Redneck

The finals of the National Poetry Contest last year came down to two finalists. One was a San Francisco State University graduate from an upper-crust family; well-bred, well-connected and all that goes with it. The other finalist was a redneck from Texas A & M. Go figure.

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 San Francisco State 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
Destination -- Timbuktu.”

The audience went wild! How, they wondered if the redneck could 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”

Three cowboys were hanging out in a bar, discussing George W. Bush's visit to their ranch earlier that day.

"The funniest part," the first one said, "was when he kept trying to honk the cow's horns, complaining that they didn't work."

They laughed, and then the second cowboy said, "No, the best was when he asked if being a cowboy meant that I was half-cow."

They all laughed louder, and then the third cowboy said, "No, boys, the best was when he tried to milk that steer!"

Saturday
1:00 A.M. Alarm clock rings.
2:00 A.M. Hunting partners arrive, drag you out of bed.
2:30 A.M. Throw everything but kitchen sink in camper.
3:00 A.M. Leave for deep woods.
3:15 A.M. Drive back home and pick up gun.
3:30 A.M. Drive like mad to get to woods before daylight.
4:00 A.M. Set up camp—forgot the sleeping tent.
4:30 A.M. Head into woods.
6:05 A.M. See eight deer.
6:06 A.M. Take aim and squeeze trigger.
6:07 A.M. “CLICK”
6:08 A.M. Load gun while watching deer go over hill.
8:00 A.M. Head back to camp.
9:00 A.M. Still looking for camp.
10:00 A.M. Realize you don't know where camp is.
NOON Fire gun for help—eat wild berries.
12:15 P.M. Ran out of bullets—eight deer come back.
12:20 P.M. Strange feeling in stomach.
12:30 P.M. Realize you ate poison berries.
12:45 P.M. Rescued and rushed to hospital to have stomach pumped.
3:00 P.M. Arrive back at camp.
3:30 P.M. Leave camp to kill deer.
4:00 P.M. Return to camp for bullets.
4:01 P.M. Load gun—leave camp again.
5:00 P.M. Empty gun on squirrel that's bugging you.
6:00 P.M. Arrive at camp, see deer grazing in camp.
6:01 P.M. Load gun and fire.
6:02 P.M. One dead pick-up truck.
6:04 P.M. Hunting partner returns to camp dragging deer.
6:06 P.M. Repress strong desire to shoot partner.
6:07 P.M. Fall into fire.
6:10 P.M. Change clothes—throw burned ones into fire.
6:15 P.M. Take pick-up, leave partner and his deer in the woods.
6:25 P.M. Pick-up boils over hole shot in block.
6:26 P.M. Start walking, stumble and fall, drop gun in mud.
6:35 P.M. Meet bear and take aim.
6:37 P.M. fire gun—blow up barrel plugged with mud.
6:38 P.M. Dirty my pants.
6:39 P.M. Climb tree.
9:00 P.M. Bear departs, I wrap gun around tree.
MIDNIGHT Home at last.
Sunday
Following church services, watch ball game on T.V., slowly tear hunting license into pieces, place into envelope and mail to Game Warden promising God never to hunt again.

There once was a farmer who was raising 3 daughters on his own. He was very concerned about their well being and always did his best to watch out for them. As they entered their late teens the girls dated, and on this particular evening all three of his girls were going out on a date. This was the first time this had occurred. As was his custom, he would greet the young suitor at the door holding his shotgun, not to menace or threaten but merely to ensure that the young man knew who was boss.

The doorbell rang and the first of the boys arrived. Father answered the door and the lad said, "Hi, my name's Joe, I'm here for Flo. We're going to the show, is she ready to go?" The father looked him over and sent the kids on their way.

The next lad arrived and said, "My name's Eddie, I'm here for Betty, we're gonna get ome spaghetti, is she ready?" Father felt this one was okay too, so off the two kids went.

The final young man arrived and the farmer opened the door. The boy started off, "Hi, my name's Chuck… --" and the farmer shot him.