If there’s one thing most people don’t hesitate to do with country folks, it’s to poke fun at them. There’s just something about us that generates hilarity among the more metropolitan types. Frustratingly, there are few urban equivalents of redneck jokes. About the best I could find are such lame one-liners as: “You know you’re a city slicker if… Your door has more than three locks. – You’re suspicious when strangers are actually nice to you. – You consider eye contact an act of overt aggression.”

I don’t know about you, but I just don’t find those overly funny. City slicker jokes don’t circulate the internet (at least, not very often). After all, it’s hard to poke fun at people who are serious about eating such unmentionables as grilled pompano on a bed of wilted mesclun, or tuna carpaccio with black-olive tapénade on a bed of hand-torn frisée. What’s the matter with these people? Why can’t they eat pickled crow gizzards or possum stew like normal folks?

So, for your enjoyment – ’cuz it sure as heck ain’t for MY enjoyment – I gathered a few of the stereotypical jokes that urban folks tell about us.

You might be a redneck if:
• The directions to your house include “turn off the paved road.”
• You think the stock market has a fence around it.
• Your wife has “ammo” on her Christmas list.
• You consider a six-pack and a bug-zapper high-quality entertainment.
• The taillight covers of your car are made of tape.
• Your wife has ever said, “Can you move this transmission so I can take a bath?”
• You can’t tell what color your car is because of the dirt.
• You’ve ever shot a deer from inside your house.
• Your collection of precious metals is NOT gold and silver, but lead and brass.
• You have a very special baseball cap, just for formal occasions.
• The biggest fashion risk you take is which plaid you’ll wear to the 4-H Fair.
• You consider a three piece suit to be: a pair of overalls, a plaid flannel shirt and thermal underwear.
• You own at least 20 baseball hats.
• Getting a package from your post office requires a full tank of gas in the truck.
• On your first date, you borrowed the keys to the tractor from your dad.
• You saved lots of money on your honeymoon by going deer hunting.
• You watch Little House on the Prairie for decorating tips.
• Your four-year-old is a member of the NRA.
• You’re turned on by a woman who can field dress a deer.
• Your anniversary present was getting the septic tank pumped.

When I read some of these out loud to my husband, he said, “What’s so funny about those?”

See? My point. Redneck jokes exist because they’re not jokes. They’re all true. Every last one of them. More or less.

Personally I think we’re just misunderstood by city folks. Sorry to break it to you, but the ability to field-dress a deer is a highly-valued skill out here in the sticks. And believe me, the idea of getting our septic tank pumped as an anniversary present thrills me no end, especially if I can’t flush the toilet. (Beats getting something silly and useless, like diamond earrings.)

To illustrate: My city-bred niece is coming to visit us this weekend. We haven’t seen her in several years, so her visit is an unexpected pleasure. “Grab a pen and paper and I’ll give you directions how to get here,” I told her over the phone.

“Oh, I’ll just use my GPS device,” she replied with confidence.

I snorted. “If you do that, hon, you’ll end up in the middle of the lake or mired in a field. Grab a pen and paper. Ready? Turn off the paved road…” Honestly, that’s exactly how our conversation went.

That’s why visiting a city is like visiting a foreign country. People really don’t meet your eyes. Strangers are not kind to you. And sadly, three or more locks on doors are not atypical.

And they honestly do eat stuff like grilled pompano on a bed of wilted mesclun. I had to google both “pompano” and “mesclun” to figure out what they were. Pompano, it seems, is a salt-water fish. (I was betting on a type of cheese.) Mesclun, I learned, is “a slightly bitter mix of at least seven kinds of small, young, delicate wild or cultivated salad leaves and greens of varying textures and colors.” Oh, I see. Something like collard greens and dandelion shoots. Got it.

Do you see why I can’t understand city folks? They eat stuff like this and then laugh at our home-grown fare. They hide behind locked doors and then wonder why we don’t bother with locks but carry a shotgun in the truck and a revolver on our hip. Meeting their eyes and smiling causes them to whip out their cell phones and dial 911. (And then they get panicky when there’s no service available.)

I don’t know about you, but I don’t find anything wrong with utilizing Little House on the Prairie for decorating tips. It’s cheaper, after all, to scour the woods until we find a discarded antler rack to hold my husband’s collection of Stetson hats, then to spend $3659 in a fancy-schmancy store for an antique trophy rack to hold your collection of Stetson hats.

And yes, I’ve been known to have “ammo” on my Christmas list. Specifically, .38 hollow point. Three cases, please.

So who are the strange ones? Us, or them? Who’s weirder, the guys who eat grilled pompano on a bed of wilted mesclun, or the guys who eat deer meat on the bed of a wilted 1975 Ford pickup?

Maybe the reason there are so few “city slicker” jokes is simply a matter of relative importance. City folks need to constantly remind themselves that no matter how dangerous, dirty, and soul-killing their life may be, at least they’re better than we are. Whereas we rednecks rarely think of city people at all.

So keep those redneck jokes coming, folks. It’s these kinds of stereotypes that keep the city slickers in the city, leaving God’s country for the rest of us.

Tags: Gals

Wednesday, June 30th, 2010 - 9:58 PM
Category: Humor.

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