Jeff’s Youtube Mashup

Check out the whole video HERE!

Jeff explores a literal youtube yuletide cheer, so you don’t have to waste your time watching bad videos.

To: Hellmann’s

Dear Sirs,

I write to express my horror over your recent changes to Hellmann’s Tartar Sauce.

For years, Hellmann’s has been the standard for all mayonnaise-based products in our home. I hail from Georgia, a proud state that has nonetheless always been rife with commoners of the lowest order. Appallingly, the modern calling card of the local peasantry, in addition to their methamphetamine gums and multiple appearances on “Cops”, is the Miracle Whip they invariably slather on their roadkill sammiches. Hellmann’s, on the other hand, has always been the choice of discerning gourmands, the oppressed few who understand that mayonnaise is not a breakfast food to be spooned straight from a 2-gallon tub in front of the teevee, but rather a sophisticated condiment meant to draw out the subtle flavors of the lucky proteins and carbohydrates between which it is layered, adding moistness and texture while sharpening the interplay between the primary foodstuffs in a contrapuntal pas-de-deux of gastronomic delight.

Your company has, for the most part, understood this. And, until very recently, withstood the apalling trend towards the misapplication of ancient and beloved brands. True, there was the spate of ill-considered bastardizations such as “Mayonesa Con Jugo” and “Bacon & Tomato Twist” you unwisely heaved onto the market, but that was back in 2002, a time of exceptional solar flare activity that led many of us to abandon good sense for whimsy (introduction of the Euro, anyone?).  Since then, however, you have generally chosen to withdraw these misshapen tentacles of marketing overreach and focus on the core product that Richard Hellman perfected long ago: mayonnaises of varying fat and cholesterol contents and traditionally mayonnaisy derivatives such as Dijon mustards and, crucially, Tartar Sauce.

For the last innumerable years, Hellmann’s Tartar Sauce has been a lonely hold out against the revolting tendency towards over-vinegaration or under-egging or whatever the fuck it is that makes the redneck sauces de tartare taste like something squirted out of a malfunctioning vending machine at the carcinogen factory. However, to my horror, the most recent bottle of your tartar sauce that I purchased tasted exactly like that. I thought there had been some mistake, that perhaps I’d left it in the sun or my Alzheimer’s-afflicted neighbor had switched my trusty Hellmann’s for the vinegar she uses to soak her dentures. Through more suffering-filled testing, however, I realized that this was no mistake, and that your company had purposely changed the recipe we have all enjoyed lo these many decades. Rather than the restrained, smooth, lightly flavored delicacy I grew up with, I was now being subjected to a cloying, “tangy” abomination that deserved a place of ignominy at the bottom of the refrigerator crisper drawer.

Why, when you have achieved heights to which all other products in a category openly aspire, you would throw away close to one hundred years of distinctive taste advantage to wallow in the momentary taste fad popularized by toothless catfish ranchers is beyond me. The Tatars themselves, Turkic barbarians who had no more connection to the modern condiment that bears their name than Madonna does to the Holy Mother, would not deign to use the “Great New Taste!” version of your sauce on their goat testicle kebabs.

I have no doubt you have been besieged by thousands of letters along these lines. The current execrable state of your Tartar Sauce has caused me immense psychic and social harm (my violently overturning the condiment and drinks table at the traditional Lenten Fish Fry has not further endeared me to the already hostile neighbors) and I join the suffering legions in requesting that you return to your traditional recipe with all haste.

With. All. Haste.

- The Aggrieved

Can't afford luxury? Improvise!

