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Category Archives: rednecks

Green Bay Packers Go Down In Flames! Or, Who Will Be The Next Quarterback?

Green-Bay-Packers[1]

Can Green Bay survive this season and make it into the playoffs? That is a very good question! Their depth chart has obviously been challenged with all the injuries the team has sustained over the last eight weeks. At one point it seemed as if they were simply dropping like flies: James Jones, Randall Cobb, Jermichael Finely, Evan-Dietrich Smith, Johnny Jolly, Nick Perry and Clay Mathews just to name a few. And then the star quarterback Aaron Rodgers eats the turf and goes out, and the very next week his back-up Seneca Wallace pulls his groin (I pull mine all the time yet still remain in the game; go figure!) and ends his season. Holy crap it sounds like the trailer for a bad movie about replacement players. ‘When all the first-string players go down, who’ll be left to pick up the pieces?’ And then they’ll show a bunch of actors like Rob Schneider, Adam Sandler and all the other dudes that star in their movies. ‘Who will save them now?’
In Green Bay the fine folks are hoping to go five and seven before Mr. Rodgers makes his way back into the neighborhood, figuring if he can return by the Thanksgiving game against Detroit the season can be salvaged. Maybe they can get in with a wild card, depending how the season plays out. As a rabid fan I can only hope the same. There isn’t a lot of faith in the third string guy, Scott Tolzien, even though he led the Wisconsin Badgers to many a victory during his stint in Madison. Thing is, though, he lost out to another quarterback who replaced him, some guy named Russell Wilson who took the Badgers to the Rose Bowl. They lost, but it earned him a starting position at the Seattle Seahawks, beating out another Wisconsin/Green Bay alumni Matt Flynn. Hi Ho!
I am saying all this from a very unique perspective: I am presently staying in Green Bay. Why would I be hanging out in this mill town/slash football Heaven? Good question, one that I am not going to answer suffice it to say I will be departing next week and on to greener (ha!) pastures. My stay here has been interesting to say the very least, tedious and somewhat boring if I want to sound like an asshole, but the fine folks of this quaint little town have been more than generous, in their deer hunting, gun hoarding, binge drinking, racial slur spewing sort of way. Yes, this is the hallowed ground of the legends of Frozen Tundra lore, the kind of gridiron stories that inspire movies and books about muscle bound gods who attack one another viciously all in the name of fair play, where the name Vince Lombardi comes up at least several times a day in any manner of conversation. In fact, I am staying off of Lombardi Avenue, a mere mile or so from the stadium. In just about any place in this town you can see the stadium, a neon monolith that the Brett Farve era Packers helped transform from the once modest arena (replete with aluminum benches to keep your tush cold in the winter) to one of the largest sports venues in the United States. Sacred ground, Titletown, all that happy crap that I was so excited about when I lived far, far away from this desolate, backwater burg. Somehow it seemed much cooler to be a fan when I didn’t live here; now I am just one of many who refers to the team as such: “We kicked their ass last week!” or “We’re going to the Superbowl!” as if the citizens are actually part of the team, an extension, the fifty-third man so to speak. Yet in a town where the city does own the team I suppose one can say that as they do have some sort of say, even if no one in management listens to a word. Just ask Ted Thompson what he thinks of Joe Jerk-offs opinion. Ted would probably mutter “Go to hell” if you suggested back during pre-season that it wasn’t a good idea to get rid of Graham Harrell or BJ Coleman, the thought being that Aaron Rodgers (despite his almost inhuman feats on the field) might sustain some type of injury that led to needing a back-up. Seneca Wallace? we all thought. Why the hell would they want that geezer out there? He practically needs a walker for Christ’s sake. Does he even have any of his original teeth left?
Yet I digress. And I haven’t even touched upon the poor play of the defense, who’ve allowed far more points than I’d care to mention (I’d have to look up the stat and I don’t feel like it) and haven’t been able to make any plays on the ball worth mentioning (forced turnovers, etc), although AJ Hawk has been looking alive out there, not to mention Mr. Jolly, BJ Raji and to a certain extent Sam Shields, although he has blown several key plays, most noticeably during the Monday Night Football debacle against the Bears and their six foot seven receivers. Holy man…
Is the season going to be a wash? Can Green Bay arise from the ashes and make a play-off berth? Will they continue to lose first-string players, continuously testing the depth of their second and third string players? Will Green Bay ever renounce its love of killing Bambi’s mother, father, cousins and distant relatives? Will the fans ever admit how much they love chanting John Kuhn’s name simply because they adore being given a free break on saying the word Kuhn (pronounced coon) all together in the mostly white somewhat ethnically challenged town? Some of these questions may never be answered, but the season will play itself out as it may, and in the end it is just a game, a game that generates more revenue than I’ll ever be able to conceive of in my lifetime. Be that as it may, I’ll still be watching because, what the hell, I love football and I love the Green Bay Packers. Go Pack!

