Just when you thought this whole blog was going to be taken over by the rantings of conservo-matic SAWB, I return to my regular broadcast spot. Get ready kids. I may not post as often anymore, but the ones I will have are gonna be good.
I apologize to all of you who have had to listen to "what conservatives don't like today and why liberals are to blame" radio for the last two weeks. My schedule has taken a traumatic whoopin'.
Primarily, allow me to explain my absence. There was no hangover involved in the last two weeks. A job training trip took me to beautiful Columbus, Georgia where much job training was done. When I could take no more, I went downtown to a place called "The Loft" and played in an open mic nite to a group of very talented west Georgians. I guess that's how they do it down on the Chattahoochee.
Upon my triumphant return to St Simons, I had a week's worth of work backed up on my desk, and I had to change everything in my office. This is what we like to call an ongoing process. (That's what we call it in polite company, anyway - I do work with one retired Colonel from the US Army and one retired Command Master Chief from the Navy)
Then began the Great 4th of July Weekend of 2005. This Republic is 229 years old, and has been providing the world with the world saving light of Rock and Roll American Dreamin' from the moment Jefferson spoke "We the People" out loud. Attitude has nothing to do with what kind of guitar you play. But play we did, Rough House and the Bearfoot Hookers put some noise to this sleepy little island, and woke up the locals. The extravaganza lasted for 4 whole days, one gallon of rum, one gallon of Wild Turkey, 5 cases of cold beer and a bar tab that was scaling the round numerals in three digit varieties. I never had a chance to be hungover.
If you've ever thrown fireworks into the ocean water cause it looks cool at night, you might be a redneck.
If you've ever had to run from fireworks you have tossed in the ocean at night, because the waves are throwing them back at you, you might be a redneck.
If you've ever had a kid walk up to you at the beach and ask if you played Chewbacca, you might be a (hairy) redneck.
If your idea of fun includes yelling at skim-boarders to fall and then keeping score when they do, you might be a redneck.
If you've ever hollered "Jailbait radar! Awwwooooga!" in front of more than 15 people, you might be a redneck.
If you've ever thrown controlled substances out the window of your truck, and then found it days later in the bed of the truck, you might be a redneck.
If you've ever washed sand off your feet with warm beer, you might be a redneck.
If you've ever filled an empty gatorade bottle with rum, because glass isn't allowed on the beach, you might be a redneck.
If you've ever heard the words "Its my sister's birthday, we're skinny dippin'!" You might be talking to a redneck.
If you strip down and go in after them, you might be a redneck.
And finally, if you've ever built a sandcastle using empty beer cans to prop it up, you might be a redneck.
Not that there's anything wrong with that.