A Tale of Strange Friends and Their Adventure

Fin

(Father and son looking out of a window at a bird feeder with one goldfinch sitting on it)

Dad, why is that bird all by himself? I thought they stayed together in flocks.

Batty

I don’t know Billy, but I know a story about a very brave Goldfinch who was also alone. Want to hear it?

Oh yes please!

Once upon a time a flock of goldfinches were getting ready to go north for the summer to nest in Virginia. They were eating flower and weed seeds to build up energy for the long flight. One of the flock, a young male named Fin, had a cold and was feeling very weak and woozy. The flock leader, Grandfather finch, had delayed leaving to give Fin time to get better, but Fin was still very sick.

“We will have to leave the day after tomorrow if we are going to get to the nesting grounds in time” said Grandfather. But he thought to himself “I doubt if Fin will be well enough to leave or strong enough to make the trip”.

The birds all started to talk at once, some wanting to leave now and others wanting to wait for Fin, but Grandad held up his wing and said “We will wait until tomorrow to see how Fin is feeling, but we will leave the day after.”

While the argument was going on, Fin was listening quietly from a nearby bush. He was very sad that the flock was being divided by his sickness and did not want to be the cause of that kind of trouble. He decided that the best thing for him to do would be to disappear and make the flock think he had been eaten by a cat so they would unite and leave in time.

Fin flew to the edge of the woods and pulled a few feathers from his breast and let them float to the ground. He then flew into the woods to a hollow tree he had spotted a few days ago while he was looking for weeds.

As he crept into the hollow, he was frightened by a pair of eyes looking at him from the darkness. He said “I’m sorry. I didn’t know this hollow had someone living in it.” As he started to leave, a small voice squeaked “That’s OK; I live on the celling and don’t use the floor. You can stay and we can share the room.”

Fin said “Thanks, but will you tell me who you are?” The voice squeaked “My name is Batty, and I am a bat. I live in this tree in the winter, where I sleep most of the time, and then go to a wonderful cave in Virginia for the summer. What a wonderful life!!!”

“My name is Fin, and I am a Goldfinch. I am too sick to leave on the spring migration to the nesting grounds, so I am hiding. The flock will think I have been eaten by a cat and will leave on time. It makes me sad to stay behind, but the flock has got to get to the nesting ground in time to lay eggs and raise babies.”

A foraging finch from the flock found Fin’s feathers and cried “EVERYONE!! I have found feathers from Fin’s breast. He must have been attacked. He is GONE!!”

Well, the flock was really upset, but Grandfather decided to leave the next morning. Fin’s mate was really upset, but she had spent the rest of the afternoon looking and calling for Fin, and she was convinced he was dead.

Fin and Batty watched as the flock left. Batty suggested that when Fin was feeling better and stronger, they could travel together, as the nesting ground was not too far from her cave.

So, after a week or so, the two unlikely companions and new friends left for Virginia. They traveled at night and rested by day. They flew through storms and cold and often didn’t eat for days. But eventually they reached the area where Fin’s flock nested for the summer, and Batty flew off alone to the cave. Fin called after him “BATTY!! Come back to visit, and remember, we are going South together this fall!”

After a few days, Fin found the flock and was reunited with his Grandfather and his mate, a beautiful young finch named Gold.

Together they built a nest and raised a fine brood of baby finches. Batty visited often, and once the flock got used to her was always a welcomed friend. In the fall, they all went South together and found peace in the winter feeding grounds.

Strangely, no-one ever asked Fin what had happened, and Fin never told.

In bird circles, the tale of the Strange Friends and Their Adventure is still told, and many baby Goldfinches are named “Fin”.
Image: Bat: http://www.interstatetermite.com/bats/images/littlebrownbat.jpg

Goldfinch: https://soimahomebody.files.wordpress.com/2011/04/goldfinch-google.jpg

Stand your ground and still die.