300 Reasons you might be a Redneck…

By Jeff Foxworthy

•  You think “loading the dishwasher” means getting your wife drunk.
• You ever cut your grass and found a car.
• You own a home that is mobile and 5 cars that aren’t.
• You think the stock market has a fence around it.
• Your stereo speakers used to belong to the Drive-in Theater.
• Your boat has not left the drive-way in 15 years.
• You own a homemade fur coat.
• Chiggers are included on your list of top 5 hygiene concerns. (What’s a chigger?  On second thought…don’t tell me!
• You burn your yard rather than mow it. (In our case, we just kick the rocks out of the way and watch for scorpions!)
• Your wife has ever said, “Come move this transmission so I can take a bath.”
• You read the Auto Trader with a highlight pen.
• The Salvation Army declines your mattress.
• You’ve ever raked leaves in your kitchen.
• Birds are attracted to your beard.
• Your wife’s job requires her to wear an orange vest.
• You were shooting pool when any of your kids were born.
• You have the local taxidermist’s number on speed dial.
• You’ve ever hit a deer with your car…deliberately.
• Your school fight song was “Dueling Banjos”.
• You think a chain saw is a musical instrument.
• You’ve ever given rat traps as gifts.
• You clean your fingernails with a stick.
• Your coffee table used to be a cable spool.
• You keep a can of RAID on the kitchen table.
• Your wife can climb a tree faster than your cat.
• Your mother has “ammo” on her Christmas list.
• Every socket in your house breaks a fire code.
• You’ve totaled every car you’ve ever owned.
• There are more than five McDonald’s bags in your car.
• The Home Shopping operator recognizes your voice.
• There has ever been crime-scene tape on your bathroom door.
• You’ve ever been kicked out of the zoo for heckling the monkeys.
• The taillight covers of your car are made of red tape.
• You think a subdivision is part of a math problem.
• You’ve ever bathed with flea and tick soap.
• You think “taking out the trash” means taking your in-laws to a movie.
• You have every episode of Hee-Haw on tape.
• You’ve ever been involved in a custody fight over a hunting dog.
• Your considered an expert on wormbeds.
• Your kids take a siphon hose to “Show and Tell.”
• The dog catcher calls for a backup unit when visiting your house.
• You’ve ever bought a used cap.
• Your CB antenna is a danger to low-flying planes.
• You pick your teeth from a catalog.
• You’ve ever financed a tattoo.
• You’ve ever stolen toilet paper.
• You think a hot tub is a stolen bathroom fixture.
• People hear your car a long time before they see it.
• The gas pedal on your car is shaped like a bare foot.
• You prefer car keys to Q-tips.
• You take a fishing pole into Sea World.

Redneck dogs

Pure genius

Love the last pic!  My new B.B.Q. tool will be a rake.

Don’t ya’ love it?

Perhaps the greatest music genre ever known to mankind, and the fucking beardcore guys who perfected this exquisite genre; Here I present to you the Kings of Southern Hardcore, Maylene and the Sons of Disaster.

Maylene and the Sons of Disaster – Maylene and the Sons of Disaster

Mayene and the Sons of Disaster - S/T

http://www.mediafire.com/?bmjijttzmhn

Take dirty southern rock and throw in some hardcore elements and you will get a band full of drunk angry men with beards capable of hiding sean gaynotalentfatcantsingforhismallnuts kingston in them, playing bluesy, groovy riffs that is sure to bring out the redneck in all of us. As of now, Maylene has released three albums, self-titled, II and III. Of this three, I dig their self-titled and II the most as hardcore elements are the most prevalent in those two. Anyways, Maylene is moving away from hardcore and more towards southern rock, which is evident in III, where the hardcore vocals are so much lesser as compared to their s/t and II. What’s more I just read on their myspace that ‘Step Up’, a song from III, is featured on WWE. THIS IS CLEARLY NOT A GOOD SIGN.

Wow.  Still not even a single visitor.  Not one person has clicked on my blog, even accidentally.  Oh, well.  Until someone decides to read it, I guess this is like an online journal.  Dear Diary…

I saw my cousin that I haven’t seen for nearly two years today.  He has a fucking beard.  Of course, I have blue hair, so who am I to judge.  A beard, a plaid flannel, mud boots that go up to his knees…  Damn.  This kid could win the Redneck of the Year Award.  Even the accent.  I mean, shit.  He can’t be any older than nineteen and he has a full-blown fucking beard and is saying that cheese curds are just as good as peanut butter cups!  Someone shoot me!!!

