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I’m a good old southern boy and I love me some Jeff Foxworthy. He’s jeff fox-worthy of being my favorite comedian, because I grew up in the south, drive a ford and drink Budweiser, the prince of lacquers. Guffaw! Mayhap perchance I happened upon an episode of the Foxworthy Program “Blue Collar TV” one day while browsing in the bargain bins at my shop of choice, Walmart. Brandine and Peggy Sue were shoppin’ for Mountain Dew and Funyuns, and I was having a little “fun” of my own by diggin’ through these bins lookin’ for some quality television viewing experiences. Goodness my if I didn’t have fun that evening, that is…until Foxworthy acted a little odd.

I farted loudly and so audibly that the overweight woman in the push kart in front of me became visibly concerned. I rubbed some plastic on the DVD case after to try to cover up the loud farting, and it seemed to work, because farting and rubbing plastic sound quite similar to the untrained ear. As for me, I picked up the $3.74 DVD and a box of ammunition (I own several firearms and I threaten to shoot them) a big box of Doritos, several cases of Mountain Dew, a Hungry Man Dinner, a pair of Timberlands and a gluestick to see if I could mend my broken heart. Also, Brandine and Peggy Sue aren’t related and I don’t even know, them I just overheard their convo and wanted to be part of their family. I slapped 20 dollars on the Walmart counter and ran home, leaving my pickup truck in the parking lot because I needed to watch this amazing program. I smelled like shit, old salmon and Chinese newspapers. Don’t end up like me, kids, you don’t want to be the sad old man who can’t get up and face the world because he’s got a broken heart and works as a faulty air conditioning repair man. I was once a trucker but I got charged with the felony of caring too much, so I can’t cross state lines, and plus, I never actually owned a truck, I fantasized about it while watching people drive by my house. Anyway I popped a big bag of orville Redenbacher and started attempting to perform autofellatio before I put this amazing show on. Foxworthy. The Fox. Jeff “The Fox” Foxworthy. Often imitated, never replicated, because you can take the form and the function but disheveled you’ll never have my fuckin’ soul you piece of shit. Hallelujia. Jesus, guns and Ronald Reagan. My sexy wife, the sears catalogue. I dream about waking up in a world that isn’t so shitty. Operative word: dream. I put the VHS tape on even though I said It was a DVD earlier because some piece of shit had shoved a vhs in the DVD slipcase. Thankfully, I’m not one to judge. Besides, VHS stands for video home system. What does DVD stand for? Digital virtual dicksucker? That’s you, if you watch dvds. Me, I’m a VHS and Pong kinda guy. If it costs more than 20 dollars, I won’t purchase it on principal. I can’t afford it anyway. I belched loudly and began masturbating to Jeff Foxworthy hentai I found on the internet. Then I put the video on. Then I shut it off. Concerned, I knew that the VHS tape was broken. I licked and sensually tasted the plastic. Then put it on. This show came out after the VHS format existed. What the dick am I shitting? Said the man who never got a VHS to work. But not me. I’m the king of retro television. The master. You jealous fuckin’ pricks don’t even know what I’ve accomplished with no more than two cans of tuna and some string and lint in my pocket. Get the fuck out. Tears began to stream down my face as I saw Jeff Foxworthy, my childhood hero with a heart of gold. His eyes glowed and sparkled like luminescent jewels. “My boy.” He smiled. “Welcome to Blue Collar TV.” I sat very close to the TV and began to lick the screen. I would’ve rubbed my genitals on the screen if Brandine and Peggy Sue weren’t there. Granted, I was just imagining them. But I was imagining them really fucking hard. So much that I could hear the microwave buzzing rather loudly. It was them. The ghost of Brandine and Peggy Sue. Little did I know you don’t have to be dead to be a ghost, or ever have been alive for that matter (I may be a lowly beer drinking fellatio-lovin’ southern boy, but I moonlight as a quantum physicist at the local college.) More importantly, though, and even slightly concerning, was what Jeff said. “I ATE YOUR WIFE’S PUSSY OUT LAST NIGHT.” There were audible gasps from the audience, all five of them. Bucked teeth and a love of cheap consumer electronics. I belched, farted and again attempted autofellatio. Then jeff spoke, in a typical standup fashion. “If your average income is equivocal to your IQ, you may be a redneck.” Nobody laughed. “If you’ve ever punched a dog in the face because you drank too