So last night did not turn out to be the relaxing outing that I hoped.
I went again with my companions from the other night, except I was told that we would be going to a different place because they had karaoke there. I readily agreed, as I understood there would be more dancing. Things started off so promising....
A last minute decision as we reached the bridge was to pick up one of the girls' fuck buddies...from the northern part of the county. Uh oh. You see, I live in the west central part of my county, and while it is still quite redneck, it has a lot of decent people and is tolerable to my tastes. However, as you go north, south or east, the family trees have less and less branches. The northern extreme is my least favorite realms of inbreeding. The mutants there seem to all belong to only two families: Roush and Vanmetre. The end result appears to be a hybrid of a frog and pumpkin. They stare off into space with glassy eyes, and their few occasionally bits of dialogue are mumbled and bland. This chap proved to be no exception! I only heard him mention two things in time with us: he was going blind in one eye from drinking wood varnish, and that his cousin almost blew up his house by accidentally setting off the pipe bombs he had stashed in his walls. I am certainly am blessed to live near such a unique culture whose lives consist of gathering by the river, getting drunk, and having one of their own drown from said drunked hijinks on a weekly basis. Truly the gods smile down on me.
Things got worse when we finally arrived. The bar was a complete shithole and boredom quickly set in. The only person other than my friends to sing was this Fred Durst-looking abomination who actually proved more tone deaf than his hero. I managed to tune out his first few manglings, but then the screeching little shit stain picked Don McLean's "American Pie"...the longest fucking song in history!
I kept slamming down whiskey in vain hopes of dying of alcohol poisoning, but regrettably I lived through the entire song. My companions proved poor companionship, as they only seemd to talk to the genetic flaw we brought with us, and I could only make out bits of the conversation regarding parts of his anatomy that should only be the business of the confused genetic engineers that will one day conduct the autopsy on his intoxicated, water-bloated corpse.
Eventually, a few hours of whiskey and off-key country music left me in a depressed stupor, which was definitely not an improvement of the feelings of paranoia and uneasiness that plagued me a few hours hence. Needless to say, last night really fucking sucked, and I need new friends.
I went again with my companions from the other night, except I was told that we would be going to a different place because they had karaoke there. I readily agreed, as I understood there would be more dancing. Things started off so promising....
A last minute decision as we reached the bridge was to pick up one of the girls' fuck buddies...from the northern part of the county. Uh oh. You see, I live in the west central part of my county, and while it is still quite redneck, it has a lot of decent people and is tolerable to my tastes. However, as you go north, south or east, the family trees have less and less branches. The northern extreme is my least favorite realms of inbreeding. The mutants there seem to all belong to only two families: Roush and Vanmetre. The end result appears to be a hybrid of a frog and pumpkin. They stare off into space with glassy eyes, and their few occasionally bits of dialogue are mumbled and bland. This chap proved to be no exception! I only heard him mention two things in time with us: he was going blind in one eye from drinking wood varnish, and that his cousin almost blew up his house by accidentally setting off the pipe bombs he had stashed in his walls. I am certainly am blessed to live near such a unique culture whose lives consist of gathering by the river, getting drunk, and having one of their own drown from said drunked hijinks on a weekly basis. Truly the gods smile down on me.
Things got worse when we finally arrived. The bar was a complete shithole and boredom quickly set in. The only person other than my friends to sing was this Fred Durst-looking abomination who actually proved more tone deaf than his hero. I managed to tune out his first few manglings, but then the screeching little shit stain picked Don McLean's "American Pie"...the longest fucking song in history!
I kept slamming down whiskey in vain hopes of dying of alcohol poisoning, but regrettably I lived through the entire song. My companions proved poor companionship, as they only seemd to talk to the genetic flaw we brought with us, and I could only make out bits of the conversation regarding parts of his anatomy that should only be the business of the confused genetic engineers that will one day conduct the autopsy on his intoxicated, water-bloated corpse.
Eventually, a few hours of whiskey and off-key country music left me in a depressed stupor, which was definitely not an improvement of the feelings of paranoia and uneasiness that plagued me a few hours hence. Needless to say, last night really fucking sucked, and I need new friends.
VIEW 7 of 7 COMMENTS
Those ladies get a D in "being a good friend."
On the bright side, I think you should write more about live in your state, because your descriptions of the rednecks were well-written and made me laugh.