I’m trying, yet again, to write a book.  I got a suggestion from the security guy at my school, Roy, that I should write out a plot.  Nothing to detailed, or detailed at all.  Just what’s going to happen.  I think it just might work.  Here’s a piece from the small amount I’ve written so far:

LED headlights hit the wall behind us and the car they belonged to drove up over the curb in a rush.  I ran around to the passenger side and popped the door open.  It was no time for civility, so I said nothing more to Charlie.  Wanda spun the Toyota around and began to drive me back home.

“Where is it?” she asked, finally speaking.

“Where’s what?”

“The goddamn tattoo, Patricia.  Where is it?”

“I didn’t get a tattoo, mom.”

“Bullshit.”

“I didn’t get a tattoo,” I repeated.

“Then where’s the goddamn piercing?”

“I didn’t get a piercing!”

Wanda had an odd way of giving a tone without raising her voice.  She always stayed calm throughout arguments, which made the person she argued with feel like shit for losing their temper.

“Patricia, there is no way in hell you were at a tattoo parlor and didn’t get a tattoo.”

“Well obviously there is, seeing as I’m right here without a tattoo,” I snapped.

“I don’t know that.  Why were you there if you didn’t get a tattoo?”

“For Charlie!”

“Yeah, okay,” she spat.  “For Charlie.  You know, that Charlie has never been anything but a bad influence.”

“You didn’t say that when we were five.”

“When you were five she wasn’t sneaking out of her house and getting tattoos.”

“No shit.  She was five,” I muttered under my breath, partially hoping she would hear it.

“Do not talk to me in that tone, Patricia,” she scolded.

“What tone?”

She gripped the steering wheel even harder.  “That tone.”

“I’ll use this tone if I want to!”

At this remark, Wanda turned to face me in her seat and hit me hard across my cheek with the back of her hand.  I started to bring my hand up to my mouth, where I had begun to taste blood.  Before I could, my seat belt tightened quickly around my chest.  The air bags blew up in my face as I was whipped forwards.  The glass crashing in every direction was cutting my arms and face.  I shut my eyes and felt as my head flew back and banged against my seat.

That was the last I could remember.

Let me know what you think.  I’ll take any suggestions I can get.  Where to add detail, where I sound repetitive, how much of it is absolute shit…  Anything.

Oops!  I guess some people have visited it.  Thank you for clicking, but why not comment???~♥

Out there, in the real world, well away from the beautiful people in their designer clothes and frequent trips to the makeup trailer on the set of CSI:Podunk, there is a whole race of Untermensch, shall we say, whom Roland refers to as Inklings.

In other parts of the world they are also known as bogans, bevans, rednecks, yeehaws, chavs, lowlifes, toerags and scum.

Several days ago, Roland saw a flock of them, gambolling in the park near his home. The males wore torn jeans with grease ingrained into them. They all seemed to have lank, dirty hair and missing teeth. They wore dirty caps backward on their partially empty heads, seemingly because they saw someone else do it somewhere, probably on TV, and it had become a signature habit of theirs.

All of them were wearing designer clothes. By “designer clothes, Roland observed to himself that their clothes probably cost more than the designer clothes worn by celebrities and professional sportsmen such as David Beckham and Paris Hilton. Darkly, Roland assumed the funds to obtain these clothes were either stolen, governmnet handouts or unnecessary, as the items were, themselves, stolen.

Something else, Roland noticed, that set them apart from ordinary humans was the obvious and curious phenomenon known as the TTR (Tooth to Tattoo Ratio). In short, the Theory of TTR states that Inkling males have more tattoos than they have teeth. For reasons not yet understood by medical science, this renders them impervious to disease and most injury. An Inkling with a low TTR will live a long and useless life, dying in ripe old age, proud to be the patriarch, or matriarch, of a family that spans anywhere up to 8 living generations at any one time. (There’s likely a thesis and some handsome medical research grants to be had, investigating these aspects of Inkling physiology and culture)

Roland also observed a number of females with the herd?… flock?… troop? As always, the females were overweight and pimply, surrounded by a gaggle of kids who have probably been fending for themselves since before they learned to walk. Hand-eye co-ordination like monkeys and a stomach that can metabolise almost anything to their benefit.

