REDNECKS AND HUMOR

I just love ethnic jokes! The word ethnic pertains to a group of people recognized as a class on the basis of certain distinctive characteristics. I am a dyed in the wool redneck. (Please note that redneck is one word!) We, the rednecks of this nation, qualify in all respects as an ethnic minority group. There is absolutely no doubt about it; and I qualify as a full blooded redneck, no doubt about that either. I wear open necked shirts, especially on sunny days and when I wear socks, I wear white ones, even to church! I also love the taste of Blue Ribbon beer! I was born and grew up in the mountains of North Carolina. We lived so far back in the hills that the chickens wore tin bloomers to keep the hoot owls off. Even with the tin bloomers those owls harassed those chickens so much it was hard to get a good night’s sleep with all that hootin’ and cacklin’!

You know, you can’t tell a joke about any ethnic group anymore. No sireee!! The entire nation has lost its humor and the ability to laugh at ourselves individually or collectively. To tell an ethnic joke is strictly taboo and political correctness demands that we cease and desist. That is, with the exception of us rednecks. We are fair game to one and all. You can tell jokes about us and we don’t care one iota. You can print jokes about us and we just go out and buy more printed material. You can sing songs about us, joking about our living quarters or family trees and we go out and buy more records. There is one thing for sure -------the rednecks of this nation still maintain their sense of humor; and another thing, they never become whiners!

Rednecks retain their humor by recognizing that all jokes, including ethnic jokes, have a vestige of truth lurking somewhere close to the punch line or in the language of delivery. That is what makes them so funny!

If you live long enough you will learn that history is never recorded and preserved as it actually occurs. The relativity of the moment is never captured completely intact. History is usually recorded long after its occurrence and the historians interject their views and mores into the mix. This happens even with electronic tapes, films and video pictures available today!

We are close, very close, to loosing the historic humor experienced by past generations simply because this thing called political correctness has outlawed its usage. The whole nation seems to have the opinion that if we can rewrite history and purge the things undesirable to us we might somehow obtain a mysterious heritage that is better suited to our present day needs!

I personally believe that newspapers, television news media, schools, government agencies and even churches have and are presently contributing to the lessening of our ability to laugh at ourselves! Through political correctness they have put our national humor in a straight jacket. It is truly sad!

It is time we called a spade a spade. (A dime to a donut that someone will have something to say about that line.) Did you hear the one about the Scotsman ………..whoa boy, you’ll have every Presbyterian in the country down your redneck throat!

I met a friend the other day with a scowl upon his face.
Claimed he was about to resign from the whole damn human race.
I really meant to cheer him up when he let out a piercing scream.
When I asked him about his Twinkie
And who had squeezed out the cream!

My wife came home the other night with tears in both her eyes.
She said that she had had her fill and would break off all out ties.
I never meant a bit of harm, but the tears flowed like a stream
When I asked her about her Twinkie
And who had squeezed out the cream!

The neighbor girl was feeling low, her lip down on her chin.
She left me standing on the porch, didn’t even ask me in.
Just knocked the hell right out of me with a four foot, two by beam
When I asked her about her Twinkie
And who had squeezed out the cream!

I knew Old Rounder felt real bad just lying on the floor.
He didn’t even blink an eye when I walked through the door.
Just grabbed by the britches leg and ripped out every seam
When I asked him about his Twinkie
And who had squeezed out the cream!

I had quit my quest to reason why people feel so down and out.
I just left them in their misery and let them cry and pout.
‘Til I went out and bought a pack and let out a big loud scream,
When I bit into that Twinkie
There was not one damned bit of cream!

Who stole your rubber ducky? Who wet in your sand pile?
Who wiped your face with sadness? Who stole away your smile?
Who ruffled up your feathers? Who messed up your big dream?
Who squeezed your precious Twinkie
And licked off all the cream?