much Miller High Life, you might be a redneck.” Again nobody laughed. “If you’ve ever beaten your wife with a tire iron because she wasn’t behaving like you expect her to submit to her man, you might be a redneck.” Now I was concerned. “If you’ve ever driven a semi truck into oncoming traffic because you drank a few too many cold and bubbly Bud-WEISAHS you might be a redneck!” Now I was genuinely frightened. “If you’ve ever punched a woman in the jaw because your debit card got declined while purchasing $3 duck creek wine at the local CVS pharmacy, your neck may have rosacea!” He was beginning to yell and his eyes got fiery! “If you’ve ever attempted to beat someone to death with your shoe because” And then I began to throw up. “If you’ve ever used fishing equipment such as bait and tackle to sexually abuse a trout in the 1960’s” he began to trail off and I realized this wasn’t even blue collar comedy. “Shut the fuck up” he yelled. Though nobody was talking. “You goddamn fucking bitch!” he screamed. I was scared now. “I DIDN’T SPEND 25 GODDAMN FUCKING YEARS IN IRAQ SAVING YOUR FUCKING ASS!” And then he went out into the audience and punched one of the audience members in the face. The tape cut off. I blew into it, licked the plastic, sucked on it, ejaculated on it, but it wouldn’t play. Then it would. I looked down at my own neck in horror. My collar… was blue. “Obese women’s vaginas taste like Cheetos!” Larry the cable guy winked at the camera, or Dan Whitney as he was colloquially known. “I’m not Larry the Cable Guy.” He cried. “I’ve been lying to you for years.” And then he took the costume off. The suspenders, the underwear, the pants. And he was naked. And he approached the studio audience and began gyrating. “I just wanted your approval. I just wanted to belong.” And he began microwaving some delicious Larry the Cable guy Brand cornbread. “Shut the fuck up!” he screamed, though no one had said anything .”You goddamn fucking bitch!” He yelled, though again the audience was silent. Then he started to cry golden, shimmering light. The screen flickered. I felt my spine begin to tingle as what happened next was even more occurring. To my horror, Dan Whitney or Larry the Cable guy began stabbing himself. “MY COLLAR’S NOT BLUE!” He yelled. “IT’S RED!” He looked at himself in the mirror and began to cry. “I’M NOT LARRY THE CABLE GUY!” Tears continued to stream. “WHO THE FUCK AM I?!” He punched the mirror, shattering it, visible blood. And he began to slice his own face off with the broken pieces. For the first time, the audience started laughing. It was disturbing. They were laughing uproariously and clapping. He lay on the floor, having fallen unconscious from blood loss. Blood poured down the stage as larry the cable guy lay dead on the floor. The tape exploded. Brandine and peggy sue began to cry. My dogs, felattio and Spanish reasoning turned into real boys. And then something you would never in a million years expect to happen happened. The world’s richest man showed up at my door. It was my childhood hero, Bill Gates. “You won!” he yelled excitedly. “Who the fuck are you!” I said angrily, and picked up a large purple dildo, the only available defense item. “I’m bill gates, and I often hide shitty dvds because I am a free mason. We do this to see if someone wins the financial lottery! You won!” “I won what?!” I said angrily. Lubricating the dildo. “The ultimate prize.” He smiled, winked and forced himself into my apartment. He began installing windows 10 on my computer. “Is that a ford pickup truck?” He said excitedly. He noted my wife Brandine who was laying on the floor, unconscious. He noted the singing big mouth bass on my wall. He pressed the button and laughed loudly as it began to sing. “You’re a piece of shit!” He yelled. “I’m not really bill gates!” I asked him, rather politely to leave, as I had drank too much and I didn’t think he was really bill gates. “I’m not bill gates.” He said. “I’m your son. You fucked my mom in her tight pussy in the 1970s…” It was all an illusion. He began fading away until there was nothing there and I was standing alone, drunk with a shitty beer in my hand. The tape was gone. I never owned the tape. Where did that tape come from? I never even went to Walmart and none of this ever happened. There are 6 billion people in this world and every single one of them is a poor wretched and miserable wreck. Then I was the tape. Metaphorically. I’m not actually made of tape. See, you spend your whole life being inserted into VHS slipcases…. And then I woke up. I’m a rich investor of pornographic videos and I had a bad dream where I was some kind of lower-middle-class LOSER who likes cheap beer, pretzel sticks and Ice Climber