A canine cop and dog were trailing a suspect in pine woods in southwest Florida. The dog stuck his/her face into a rattle snake and got bitten. Here is the part that pisses me off. The cop shot the snake and then took the dog to a vet for anti-venom. The dog survived and the snake did not. 
Now remember that Florida is a "Stand your Ground" state. If threatened you may use lethal force to defend yourself. You are legally entitled to kill the threatening person. So the snake was in its own territory, minding its own business when threatened by a dog. The dog didn't back off, so the snake stood its ground and used possibly lethal force in defending itself. For this it got killed. And the cop who pulled the trigger? No charges. Murder of an innocent. 
Ok, I realize that the laws of people usually don't apply to animals. Usually but not always. Say a pit bull bites a person in an unprovoked attack. The dog will be captured, quarantined and possibly put down. Not shot on the spot. 
Ok, I realize that snakes aren’t pit bulls. But they are just animals trying to survive in an increasingly diminishing landscape. They are NOT the aggressor. We are. They do not deserve to be killed just because they are snakes, or because they defended themselves. 
So what should the cop have done? Pulled back the dog and gone to the vet for a shot. Not killed an innocent animal that was merely defending itself in an unprovoked attack. Merely Standing its Ground. Maybe if the snake was named George it would have survived. 

Image: http://origin.news10.net/images/300/169/2/assetpool/images/081011041119_rattlesnake-320.jpg

A Bit of Bravery.

A long time ago, before humans moved in next to the Valley, the animals who lived there developed the ability to talk to each other. Some had a lot to say, some not much, some were very smart and others not so much. But they all had something to contribute. Of course the usual hopes, joys, fears and worries were a part of their lives. So was predation. Some animals like mice rabbits and birds were prey, while some like hawks and snakes were predators. All accepted this as a way of life and did their best to get along.

But every so often, maybe even rarely, very unlikely animals became friends. This is such a tale.

Blue Jay was hopping along one warm spring morning looking for something to eat when she heard a low moaning sound. “Hmmmm” she wondered. What was that? Again she heard it and hopped towards the sound. And then “FEAR FEAR FEAR” !!! She called. There on the ground before her was a rat snake. Blue Jay didn't know any snakes except for “Stripy”, the garden snake in her school, but she knew that rat snakes ate birds. And she was a bird. Quickly she flew back, still calling her Fear call. Then, she heard the snake moan again and whisper “Help me. Please. Somebody. Help me.”

Well, at first Blue Jay thought it was a ploy to get her close so the snake could eat her, but the moan sounded so hurtful she hopped near for another look. “Bird!” cried the snake. “Please help me. I have been caught in a snare set by Humans for rabbits and cannot get out. I have been here for days and I am afraid that the Human will kill me if he finds me. They hate snakes. Why? I have never so much as touched one.”

“But snake, if I come close you will eat me. Why should I help you just to have you kill me?” “I won’t hurt you, I promise. I am so frightened. Please help me. I promise I won’t hurt you.” “And what about other birds? My family? Can you promise not to hurt them?” “No I cannot. My nature is to eat birds and other animals, and so I must. But I can promise you that I will never touch a bird like you, ever again. Only PLEASE!!  Help me. I think I feel feet pounding on the ground.”

Blue Jay decided to try to help, and looked over the snare. She noticed that a stout string held the loop to a branch, and that was keeping the snake caught and hanging mostly in the air. She perched near the knot and using her beak gradually untied it. Finally the string let go and the snake fell to the ground. Then she saw the Human. He had a heavy stick and was raising it over his head to hit the snake, so she yelled “RUN SNAKE!!! I will distract the Human.” She flew into his face and then flew away quickly, giving the snake just enough time to escape into the bushes. Later, she found him coiled near a stream. He was sunning and resting after his ordeal. She flew onto a branch over him and said “Hey Snake! Wake up! Looks like you are OK after all. And I hope you remember your promise to me. And by the way, my name is Blue Jay.”

The snake looked up and said “Oh, Blue Jay. Thank you for saving me. Of course I remember my promise. Come down here so we can talk and be friends.” So Blue Jay flew to the ground where the snake coiled around her gently and said “Blue Jay, you will always have a protected place within my coils. And your family too. My name is Slither, and I will always be your friend.” And although Slither was a snake, and ate many birds during his long life, he never once ate a blue jay. And Blue Jay had a friend and protector for as long as she lived. In fact, she introduced many of her babies to Slither, and they often could be seen perching on his coils as he sunned himself. Strange friends indeed. But sometimes it just happens. Usually takes a bit of bravery, though.

Image: https://terra4incognita.files.wordpress.com/2007/11/mbluejay1.thumbnail.jpg?w=500

Slow Ride Session IPA from New Belgium

First the good news:  Better than Bud Light. That’s it. Well, maybe a bit more good news. It may be better than Bud. But that is about all.

