been holed up in the mountains, taking over provinces and causing all manner of trouble. They have figured out that we are not going to go into Pakistan after them, and as a result, have decided to try and take over that country instead.

The problem with that is that Pakistan has a nuclear arsenal and if they succeed in ruling that country, why they just might get a wild hair up their already hairy butt and lob a few of those missiles over at their life-long enemy India, and then turn their attention to the great western devil, the good old US of A.

9/11 would look like a playground skirmish compared to a mushroom cloud over the nation's capital.

What would probably ensue is that the government would declare martial law, suspend the constitution until such a time as they see fit, and all manner of hell would break loose. Riots and looting would consume most major metropoli and the civilized city folk would decend into a madness never seen before. We'd start killing our own, plain and simple, in order to keep the peace.

There is a bright spot, however, and we should all take solace that there would be one collective group of individuals who would in all likelihood go on as if nothing happened; the Redneck.
The reason is quite simple.

For all intensive purposes, Rednecks don't really need anyone. They are not caught up in the trappings of city life, can subsist on their own for food and about the only thing that would probably be lacking is ready access to Internet porn. Thank goodness for VCR and video tapes. Just dust off that box in the attic and yer back in bidness.

The Great State of North Carolina, where I affectionately call home (even though I wasn't born there) is famous for the following: growing their own tobacco, making their own liquor, modifying vehicles to run faster, barbecue, making great furniture, and having once been the temporary home of Daniel Boone.

True story: I once lived in the town of Hillsborough that was settled by a branch of my kin back in the colonial times. It was an important crossroad for folks travelling to and from the "Deep South". In Daniel Boone Square, located just east of the "downtown" area is a big statue of Daniel Boone holding a rifle, or a car muffler (I am not sure, but either one would be appropriate.) welcoming all to Hillsborough.

Rednecks can hunt with either a gun (including reloading their own brass - recycle!) or a bow (no ammo!) and clean their own kill. They can grow any manner of edible vegetable by the bucketful. (Trust me. Five days of cleaning snap beans from 5 gallon buckets gets tedious after a while.). And they can angle just about any kind of fish, with or without tackle. Some people can catch catfish with their bare hands by finding it's hole, sticking their hand into the mouth of a big catfish and pulling it clean out of the water. Bow hunting fish is also popular.

The point is, grocery and liquor stores could go out of business, and it'll be OK. It's all good. We'll still eat.

Rednecks are also notorious for their ability to cobble together things from piles of scrap. Take the moonshine still, for example. One man's trash is another man's illegal enterprise. Incidentally, moonshining became illegal when the government decided to pay for the Revolutionary War, predicated on the notion that taxation without representation was an abomination of the human spirit, by taxing liquor production. I suppose that one can take solace in the fact that hypocrisy in our government began at it's birth. (It's the rich and powerful folks that are always the source of real trouble.)

Rednecks are also famous for being impervious to weather conditions when it comes to things needing to get done. My buddy, and best friend a beer could ever have, Ryan "Johnny Horton Rocks!" Smith once told me a story of how his father, a drill seargant in either the Marines or the Army (I forget.. or the Johnny Walker is kicking in..) once climbed up on to the roof of his house during the throes of a hurricane to cut a limb that had come loose from a tree. The limb was poised to come through the roof of the house and threaten the safety of his family.

Ryan's memory is of his father standing on the roof braving the howling winds with a chain saw in one hand, an axe in the other, and lighting up a smoke with his trusty Zippo before he severed the errant tree limb, saving the family home from certain damage. Awesome.

So who ya gonna throw your lot in when the world has gone to hell in a hand basket and some lying thief in a dark suit has stolen the hand basket? The government?

Not me. I'll be up in the Smokey Mountains somewhere, looking down on the desperate city fools sucking the juices out of the bottom of a government issued Spam can for sustenance while I pick the remnants of a well cooked venison steak and sweet potatoes out from between my teeth with a home made toothpick. I'll wash it down with a swig of 'shine and enjoy my smoke knowing that I can sleep warm and safe tonight and that tomorrow will bring more of the same homey comforts that have given me hope when all the world has sunk into madness.