Sunday can be cruel on a Redneck

By on August 25, 2014
Redneck Sunday Gathering

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.

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