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Mike Randle


“Day 24,part 3: Official Red Neck Rant,…”
August 16 2002

After our lunch at Cracker Barrel, for the first time, i walked out of there unsatisfied, unfortunately. But I don’t hold it against them because, when you straight get off like the CB, you’re allowed a bad day.

I’d ordered the Beef Stew but it was salty and dry and there wasn’t much beef either. But our hostess, Stephanie, was really sweet and got us our seats early (if that means anything), which at least made us feel (sniff sniff) special…

So, we hit the 70w again and it’s like around 2pm and we’re just haulin’ tail thru all these cornfields, passing fast food joints, gas stations ans really scarry looking motels with names like,”The Country Inn” and “Mamma’s Motel” and “Jeb’s motel and truck stop.” Avoid all these places, is my advice.

I wonder how fun the Cantebury festival is gonna be? It’s us, the pretty things, the stranglers, the damned and other good acts. Hope it doesn’t rain…i mean, it is england, right?

I had Traci take pix of me with a cowboy hat on right outside Cracker Barrel exclusively for the tour diaries. Maybe then you’ll get an idea of what iI mean when I say COUNTRY COOKIN’.

You know, when you think about it, it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to sell Nebraska, Kansas, Iowa and Indiana to Canada for some spending money. Then we could make something useful wit the space. And they would have to deal with all the pick-up driving, JC lovin’, extra gravy ordering, red neck trailor trash that keep cutting us off on the highway. Ok, am i being too harsh? I mean, if i give it to Milton Keynes, then i gotta give it to the midwest. Now, don’t get me wrong, the people are realy great people…i’m talking about the knuckleheads. And besides, i only picked states that don’t have an NFL football team, which makes them especially expendable.

And as I look out my window, guess what i see? Cornfields. Rows and Rows and Rows and Rows of cornfields. Tractors. Pro-life billboards. Gun and Ammo shops. More ammonition shops. Mullets. State Troopers w/ Raybans and Village People mustaches. Gentlemen clubs for truckers with names like,”Cruisin’ Chubbie’s”, “Wild Wild West”, “Ride Sally Ride” and stuff like that. I can only imagine the scene in a place like that, epecially after Bubba and Judd get into over who actually got their cousin, Mary-Sue pregnant, only to find out that it’s neither of them and that the real culprit is grampa Bubba. Of course, there’s the linage thing where a name like Billy Joe can go 6 generations and i’ll give $20 to anyone around here with at least 7 teeth.

Or how about this one; some hick asked Daddyo if San Francisco was near Los Angeles. I mean,is it too late to trade Kansas for Puerto Rico? And can we throw in Mississippi for good measure? And Alabama while we’re at it?

Maybe I’m just being too harsh. I mean, give it back to the Indians. Give it to anybody but these Bubbas that can’t wait to drop a bomb on somebody-anybody, so they can have an excuse to go to the bar and drink all the Keystone light $5 can buy. God bless ’em.

Mike Randle


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