It was apparent to Roland, a keen observer of the human condition, that these females were also living proof that Darwin was essentially right. These were obviously experienced Inkling breeding stock… their offspring were markedly different, one from another. This is taken as proof positive that when they procreate, they always do so with a different male each time. This is a very clever ploy on their part, as it ensures maximum biodiversity for their particular subspecies. (They may not be a true subspecies yet but they are well on their way.)

Roland realised he had seen some of these particular Inklings in their native habitat. Several of them were regulars around the local courthouse on Monday mornings. They were often there, in their torn jeans, flannel shirts and shiny Nylon sports windbreakers. Their females were also familiar to Roland, wearing clothes that might have fit them when they were 4 or 6 sizes smaller. A pall of Marlboro smoke seemed to be eternally hanging over them, trapped under the inversion layer of disapproval that follows them everywhere, as they drive their motley hordes of children before them, in the manner of Albanian goatherds.

There’s just something about clay modeling, it just gives that totally awsome feeling to everything. Who doesn’t love Wallace and Gromit, and not to mention Pingu (that penguin that says “meeh-meeh”), right? Well here comes a snack for the eyes: a platformer made completely out of clay. This is Cletus Clay.

It had to be British, it just had to. Obviously you play as a redneck farmer fighting invading aliens and UFOs. When he gets drunk, he becomes invincible, and he is a frenzy with his shotgun. There even is a shrubbery boss to take care of.

According to the developer, TunaSnax, the game will be released when it’s finished. Whenever that might be. Hopefullt we’ll see it on Xbox Live Arcade in not too long. Obviously, when recession strikes, new and original ideas drift to the surface. And this is definitly lovely innovation.

Head over to the game’s web site to check out the gameplay videos, screenshots and making of footage.

I puzzle over this question a lot. When it come to a soon to be ex sister in law, when it comes to our house, when it comes to bad language.

SIL. Well – let’s just say certain versions of behavior (when you’re married, and even when you are not) are trashy. Trashy, however, doesn’t have to do with social class, economic earning potential, etc. As I had to explain to my Mom, to whom someone – wasn’t me! – had just taught the phrase “trailer trash.” Mom didn’t grow up in this country, she never learned that phrase on her own, trust me.

Trashy behavior – anyone can do it, I had to explain to Mom. Ie, Paris Hilton. And there are plenty of nice people who live in trailer parks… remember, I grew up with them, rode the school bus with them, went to their birthday parties? Oh yes, she recalled. So the SIL is just trashy. Don’t get the trailer involved. It’s not really fair to the trailer. Park. You know what I mean.

Our house. One of the banes of my existence – I think from the outside, our house looks trashy. Part of that is my fault, I admit, my vegetable garden plus deer fence is about as makeshift as you can imagine, and I never did install a real gate on it, just a piece of netting to keep out rabbits, the neighbor’s black Lab, etc. And used tomato cages look awful after just one season. Plus when I was pregnant and on bedrest I couldn’t weed anything.

But the gobs of old machinery, a falling down shed, falling over wood piles, trailers, truck toppers, various buckets for various I don;t know what – these are all my husband’s fault. I think they look trashy. The burn pile is nicely hidden from the road, I will give him that. And thank God we managed to sell the 1980 Ford Bronco.

However, as Husband would point out, if we could afford a Morton building, good bye trash. Well, out of sight, trash. It would all be jammed into one place. At least I wouldn’t have to see it.

WHY DO I CARE SO MUCH ABOUT THIS KIND OF TRASHY? And if I do, why don’t I go out and clean it up, or at least organize it?

Don’t know. However, I also am not interested in the polar opposite of this kind of trashy – neat freak. I hate manicured lawns, I hate it when people over-landscape in the country, and try to make it look like the suburbs – it’s not. If you want to live in town, then move. When I sense these conformist neat freaks looking down on my kind of outdoor trashy… well, that right there is probably why I am not outside right now, cleaning things up.

