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18:06:43 - 2000-03-15


I don't know if I've painted the picture crystal clear here ... but I ain't no fuckin' redneck.

Heh...I love that line.

Anyway...just got back from the Rodeo Media Challenge 2000 here in town.

Can I get a "Whooohoooo"??

Thank yewwwww.

Hey Southeastern Diarylanders....any of y'all ever heard of the party band Mel and the Party Hats? Becca??? Schmez?? They play the Knoxville area a lot, been on the club circuit for like 15 years.

Anyway...Mel and I are buddies...that was my impression of him: "Thank yewwwwww".

Thank yewwwww.

So anyway...I get to the Media Competition just in time to ride the Wagon Train in to the Rodeo.

The Wagon Train starts in North Alabama and takes a month to get to where I'm at. If you're into horses and carriages and wagon trains, it's probably right up your alley.

Personally, I'd rather have my toenails removed with a pair of pliers than ride in a wagon train.'s what you do.

The wagon train stops two blocks from its final destination so designated media personnel can jump in the wagons and wave at the people gathered (there were really a least a couple hundred).I get in my wagon and introduce myself to the two elderly men who have been riding together in this horse and buggy for a month now.

Apparently a rift had developed between the two ol' codgers sometime over the last month. Because these two old bastards weren't speaking.

"Have y'all been in the Wagon Train from the beginning," I asked, trying to break the thick layer of ice in the air.

"Yep," Jed replied.

"Wow," I said.

At that point ...I was speechless. I mean...what the fuck do you say??

The first thing that goes through my head is "Are y'all clinically insane?"

What possesses you to travel 300 miles being dragged at a mile an hour by an old horse WHO I MIGHT ADD should look into changing his diet, pronto. That horse had such bad gas that this chick would have been weeping with joy.

As for me, I was dry heaving every time I heard the sounds come out of that horse's ass. You could literally SEE this horse's farts. Just little clouds of smoke and a sound like he was trying to pass a live duck through his ass.

I may be Uncle Bob ... but I know it's not kosher to point out the flaws in someone's main mode of transportation. Even if said transportation has farts that smell like road kill.

Yes...I feel confident that this horse had eaten his share of flattened highway dogs in the last month. Because I've never smelled anything as bad. The first thing I did when I walked through the door tonight was get naked and burn my clothes.

So...for about 15 minutes, the three of us sat in silence while I fake smiled and waved at the crowds of rednecks lining the side of the highway the last two blocks of this month-long journey. I wanted to ask them questions like where they sleep and how long they've been doing it. It's my job. I'm inquisitive.

However ... my fear of getting shot by a volatile old psychotic hermit pretty much overrules any nervous chatter habits I may normally exhibit.

Once the wagon train ended, the 10 media people gathered in a circle to the side of the "stage" and shared stories of past media competitions.

I participate in just about every media competition that goes on in this town. The State Fair always has one, the rodeo ...ummmm...I know there's others ... but like it matters, huh?

Anyway...the point is, we all know each other from these competitions so we hear juicy gossip about each other's medias.

Nothing sassy to report today though. But it was good to talk to these people.

Anyway...the competition this year was "Roping a Steer".

Yep. A metal sawhorse with a leathered cow head welded on the front. We stood three feet away with a lariat and tried to lasso the bad boy.

Oh, hot fucking damn. Same shit we did last year that I absolutely SUCKED at.

We had one minute to rope the steer as many times as we could.

I had an 11-year old kid named Austin by my side, getting my lariat in proper lassoing fashion. He was trying desperately to give me pointers, but ...shit Austin...I'm being timed here dude....Quantity over quality, ya little pain in the ass. Back off, Tattoo. I think I can rope a freakin' sawhorse.

But he stood there ... "Circulate your wrist ... focus on the horns,!!!"

I swear. The little John Wayne Jr. almost got his ass tossed like a drunken dwarf.

But apparently the lil' cowboy's advice rubbed off because... yes, kids...yer Uncle Bob actually roped the steer a total of ONE (1) TIME!!!


I literally pumped my fist in the air and made that "HOOOOOOO!!!" sound that all dipshits make when something briefly goes their way. It was reflex.

Of course...the winner roped it six times in a minute. Which made me feel about as macho as Martha Stewart.

My co-hort, Lynn won first place in the Rodeo Fashion Show. She had on an all white dress, cowboy boots, white ten gallon hat...etc.

ME? Denim shirt...white jeans and walking shoes.

That's about as "cowboy" as my ass can get.

We got the friendly little competition out of the way and then it took the judges like forty minutes to decide who won....ummmmm....WLWI's team roped it like 14 times...everyone else peaked at about 2.

BUT ... you have to hang around because you get your "thanks for showing up" cash prize at the end. The only reason ANY MEDIA shows up.

"Give us this cash, our daily beer money."

Well .... the Rodeo pulled the wool over everyone's eyes this year...

Can you say "Cattlemen's Association Gift Certificate"?

Actually, a $25 gift certificate for beef ain't bad. When I looked at it, I thought "There's no way in Hell I can fit $25 worth of beef in my freezer". But it's good for any grocery store for anything you want.

Hardly worth two hours of my day off to stand around in the sun, smell dirty horse farts and be humiliated in front of my peers.

But it's beer money.

And some days...that's EVERYTHING.

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