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Night Of The Zombies (And the Unattainable Hot Chicks)

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I’m standing in a club called ‘Excess’, a gay bar on Main Street in Green Bay, wearing zombie make-up and tattered clothes, wondering what the hell I’m doing with my life. The make-up artist and his girlfriend are on the dance floor shaking what they got as I lean against a wall and ponder my existence. First things first I did not choose this club; I agreed to come here because the drinks are cheap and nobody judges you, you are who you are. Gay, straight, zombie…none of that matters right now. I feel down because I wanted to meet someone tonight, anyone, preferably a woman, pretty, relatively young, but it is impossible because the make-up artist did such a good job that I am hideous. Beneath all this latex rubber and fake blood no one can tell what a handsome man I am, so I am drinking way too much and thinking about smoking a cigarette (I quit six months ago). Not that what I want can be achieved in this club; not more than two minutes ago I watched two chicks make out with each other in front of the bathroom while a guy in a full body leather bondage outfit lead another man around on a leash. The one on all fours was wearing ass-less chaps and a motorcycle hat Ala Rob Halford from Judas Priest.
My companions finish on the dance floor and we reconvene by the bar. We decide to leave, to go to the country saloon next door, and what the hell, right? Can’t get any worse.
We head over and people comment on the costumes.
“AAARRRGGGG!” I say convincingly, vomiting more fake blood by crunching a plastic capsule in my mouth that tastes like cough syrup.
As we navigate toward the bar I think about everything that has transpired tonight and it makes me more depressed. We started the evening at a party with so many beautiful women I was utterly overwhelmed. All taken, of course. And the guys they were with? Well, let’s just say there isn’t ad spaced reserved for them in Maxim Magazine for the next designer cologne. How did they get these gorgeous women? I wondered, and how did I get one? The world is soooo unfair.
No difference in this country bar: the place is wall to wall with smoking hot babes. Does the rest of the world know that Green Bay, Wi, is full of such amazingly stunning women? And here they are hanging all over beer-bellied guys in cowboy boots with obscene facial hair. I’ll say it again: “AAARRRGGGG!”
This leads me to believe that there is simply no point in carrying on, in continuing my useless existence. I give up, I’m throwing in the towel and calling it a night. I ask my friends what they want to drink and they profess to being drunk so I order a beer for me and two waters for them. The woman tending bar is nice to me but she outweighs me by at least sixty pounds. She is pretty though, and the fact that she is nice makes me smile. Hell, I could do worse than her. Maybe I should set my sights lower.
So I stand against a rail overlooking the dance floor, watching a guy dressed as the Joker strip a fur coat off of an otherwise shirtless, giant, hairy dude and proceed to lick his nipples and I wonder what they are doing here and why they aren’t at Excess. Is anybody seeing this but me? Yes, and no one seems to care. Do I care? No, not really, I just want to meet a nice woman who I can enjoy relaxing evenings with and have long conversations about nothing. I want to cuddle; I want to feel breasts pressed against my chest, warm, soft lips brushing against my ear. Instead I am alone, witnessing things I can’t erase from my mind if I want to, which I do, very badly
The evening comes to an end when the couple I am with decides they want to go. It’s probably all the hot women; he wants to get his girlfriend home and nail her. I don’t blame him. She’s a looker herself, all dressed up in a harlequin costume complete with zombie rotting flesh. I imagine they are going to have a mighty fine time, but I’m not, you know, imagining it. That would just be rude.
They drop me off at my place and we urinate (just the dude and I) on the lawn. Then they split and I give in to temptation and smoke a cigarette I bummed from someone at the country bar. Just another day in the life of a lonely man, a zombie all dressed down with no place to go…

 

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Happy One Year Anniversary!

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Today marks the one-year anniversary of this blog’s inception, and as I made my way through the day I thought I was going to post a nasty, sarcastic, scathing tribute. I’ve relocated from beautiful, sunny, San Diego to cold, rainy, snowy, cold (did I say that twice? Yes, yes I did) Wisconsin for starters, leaving behind a life I miss just about every day. There were many reasons for this move, but none of them seem very good when staring down the barrel of a Midwest winter. And while sitting in my car at a gas station this morning (aggravated, grouchy, out of sorts) my doors automatically locked and when I opened the door the car alarm went off and I couldn’t shut it off. The gas station attendant and his two teeth thought I done had sumthin’ wrong wit me. Then I took the wrong highway and wound up in some cow pasture, trying to get from Whitewater to Madison. Returning to Madison, my GPS lead me to a highway with a bridge out and refused to take orders otherwise to direct me around it. All of this happened after visiting one of my sister’s, a weekend involving a lot of outside activities in forty-degree temperatures and rain. It was no wonder two of her children were sick, I’d thought sarcastically, watching as she made a homemade apple pie while her youngest child continued to hack her lungs out into the batter no matter how many times my sister told her to ‘cover her mouth’. And the auction we attended left plenty to be desired; I told her quite frankly that if this were merely five years ago I would have been giving her ten shades of crap about this ridiculous, redneck activity that her husband (a very nice fellow, by the way) adored so much. In my opinion they couldn’t give that junk away, much less sell it, yet they did. Yes, it was with all this in mind that I was going to write an absolutely wretched piece that would involve nothing but insults and bitching about small towns and the inbred people who inhabit them, not to mention the Midwest, Wisconsin in particular.
But instead I am not going to do that, and here is why: I just read somebody else’s blog post (bluestockings19) and it was such a positive, uplifting message that I’d feel like a douchebag in comparison. I called off the dogs, so to speak, and am instead going to give thanks for my wonderful family and all the things about them that I enjoy and love. For anyone who reads this blog because of my narcissistic, supercilious, often downright haughty nature I most sincerely apologize for the turn of heart and assure you it won’t last. Everything still sucks and I am a grouch who wishes his debut novel The Gyre Mission: Journey to the *sshole of the World would sell so I can thumb my nose at decent society, trust me.
Be that as it may, thank you to anyone who has read, ‘liked’, or followed this blog. You have certainly made my year. Peace.

 

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