I probably don’t know what a session IPA should be like, so I had to measure this against my own taste in brews. Ok, I admit it. I love really hoppy and malty brews. High IBUs, moderately high ABVs, robust color, chewy mouth feel. You know. Real IPA.

This brew now in a Sam Adams glass for perfect sniffing and sipping is yellowish to gold, no lacing, and no head after a minute, not much in the way of “nose” It does have a slightly hoppy bitterness on the front end, and none on the back of the tongue. A good burp didn’t give any serious aftertaste either.

My recommendation: Useful for hot days and BBQs where the usual American crap presides. Would be good for hot foods or a brewski when sweating on a hot afternoon. Not a bad beer, just not a good sipping beer. More of a slurping beer. If you want a nice IPA, this isn’t it. If you want an unassuming beer good for washing down spicy food and drinking all day long, this will be a better choice than the macro brews. If possible, buy one or two bottles. Then you won’t have to think up an excuse to finish the six pack.

Image: http://www.newbelgium.com/images/beerfeature/slowride_l.png

Quite a Journey: Woody's Work History

Just another kind of Gold

It all started with NPR this morning. The article was about the number of jobs the millennials have had and will have during their career. Millennials apparently change jobs fairly often. The article then looked at boomers, and found that they also had lots of jobs, an average of 14, until they hit their 40s, and then they settled into a career of sorts. 
I decided to take a look at my own work career and see where I stacked up compared to a boomer, even though I am a pre-boomer by about 6 years. The list below is the result, mostly in order of work. And I may have forgotten something, or omitted something that may have been a one-off, you know, like earn a few bucks helping a neighbor wash their house. That kind of thing. All the jobs in the list were actually pay check earning employment with some longevity.
I had 16 different jobs before my first full time college teaching position, which morphed into administration which morphed back to teaching. In other words, the career. My first teaching position was in 1969, which means that I had 16 jobs of one kind or another by the time I was 29 years old. So, I started my career in higher education by age 30, well ahead of most boomers. 
As I look over the list I am kind of surprised at the variety of things represented. I guess a point is this: When I needed to work, I found a job, and I didn't really care what I was doing as long as there was a pay check at the end of the week. 
Another job I had while in graduate school the last time, this would be the early 1980s was picking up cans and aluminum scrap on the roadside in Tallahassee. I was often seen walking with a bag, picking up silver gold that others had thrown away. And WOW! what a break when I found a pile of aluminum of window blinds. That was real cash. No shame in doing an honest day’s work. 

baby sitter
paper boy
lawn mowing
chicken dinner  boy
pumping gas
body shop labor
meat department worker
produce clerk
mason helper
mechanic
fishing tackle sales
graduate teaching assistant
classroom teacher
substitute teacher
tutor
research assistant
college teacher
building renovation
co-owner and laborer of landscape business
college administrator
adjunct professor

Image: http://1v550a3jlx4d2lc773o373z5qn.wpengine.netdna-cdn.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/08/can-recycling.jpg

Thank You Kimberly Bliss (Soubielle)

Kimberly Bliss Souvielle, known to me as Kim Bliss, killed her abusing husband and got 15 years for 2^nd degree murder. She was released by the clemency board in Florida in 1993, and went on to graduate from Law School and become an activist for battered women. I met her in the early 2000’s, maybe 2003 or 2004 when she was hired to teach in the Social Work department and I taught Biology at Thomas University.

The campus was abuzz with her story. Men and women were uncomfortable. I didn’t know what to make of her. So I got to know her. Her case was controversial.  Murder or self defense. We never talked about her case directly, but we talked many times about women in abusive relationships and how powerless they were.

It would be wrong to say that she changed my mind about abused women, or if women should have the right to defend themselves. I have always believed that anyone being abused should have the right and the duty to use whatever force needed to stop the abuse. The police, social system and courts certainly didn’t do much. And still don’t. So, she didn’t convince me of anything or change my mind. She glued the whole thing together for me in a way only someone as passionate as her could have done. I moved from understanding to advocate.

I once told someone that I had probably broken up more homes that most people. The look I got was telling. “What you? You a lover or something?” was what I read in the look. And no, not by being a Casanova. By telling scores of my female students who trusted me enough to talk to me that they were smart and worthy of respect and to take no crap from a husband who belittled, demeaned or physically abused them.

Kim’s story and passion for women in distress should be a beacon for all of us. Now, if we could only change the Police, Courts, Judges and Laws. Slowly it is happening. But WAY TO SLOW.

