You know what makes me sick? You know what makes me so mad I just wanna put a great white shark in a baptism pool… so when the preacher crawls in there with a sinner – they’ll both need saving?
Yeah – today – I got a problem with Sundays. Sundays are tough days for rednecks.
That’s weird, huh? Because Sunday is a day of the weekend. Everybody should be happy on a weekend. But fact is – your weekly dose of Sunday can be cruel on a redneck.
First off you got to get up early and take your old lady to church. I know – sometimes I don’t sound like it – but we’re actual, honest, bonafide church people. That means I got to drag my sorry carcass out of bed with more than likely a squishy head from Saturday night. At which point – I got to set there and take two hours of haranguing from the preacher – who I swear looks straight at me when he’s talking about sinning. Hell – I give him credit for using the word ‘sinner’ and ‘damnation’… instead of just coming out and saying, ‘Earl.’
Then that’s over. Do you get to go home? No. If you’re a redneck – and it’s summertime… this means you’re going to spend the next four hours – ‘visiting’. ‘Visiting’ – is when you spend precious hours in the middle of a glorious day with dead-beat kin-folk of either yours – or your old lady’s. Your women love visiting. It’s like family-gossip catch-up day. Men set there in a lawn chair for four hours… nursing one long-neck and wondering what widowers are doing on such a fine afternoon. Then your old lady finally announces… ‘We got to go…’ That’s the man’s signal… you’ll be going – in about another hour and a half.
Then you finally get home. Sunday night. The worst TV night of the entire week. And another work week staring at you from across from seven hours of shut-eye. Yeah – who don’t love Sundays?
Wake up, America. I don’t know why they call Sunday – the Lord’s Day. It’s more like the Lord’s Morning… and then it’s all down-hill after that. I’m Earl Pitts, American… and Pitts Off.