Language. What is trashy language – and how do you use bad language (which I do) and not sound trashy?

This one is totally in the ear of the listener, I guess. But I think it is entirely possible to use bad language and NOT come off like trash. My mother would disagree. No lady can use those words and not sound trashy, in her opinion. Me, I don’t see why guys get to use these words and I don’t. Of course, I also think guys can sound incredibly trashy, too, so I am getting totally wound up in a double-double standard, here.

Maybe it’s knowing what is and isn’t crass. Or excessive. Or inconsiderate of others.

Maybe excess makes trash trashy. Maybe moderation makes trash okay.

Maybe I’m thinking waaay too much about this.

A Kentucky family took a vacation to New York City.  One day, the father took his son into a rather large building; they were amazed by everything they saw –especially the elevator at one end of the lobby. The boy asked, “What’s this, Paw?” The father responded, “Son I have never seen anything like this in my life, I don’t know what it is!” While the boy and his father were watching in wide-eyed astonishment, an old lady in a wheel chair rolled up to the moving walls and pressed a button.  The walls opened and the lady rolled between them into a small room. The walls closed and the boy and his father watched small circles of lights above the walls light up.  They continued to watch the circles light up in the reverse direction. The walls opened again, and a voluptuous 24-year-old woman stepped out. The father turned to his son and said, “Go get your Maw.”

If my sisters-in-law – wait, make that singular, I am down to one SIL now – knew that I let the dogs sniff the baby, they would absolutely flip out. However, the baby is the newest member of the pack, and the dogs need to figure her out, right? Right. SNIFF. They only sniff her little milky mouth, btw, they never sniff her smelly little behind. No one wants to get too close to that.

Husband is sitting over on the couch with our daughter, watching some sort of how-to-make-a-rifle-sling video on his iPhone. An hour earlier, he had the nerve to chide me when I was calling around to nursery schools to get her on waiting lists – I kept saying I need to get my “kid” on the list. He made fun of “kid.”

I used residual pregnancy hormones as an excuse to go a little nutso. WTF? She IS my kid, I pointed out.

“Say child. Or daughter,” He told me. “It sounds better. Less redneck.”

He was sitting at the dining room table customizing a Ruger .22 rifle thing for me to shoot (sorry, I don’t do gun terminology very well) when he said that. There was a baby bottle beside him, and a burp cloth, and a huge mutt dog snoozing at his feet. We live in the freaking hills. I’ve rarely seen him out of either work uniforms or his Keys/ Carharts. he drives a giant truck that he also knows how to maintain, and he’s about to whip up a meatloaf. And let’s not even get started on his wife (me).

I told him – you have GOT to be kidding me. I think eventually they’ll be on to us, honey.

This is a funny Christmas song by Bubba and the Mudbugs. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.

Why did the redneck put fireman’s hats on the 3 wise men in his nativity scene?

Because the preacher said they came from afar.

The 911 operator told Buddy that she would send someone out right away. “Where do you live?” asked the operator.

Buddy replied, “At the end of Eucalyptus Drive.”

The operator asked, “Can you spell that for me?”

There was a long pause and finally Buddy said, “How ’bout if I just drag her over to Oak Street.”

Hard drive -  Trying to climb a steep, muddy hill with 3 flat tires and pulling a trailer load of fertilizer.

Keyboard – Place to hang your truck keys.

Window – Place in the truck to hang your guns.

Modem -  How you got rid of your dandelions. Usage: “We gonna modem dandelions”

ROM – Liquor often mixed with Coke

Byte – Beginning of an insult, often followed by the word “me” or “this”

Cursor – The person doing the cursing. What some guys do when they are mad at their wife and/or girlfriend.

Tab – What you owe the bartender

Shift – How you get to a different gear.

RAM – Great truck

Edit – Past tense of “eat” “Wher’d that leftover possum belly go?” ” You edit afore you passed out las nite.