Image: http://www.acmenovelties.net/writing/images/abused_woman_435px.png

http://www.apnewsarchive.com/1993/Florida-Woman-Gets-Clemency-for-Murder-of-Husband/id-2fa2a74d01aaa75e87d9bc397868fa2c

http://www.timesenterprise.com/news/local_news/article_36429b8e-77fb-516f-a76e-302be787bf4f.html

A Tale of Early Promise: Little A is a Hero.

Rabbit get Hydration Treatment

On a warm and sunny afternoon the boy went back to the valley to see his friend Rabbit. School was out for the summer, and he missed his friend and their walks and story sharing. He looked and looked and called his name but could not find Rabbit anywhere. He was just about to leave when he heard a soft trembling voice. “Boy? Are you Little A?” Little A looked around but didn’t’ see anyone so said that he was. Then the voice said “If I come out you won’t step on me will you?” “Of course not. But where are you?” And with that, a small mouse crept from behind a pine cone and said “Here. Rabbit has gone away. His mother sent him to take care of his Grandmother in the next valley. He never came back and we are all afraid to go look for him. Would you?”

Little A said “Or course I will. Which way did he go?” Mouse showed Little A the path that lead to Grandma Rabbit and Little A ran off as fast as he could. On the way over the hill into the next valley, Little A noticed a bit of fur on the ground and cried out “Oh No!! That looks like rabbit fur. Oh I hope it isn’t Rabbit’s.” On he went until he found Grandma Rabbit’s burrow and called in “Grandma Rabbit? Grandma Rabbit? Is Rabbit home?” Well, Grandma was a bit surprised when she limped to the entrance and saw a human, but being old and wise in the ways of the world she knew that this boy was not a danger. “Who are you? You mean my Grandson Rabbit? Why should he be here?” “His mother sent him here several days ago to help you. Didn’t he get here?” “No” said Grandma. “I haven’t seen him since the last time I had dinner at his burrow. Oh dear! Something must have happened to him. I will go out looking right now!” “Please Grandma Rabbit. Let me. I will call him and ask other animals. He must be somewhere between here and his burrow.”

And so Little A backtracked and asked some birds, a few mice, and a frog, but no one had seen Rabbit. The sun was going down, and Little A had to be home before dark, so he headed off towards his house, which was not the direction of Rabbit's burrow. And a good thing he did too. Not far from the path he found a snare, and there was Rabbit, caught by his hind legs, hanging upside down, and almost dead. Little A gently released the loop and held Rabbit tight to his chest. He said “Rabbit? Rabbit? Can you hear me? I am going to take you home and get you some help. Please don’t die. Please?”

Rabbit opened his eyes a bit and said “I am very weak and thirsty. I don’t think I will die, but please hurry.” A week later, Little A took Rabbit, much stronger now and rested, back to his burrow and his mother. He had seen a mouse on the way to his house and asked the mouse to tell Rabbits mother that Rabbit was hurt and he, Little A, would take care of him. It was a fine reunion when Rabbit hugged his mother at the entrance to the burrow. Little A was the hero of the Valley and for many years after he graduated from Vet school Little A continued to treat wild animals, and was known far and wide. He always had a special place in his heart for rabbits, though, and never forgot his friend Rabbit.

Image: https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNEUS8urdgMuU7R37z99KrKwjDT7n4rGQMM8btqWnoIvWFxVB47l037U50A2EwlRm1MpWYH3_O7TKV9jrn_DI-HYDdr1hyphenhyphengkYJ7QQBbj7BzRE7IHIwUUWi9rkGUj8GRymMpJvZyQe4mg/s400/SJRescue4_072709.jpg

A Tale of Grandpa Possum or, "Just for Fun"

Early one morning a young squirrel was sitting in a tall oak tree enjoying the sunrise when something exploded near him. He ran around the tree trunk in panic, and peeked out to see what had happened. Then he saw a human. The human had crept up  near the tree and pointed something at him that exploded with a loud noise. Another explosion! And this time a big piece of bark was torn from the tree. Suddenly his parent’s warnings echoed in his head: “HUNTER – KILLER!! HUMAN!!”