paraphernalia. Thank god that was just a dream. Or a nightmare! Whatever you prefer. And you matter the most to me. I handle funds of people whose net worth exceeds 1-2 million and this is my exciting life. And then I got a knock at my door. It was my boss, Jim Horsefucker. Now I know what you’re thinking- but, contrary to popular belief around the office, he does not fuck horses. Granted, he does own a ranch and horses, and he sleeps in the same bed with the horses- hell, now that I think about it, he probably does fuck horses. Also, he changed his last name to horsefucker a few weeks ago, so I know it’s not a birthname. Anyway, I’m not one to judge his life choice. He put a DVD in a VHS slipcase on my desk. I felt my spine begin to tingle. “What do you think? He smiled at me. “The Lost Episode of Blue Collar TV!” he laughed excitedly. “These stupid fuckin’ kids will watch anything!” And then he pressed a large red button on my desk, and I watched as he fucked a horse in front of me. Slowly, sensually, he penetrated the horse. He blew a hot load of semen all over my analysis of the Gokdman-Sachs file. Yeah, he had some goldman sachs. Literally. He’d had his testicles bronzed in the 1970s and he placed them on my desk. I began to cry as he forced me to watch a filmed video of myself watching Blue Collar Comedy. Bill Gates is such a fucking asshole I knew windows 10 was spying on me. I attempted suicide with my own penis and it worked. The poor man who has to read this shit. And all those who listened to this point I have a paypal with over $100,000 dollars the first one to post BLUE COLLAR SAVED MY LIFE will win 100,000 dollars. Terms and conditions apply read the fine print for details.* My boss smiled at me, winked and then leered. He was wearing makeup. That wasn’t my boss. It was larry the cable guy. He was wearing boss makeup over his larry makeup. He winked, offered to “fix my cable” and spontaneously exploded. I burped loudly and woke up in an alley with my legs broken. You see, when you are a kid such and such. Then such. But ultimately, such. And when you’re young things happen, but then some other stuff happens. And whatever happens happens. Just try to avoid the cold and heartless who want to drag you down with them into their neverending pit of despair. And also, be sure to drink Mountain Dew. It truly is a mountain of quality, as it towers above other soda products in terms of quality. As I lay there, naked, cold bleeding and crippled, I noticed I was outside a cable repair shop. And though I was blind in one of my two eyes, I noticed a certain someone walking out of the cable repair shop. It was Larry the Cable Guy. He winked, smiled, bared demonic teeth and both of his eyes turned red. He picked up his cable repair box which had a masonic symbol and ceremonial knife etched outside of it. He winked again and kept winking until I acknowledged him, then stopped winking. I get it, he’s evil. Big fuckin’ deal. He doesn’t even repair cable, it’s all an act. He’ll just break your legs and leave you in an alley covered in warm steel reserve and horse semen. “I fixed your cable, eh?” Dan Whitney cackled. I took off my shoe and threw it at his head, and he started to cry. He hissed and ran off into the night, probably to install faulty cable wires onto some other poor victim.

  • terms and conditions don’t actually apply.

I scrambled home, limping and turned on my television, but instead of normal TV, I got some weird PSA. Mountain Dew Is not just the drink of choice For the concerting gentleman It is also, the perfect ambrosia For those looking to attract a companion All women are extremely aroused and attracted to men that drink mountain dew If you drink mountain dew, you'll be attractive too It tastes at least as good as drinking the moisture off a mountain But slightly better, due to the sugar and carbonation Some say Mountain Dew could save your life If it was the only thing standing between you and a knife The can would explode, but you'd be alright And there would be free residual mountain dew for everyone that night As for the thrower of the knife, he'll get his "due" In the form of a can chucked at his head (it makes a great weapon too.) Drink mountain dew, and you just might life forever The fountain of youth in a can? Never say never I mean you can't prove that mountain dew won't grant you immortality, At the same time, we can't prove it does, due to technical legality Mountain Dew, Mountain Dew For the emotional wreck Mountain Dew, Mountain Dew Like a noose around my neck Mountain Dew, Mountain Dew The drink of choice for an advertising exec Who lives in his car And just bounced a check

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