Bubba
Believes in Religion
(and
other true facts)
Bubba
doesn’t write checks, or use ATMs.
Bubba’s ol’ lady keeps up with the
money. Bubba
prefers folding, front pocket whip-out.
Bubba
doesn’t send emails.
He owns a cell phone, but he only uses it
during deer season.
He doesn’t own a BlackBerry.
Bubba likes blackberry cobbler.
Bubba
doesn’t wear Crocs, or cook with olive oil.
Or balsamic vinegar.
Bubba doesn’t peel his tomatoes.
Bubba
doesn’t think men ought to marry men, or women
women. He’s
got a cousin who’s a little bit light in the
loafers, but everybody knows that’s ‘cause his
mama let him put on lipstick and play dress-up
when he was little.
Bubba
might call his mother-in-law by her first name,
and he might not. It
depends on whether or not she’s still alive.
When he’s just thinking about her, the
b-word rises in.
Bubba
thought a lot of Jesse Helms.
He wouldn’t vote for Hillary if she was
the last man on earth — and not just because of
the fat ankles. Bubba
never had trouble with fat ankles.
His mama and his sister and his wife have
them. Too
bad about ol’ Jesse.
Bubba
doesn’t shop. His
ol’ lady buys his clothes for him — she knows
what to get — he likes logos and decals.
Anything else he needs, his sister orders
it from Cabella’s on her credit card and Bubba
gives her the money from his whip-out.
Bubba
knows some good minorities.
He works with a few of them.
The ones he knows are alright.
He don’t trust the rest of them — and
he don’t like it when they marry Americans. Bubba
thinks folks ought to marry their own kind.
Bubba
lies to the pollster.
It’s none of their damn business.
He don’t like McCain, or Obama, neither,
but he’ll probably vote.
He just ain’t decided how yet.
Not for certain.
McCain’s ol’ lady’s just got too much
money. He
wishes Dale, Jr. would run.
Bubba
don’t like banks or insurance companies.
He thinks they’re all sonsofbitches.
He don’t like preachers, neither.
He thinks most of them are sonofibtches,
too — except the ones he knows.
Bubba
believes in religion.
He thinks everybody ought to believe in
something, but he don’t get too tangled up in
the details. Bubba
thinks religions are all about the same when it
comes right down to it — except for the Jews and
the Catholics and the Muslims, the Lutherans, the
Episcowhatyoucallems, and them high and mighty
Presbyterians. And
a ‘nother thang — he don’t trust them
churches that run off good preachers every four
years. Or
them you have to go to on Saturdays.
Or them that call the head man anything
besides ‘preacher.'
Bubba
thinks we ought to bomb the hell out of whoever is
making gas go to four dollars a gallon.
Bubba
doesn’t have a garden.
Bubba’s got a garden-spot.
He puts out beans, and taters and such.
Bubba
doesn’t play golf. He
sights in his blackpowder on the weekends.
He’ll go to Myrtle Beach for a day or two, just to shut his ol’ lady up,
but he prefers Buggs
Island.
Bubba
has never paid someone to change his oil.
Bubba doesn’t have a job that pays
mileage reimbursement.
Bubba
drinks — a little, on the weekends — mostly
beer. If
he’s got a bottle of Old Crow — and he does
— it’s in the tool box in the back of his
truck. He’d
drink water out of a mudhole before he would a
glass of wine.
Bubba
used to smoke — and he still does when his ol’
lady ain’t around — too much chin music now
— but not in the house — out in his shop where
he keeps his stuff.
Bubba
ain’t had a physical in years — if he had
insurance, they wouldn’t cover it, the
sonsofbitches.
Besides that, Bubba don’t like rubber
gloves.
Bubba
don’t worry about physicals.
Bubba knows none of us get out of this
alive — we all got to go sometime.
Bubba
doesn’t know what ‘empowered’ means.
Bubba doesn’t know what “empowered”
feels like, and hasn’t thought about it.
Bubba doesn’t know his time has come.
Bubba
doesn’t know what a “swing” voter is.
He doesn’t know that’s what he is.
Bubba
doesn’t know he’s going to elect the next
President.
--
July 7, 2008
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