Grandpa Possum was shot "Just for Fun"

He was very frightened and clung to the tree, shaking. Another explosion and the tip of his tail was torn off. He ran as fast as he could, jumping from branch to branch and tree to tree until he was completely out of breath. “I hope I am safe now” he thought. And then “Oh no! What about all my friends? What if the Hunter sees them? They might be killed!” Squirrel ran quickly to Rabbit's burrow and called out “RABBIT!! RABBIT!! Don’t come out. There is a HUNTER in the Valley.” Well, of course Rabbit did come out to see what the ruckus was all about and Squirrel told him what had happened. They decided to run to their other friends and warn them of the danger, so Squirrel went one way and Rabbit went another. They warned as many friends as they could and then went to Rabbit's burrow to hide. But they missed Grandpa Possum because he was sleeping and didn’t hear them. When he woke up from his nap, he wandered outside to stretch his legs and felt a sharp pain in his head, and then felt no more.

Two boys walked up to the possum, kicked it and one asked “Why’d you kill that nasty thing? I’m not going to carry it home. You want it?” “Naw,” the other said. “I just wanted to see if I could hit it. And I did. Dead center in the head. Never even knew what hit it. Stupid possum.”

Later that day the animals crept from their hiding places and found Grandpa Possum, cold and bloody. The Possum Family gathered around his body and cried and cried. A very young possum asked his mother “Why did our Grandpa die?” His mother just held him close and said “Humans are sometimes cruel and heartless. They kill and destroy for no reason, and they make no sense at all. You must learn from this to always be wary and afraid of Humans. Never trust them. And if you see one, run away and warn others.”

There was sadness in the Valley for several days after Grandpa Possum died, but gradually life returned to normal. Grandpa Possum was loved by all, and remembered by most. Tales of his life were always included when the animals gathered in a “story circle”. The story of his death too. As a lesson not to be forgotten. And later that year, two more animals were killed by the Humans. Just for fun.

Image: http://i288.photobucket.com/albums/ll180/bradyman1/1-24-11to1-31-111stpossum026.jpg

Coming of Age, or, Growing up Straight.

Here's a tale of growing up. A little background first about atmosphere of my family. My father had many friends (can't remember a black one, though). He was a sales engineer in an international firm and although limited to the east coast including New York and Washington, D.C. mixed with people from all over the world. His friends were Catholics, Jews, and Protestants of all stripes. Closer friends were from all over Europe pre- and post WWII. He had a nasty epithet for everyone. Even States were not exempt ( Damn New Jersey driver!!!).

He and my mother were particularly worried that their boys would be accosted by a man (undefined by them to me) and hurt (also undefined but they meant pedophile which to them included all gay men as well. Consider the times - 1940s). So into this atmosphere of verbal intolerance fear and no boundaries what-so-ever within their social or work groups I was born and raised. Jews were kikes, except for our neighbors. Italians were guineas or sheenies, except for our neighbors. You get the point. So I grew up with a clear dichotomy played out.
Homosexuals were never even mentioned except in the abstract and then lumped with pedophiles.
I grew up wary of "those kind of men" that would "pick you up" (don't get into a car with a man, don't go into a strangers house alone etc). When I had my first inseparable friend, John, my mother worried that were too close. Yet, in my school I had friends that were gay (I didn't know it) and at least one gay teacher (we all knew) who was a great guy. I had failed girlfriend relationships (my mother worried) but lots of male friends (my mother worried). So, off to college.
In Miami there was a place called Bay Front Park where the queers cruised. There were queer bars and queer hangouts. By then I knew ( I thought) what queers did. I had friends who went to the park and rolled older weaker queers. I never went with them, but never really objected either. To this day I feel ashamed of that.
One time in 1960 or so a guy approached me outside of a diner that I lived in, showed me a strip of paper with a ruler printed on it and "peter meter" printed on it as well. He asked me if I wanted to see how it worked. I said no and he went away. Life threatening brush with queerdom. My sexuality had solidified by then to raging hetero, and my mother worried because the girls were cheap. No pleasing some mothers.
I had a friend in graduate school, 1963, who trusted me enough to come out to me. In a rush one night in the lab the said "I'm a homosexual. I hope this doesn't change our friendship". I will never forget my wise and insightful response. It haunts me to this day. "I'm OK with that as long as you don't try anything with me", I said. Surprise.He never mentioned it again. We stayed friends.
By this time I also heard of girl queers, but thought that a good stiffie would "cure" them (that's what all my friends thought, all us male assholes). Just a lack of the good old rod. Show'em the way and they will love it and you for ever. Only problem is I never knew if I knew one. I never knew anyone who had "cured" one, but I knew lots of guys that loved the girl-on-girl porno films (8mm in those days).
Fast forward through the 60s (I was there but AWOL on the free love and drug scene). I got a good leadership job in academia and lo and behold, our librarian (in his 50's) was a homo. Great guy, lived with his "brother". We were social friends, close at times, and never once talked about his sexuality (or mine for that matter). He left both the job and his brother and went off with a young blond man on some long journey. I was disgusted to think what they were doing all day in that sailboat. Then epiphany: what ever it was, it was a small part of who he was and didn't change all that I loved about him. So, says I to me, just get over it. I did. Then and there.
Then the 80s hit with a vengeance, and gays were dying of unknown causes. "Gods will" some of my students chanted. For what I asked? For loving someone? For being different? I knew what they meant, and the sadness of this tale is that they are still around and still saying the same thing. Then straights began to fall, AIDS was named and HIV was identified as the culprit.
By now I had gay and lesbian friends and students who were mostly not out but were with me.
I got angry when someone proposed that we have a Baptist Student Union because I don't like exclusivity of any kind, and proposed to sponsor a GLBT student union. I was told the day I did that I would be fired on the spot. So much for ya'll come liberal arts education. "Ya'll come, but some of you stay safely in the closet" was more like it.
So I sponsored the "SafeZone" initiative on campus and quietly pursued organizing the GLBT (we didn't have any T's yet) and became the sponsor. Didn't get fired. But the GLBT students were mostly not interested in a public group, and the organizing student died of a brain tumor, so the nascent organization fizzled.
During this time I made many friends, some of them straight and a goodly number not.
Then my son came out. No surprise there. He told us he was seeing someone. I told him straight up that his love would be unwelcome in my house if he was a - - - - - - - - republican. (he wasn't' but still would have been welcome to our log cabin of sorts).
Matt and John are now married (God bless Iowa) and we love them both. And they love each other. And who cares what they do in bed? I don't.

