Every time you see a roadsign that says “DIP” you reach in your back pocket.You’ve ever had Thanksgiving dinner on a Ping-Pong table.You have to throw down a rope ladder to get out of your truck.
You know you’re a redneck if your house still has the “WIDE LOAD” sign on the back.
Bubba from the lower valley decided he wanted to get married, and brought up the subject with his Ma and Pa over grits and gravy the other night.
“Bubba,” Ma said, “you can’t get married yet. Why, you’re the baby of the family.”
“But Ma,” Bubba protested, “I had my 38th birthday jest last week.”
“We know that, Bubba,” Pa chimed in. “But your Ma and me think you should put off getting married until after you graduate from high school.”
In the back woods of Arkansas, Mr. Stewart’s wife went into labor in the middle of the night, and the doctor was called out to assist in the delivery.To keep the nervous father-to-be busy, the doctor handed him a lantern and said, “Here, you hold this high so I can see what I’m doing.” Soon, a wee baby boy was brought into the world.”Whoa there Scotty!” said the doctor. “Don’t be in a rush to put the lantern down… I think there’s yet another wee one to come.” Sure enough, within minutes he had delivered another little baby.”No, no, don’t be in a great hurry to be putting down that lantern, young man… It seems there’s yet another one besides!” cried the doctor.The new father scratched his head in bewilderment, and asked the doctor: “Do ya think it’s the light that’s attractin’ them?”
Many many years agowhen I was twenty-three,I got married to a widowwho was pretty as could be.This widow had a grown-up daughterWho had hair of red.My father fell in love with her,And soon the two were wed.This made my dad my son-in-lawAnd changed my very life.My daughter was my mother,For she was my father’s wife.To complicate the matters more,Although it brought me joy,I soon became the fatherOf a bouncing baby boy.My little baby then becameA brother-in-law to dad.And so became my uncle,Though it made me very sad.For if he was my uncle,Then that also made him brotherTo the widow’s grown-up daughterWho, of course, was my step-mother.Father’s wife then had a son,Who kept them on the run.And he became my grandson,For he was my daughter’s son.My wife is now my mother’s momAnd it makes me very blue.Because, although she is my wife,She is my grandma too.So if my wife is my grandma,Then I am her grandchild.And every time I think of it,It simply drives me wild.For now I have becomeThe strangest case you ever saw.As the husband of my grandma,I am my own grandpa!
You ask your 10-year old son how to spell a word.Your dog is your alarm clock.Your wife gets a hunting license so you can tag your second buck.
The finals of the National Poetry Contest last year came down to two finalists. One was a Duke University Law School graduate from an upper crust family; well-bred, well-connected, and all that goes with it. The other finalist was a redneck from Southeast Alabama A&M.
The rules of the contest required each finalist to compose a four-line poem in one minute or less, and the poem had to contain the word “Timbuktu”.
The Duke graduate went first. About thirty seconds after the clock started he jumped up and recited the following poem:
Slowly across the desert sand
Trekked the dusty caravan.
Men on camels, two by two
The audience went wild!!! How, they wondered, could the redneck top that?! The clock started again and the redneck sat in silent thought. Finally, in the last few seconds, he jumped and recited:
Tim and me, a-huntin’ went.
Met three whores in a pop-up tent.
They was three, we was two,
So I bucked one and Timbuktu.
How can you tell if a redneck is married?
There is tobacco spit stains on both sides of his pickup truck.
You’ve ever worn shorts to a funeral home.You think that the styrofoam cooler is the greatest invention of all time.You’ve ever been too drunk to fish.
A hillbilly was going to send his boy to school and was discussing with the principal what courses he should take. The principal was talking about math courses and suggested he would probably later on take geometry and trigonometry. The hillbilly heard this and said “Great! Be sure and give him lot’s of that there triggernometry! He’s got to be the worst shot with a rifle of anybody I have ever seen