I have literally died and gone to heaven. Sweet baby Jesus, I have seen it all!
Today, at a picnic, I was privy to the “dressy wife beater.”
Oh, life is complete.
Here’s the commentary in my head:
“And next we have Mike, ready for any redneck romp. This silky number is a must have for any event, from tractor pull to WWE front row seat. Don’t let it fool you though, this is 100% pure polyester–why look how it clings to his beer belly…you can tell he’s worked hard on that one! Paired with Levi’s in a light blue vintage stonewash jean (circa 1987) you can be sure that he’s tailgating with the best of the Bud drinkers on his way to the next “Whitesnake” concert. Finally, check out the accessories– 100 keys hooked onto his belt loop that jingle every time he takes a step. No misstep here Mike…that’s pure country.”
This was not your ordinary Hanes 100% cotton number.
I don’t think I even need to talk about the missing tooth do I?
I so wish I could have taken a picture…But the imprint will be forever tattooed on my brain.
These are the sweet moments I live for!
Oh.
My.
God.
We don’t see too much of that around here unless you go to Wal-Mart in July.
I never thought I’d say this, but I’m glad we’re still in parkas here.
Sorry you want to poke your mind’s eye out.
The last time I checked, there is a little place South of Kent where, no matter the weather, it remains common practice to “get your redneck on”.
That’s dressin’ up to go to WalMart round them parts. Don’t let the Tripple Fat Goose jackets fool you. Underneath, it’s all country. Plus, up North, let’s not forget about all the men with the tomato sauce stains covering their cotton undershirts as well as all the freaks in da clubs. Let’s face it, no matter where you go, there will be morons sporting this pathetic look.