Sea Donkeys, Good Beer and Designer NASCAR Jackets, PART 1

Well, kids, The Bubba is back to thrill you with a wild tale of the backwoods. Due to the fact that this has become a much longer story than I planned, I’m going to break this into a few parts so as to let you take this all in. That or you can skip on to the next part if you don’t give a fuck about what I’m talking about.

The Big H – The Overview

I took a short road trip to my old hometown this past Saturday (name of the town held out of respect for myself). Let me explain a few things about the town I grew up in before I begin the debacle that was my evening.

My hometown, or as I’ll refer to it from here out, The Big H, is a small farming community that thinks it’s sophisticated. Granted, while it may be the county seat, that only says less about the rest of the communities surrounding it.

First, The Big H got some class when it got K-Mart. Then, it became a Super K. Might as well be Chicago, right? All right, readers, hold your breath because here’s where things blew the fuck up. The day The Big H went “all out upper echelon aristocrat” was the day when Wal-Mart rode into town. Who the fuck knew that Wal-Mart was all that was holding these inbred Muppets back? I didn’t, but if you’re ever looking for an exercise in odor awareness, go to the Wal-Mart in The Big H. It’s breath taking. Or at least you’ll wish you could stop breathing.

The Big H is chock full of rednecks, 10 cent millionaires who think they know things, and cousin fuckers. Let’s just say that if someone in The Big H is referred to as gifted or touched, it means they either have all their teeth or it was their uncle doing the touching.

The social elitists in The Big H are nothing to aspire to. They drive certified pre-owned vehicles, send their kids to college if they aren’t total ass clowns, fuck each other’s wives and pretend to have worldly knowledge.

While I’ve seen enough hillbillies in my life in that town, given the choice, I’d rather sit and have a beer with one of them than any of the wife fuckers previously mentioned.This, in a nutshell, is a brief overview of The Big H. If you’ve got questions or would like to know more, drop a comment and I’ll be more than happy to get back to you on it.

And at this point, kids, I’m going to do my best James Patterson impression and end this chapter for no reason. Hopefully you’ll read on. If not, go corn hole your dog.

So until next time:

'Nuff said. The Bubba has spoken