Internet – Where her fish were when she caught em ( In er net).

Fonts – That really cool guy from the show, Happy Days.

Laptop – Where the stripper sits.

THINGS ONLY WOMEN UNDERSTAND

10. Cats’ facial expressions

9. The need for the same style of shoes in different colors

8. Why bean sprouts aren’t just weeds

7. Eyelash curlers

6. Taking a car trip without trying to beat your best time

5. The difference between beige, off-white, and eggshell

4. Cutting your bangs to make them grow

3. Fat clothes

2. The inaccuracy of every bathroom scale ever made

1. Other Women

France and Spain have the Costa Del Sol and Riviera. Rednecks have the Emerald Coast and the Redneck Riviera, stretching around to arguably the sexiest city in America, New Orleans. Starting from the Apalachicola area in Florida (that’s the bump between the Panhandle and the bend toward the south on the Gulf Coast) and wrapping around to the Louisiana shores, the Redneck Riviera boasts every imaginable playground for country boys and girls. Described by some as Mardi Gras with a beach, the Redneck Riviera is a great place to vacation, bikini-watch, surf, or just watch the sunset in a beach chair.

A small taste: deep-sea fishing, shallow river fishing (boat or fly or whatever you love), every imaginable watersport, gambling, military museums and the Blue Angels precision flying team, white sand beaches lined with fantastic bars and nightclubs, and tons of historical spots, good golf, and nearby attractions like Disneyworld. Some of the best places along the Redneck Riviera to stay include:

Destin, Florida, is the premier Florida destination for Spring Breakers, and it should be. A combination of incredible beaches and excellent bars and hangouts provide the best beach singles strip for hundreds of miles, and you’re guaranteed in the non-Spring Break season to find good deals on beachfront condos as well as lots of great restaurants with world-class food priced for your wallet. Just a few miles away, Sandestin provides a more upscale vacation experience, including a world-class golf course. Oh, and did I mention Destin is called the World’s Luckiest Fishing Village? Destin is renowned for its great deep-sea fishing, and you’ll find it easy to charter a boat to go out and catch that marlin.

Pensacola Beach is built on the barrier island off Pensacola, a military town. Because the community is designed to appeal to tourists and young military personnel (Navy and Air Force), you’ll find lots of singles hangouts, mostly filled with other tourists (the locals generally go over to nearby Navarre or to Gulf Breeze for bar crawling). The Blue Angels put on regular air shows here as well as impromptu practices, and the naval aviation museum is unbeatable if you love military aircraft. The Pensacola area is also great for blackwater canoeing, where tea-colored rivers flow gently out into the Gulf. Don’t trust maps here; ask a local. Hurricane Ivan a few years ago tore up parts of the island, and not all roads go where they claim.

Gulf Shores, Alabama is as far west as you can go and see those wide, protected beaches. Beyond here, the barrier islands that surround and protect Florida’s coast end are washed away by the wide Mississipi delta. This is a great golfing destination, but is also perfect for just relaxing and sitting in the sun with a margarita listening to some Jimmy Buffett.

Dauphin Island is just off Gulf Shores, and is filled with stilt-constructed homes designed to avoid storm surges that come every year during hurricane season. Like Pensacola, Dauphin Island has taken a beating from recent hurricanes, but it is still beautiful. It may be more family-oriented than a single redneck looking for company would like, but it’s a great place to go for a quiet weekend to explore a new relationship.

Need a little more? The Redneck Riviera is only a little distance from New Orleans on the Gulf Shores end, and not too far from Orlando on the Destin side, where Downtown Disney and other hangouts are increasingly attracting young singles to the region. And small ocean-going casinos set out regularly from Mobile for gambling cruises. You will find just about anything you’re interested in down in the Redneck Riviera.

I am completely floored by this.   If you think I am completely off base for posting this…follow the links included and cut off your biases and weigh the evidence for yourself.

CLICK HERE FOR ORIGINAL POSTING ON KOTORI MAGIZINE

YOU HAVE BEEN EDUCATED thanks to Dan Benbow.