“The Goat Within says Nahhhh!” I say T-SHIRT!!!! to support your bread, cheese & Merlot habit? What say RL?
If someone wants to invest in such a barnyard endeavor, just let me know. My money’s tied up in cowchip frizbies.
I’m not sure about the shirt, but I recently saw a baseball cap that proclaimed
“Smart Ass White Boy” that I’m confident would sell well around here.
I think a shop that catered to our Red Neck element would thrive, especially if it sold shine and wacky-tobaccy out the back door.
George, what do redneck have to do with pot? I think you got your metaphors mixed up, but then again, what’s a meta-for if not to mix?
Are you kidding, Rednecks love pot! You need to get out in the sticks in West Virginia, Arkansas, and western Pennsylvania:)
In the Sac Bee there is an article on the growing popularity, as well as the commercial success of “legal” moonshine.
Just check the facts about the amount of “Redneck Pot” being grown back east… it’s MASSIVE. In addition check out the amount of Meth use back there too… a MASSIVE amount of “Redneck Meth” is talking place too.
Note item #02-410423: Assumption Abbey Fruitcake
“Williams-Sonoma says: ‘Baked by trappist monks at a monastery in the Missouri Ozarks. Order early. Supply is limited.’
Notes: Everything about that sales copy just blew my skull. There are trappist monks in the Ozarks? Do they brew artisanal meth? I don’t trust fruitcake to begin with. I sure as shit am not trusting fruitcake that comes from a redneck friar. They’ll swap out uppers for candied fruit. And yet, supply is limited. Apparently, the market for $40 Ozark fruitcake is ENORMOUS. White women from Bridgehampton ALL THE WAY to Westhampton rely on the monks to deliver their holiday fruitcake every year. Ina Garten’s ADORABLE HUSBAND JEFFREY WHO MAKES A LOT OF MONEY loves the sight of a fine white-trash-monk fruitcake any time he comes home. TIE IT UP WITH THE TWINE!”
You made me laugh Ryan. I love the ‘Assumption Abbey Fruitcake’ moment! Every year I get at least one similar product from a distant members of the family or business network who left the working class and wannabe middle class behind. Mine come from places like Kenilworth, Chevy Chase and Martis Camp, with little bows tied on them and a card saying ‘keep up the good work’.
I’d be afraid to smoke that redneck pot… I think after extended use, it might make me want to start watching Hee Haw reruns and leaving my Christmas lights up all year.
Try these guys on for size….
Wow! Just wow.
When I moved to Georgia with my buds back in ’72, our contact was Father Gregory, one of my friend’s uncle and a trappist monk from the monastary in Conyers, south of Atlanta. Father Greg had left Conyers, let his hair grow long and established a halfway house in Atlanta. We lived in a cabin that one of Greg’s supporters loaned to him. We didn’t have any bedding, so Greg took us out to the monastary to liberate a few used surplus mattresses from the storehouse. While there, we had lunch with the monks who were mostly friendly, except for one fellow who had a permanent scowl and a furrowed brow who didn’t talk much. We nicknamed him Rasputin.
Anyhoo, a google trip to their website reveals that one of their money-making endeavors is fruitcake. You can bet if Jesus filled up on that ballast, he wouldn’t have been walking on water!
People who disparage fruit cake never ate my mother’s fruit cake. Fortunately, she gave the recipe to my wife and if I’m a good boy during the year, she’ll make for the holidays. Yummers!
For the record, I was not disparaging fruit cake, but merely quoting someone who was. Late Night TV has ruined fruit cakes for the masses.
I happen to like good fruitcake and I get mine from a group of Iowan monks.
When I was a kid, I remember thinking that there must’ve been a limited number of fruitcakes in the world because nobody I knew ate them — and they would be re-gifted immediately. I just assumed the same fruitcakes got passed around year after year.
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