A long journey from a home built on love but infused with intolerance. My early days with homosexuality were low points for me in terms of tolerance. I was what I learned. But I like to think that as I grew up I grew out of all that and finally arrived at the man I am today. Many shameful moments darkened my early days. I am so glad that those days are over and long behind me. It is often said that you can never go back. Who the hell would want to?

Image: http://www.eastbayexpress.com/imager/b/magnum/3405936/58d2/mg_movies1_3509.jpg

A Few More Rednecks

I was driving along a few days ago, Pandora streaming to the radio, when David Allen Coe came on with his version of A Few More Rednecks. Well, to start with, I love Coe. His rough style and straight up irreverence appeals to me. No, he isn’t even remotely Politically Correct, but who really cares?

I listened to the lyrics and thought “Damn, I agree with most of that.” Me? A Liberal? Yup. Me. The crap about guns is crap. And nobody would want John Wayne as President, seriously. But the core message to me is this:

What most people call a redneck

Ain’t nothin’ but a workin’ man

And he makes his livin’

By the sweat of his brow

And this:

But it makes my temper itch

When my hard earned money goes

To make some politician rich

There is probably a list of slurs, and “redneck” is probably on the list. Most likely it depends on who and under what circumstances it is used. Kind of like “nigger”.  A white person says it, or even says “the “N” word” and gets in all kinds of trouble. But watch “The Wire” or listen to Black people on the street and you will get tired of hearing it.

Rednecks are really just working people, mostly good folks, just trying to get by. The so-called lower class or lower middle class. With very little chance for upward mobility or real wage increases. And yet they vote in startling numbers for the Republican Party, a political party dedicated to making the rich people including most politicians richer, and keeping the poor working class people poor and undereducated.

What the hell are they thinking? Answer: they are not thinking. They are sucking up the poison put out by the rich people. They are lied to every time they turn around. And they don’t seem to be able to see it.

So maybe “a country boy will survive”, but he will always be poor and under educated. Because he votes for the overlords who keep him down, ignorant and poor.

Yes, this is a generalization, and yes, some rednecks actually see the benefit of voting issues rather than just following the party line. But if you look at the Red vs Blue states, you will see a preponderance of rednecks voting in a block for the Republican Party. Boggles the mind.

Image: http://www.city-data.com/forum/attachments/elections/35518d1233792355-rednecks-obama-rednecks-obama.jpg

1. Charlie Denials Band www.youtube.com/watch?v=nF1GiZCcL1o