Dog For Sale
In Tennessee, a guy sees a sign in front of a house: “Talking Dog for Sale.”
He rings the bell and the owner tells him the dog is in the backyard.
The guy goes into the backyard and sees a black mutt just sitting there.
“You talk?” he asks.
“Yep,” the mutt replies.
“So, what’s your story?”
The mutt looks up and says, “Well, I discovered this gift pretty young and I wanted to help the government, so I told the CIA about my gift, and in no time they had me jetting from country to country, sitting in rooms with spies and world leaders, because no one figured a dog would be eavesdropping. I was one of their most valuable spies eight years running. The jetting around really tired me out, and I knew I wasn’t getting any younger and I wanted to settle down. So I signed up for a job at the airport to do some undercover security work, mostly wandering near suspicious characters and listening in. I uncovered some incredible dealings there and was awarded a batch of medals. Had a wife, a mess of puppies, and now I’m just retired.”
The guy is amazed. He goes back in and asks the owner what he wants for the dog.
The owner says, “Ten dollars.”
The guy says, “This dog is amazing. Why on earth are you selling him, so cheap?”
The owner replies, “He’s such a liar. He didn’t do any of that stuff.”
You might be a redneck if you’re late for your wedding because you were at a monster truck rally.
Kudzu is green, My dog’s name is Blue, And I’m so lucky to have a sweet thang like you.
Yore hair is like cornsilk, A-flapping in the breeze. Softer than Blue’s, And without all them fleas.
You move like the bass, Which excite me in May. You ain’t got no scales, But I luv you anyway.
You’re as graceful as okry, Jist a-dancin’ in the pan. Yo’re as fragrant as SunDrop, Right out of the can.
You have all yore teeth, For which I am proud; I hold my head high when we’re in a crowd.
On special occasions, when you shave yore armpits, Well, I’m in hawg heaven!
I’m plumb outta my wits. And speakin’ of wits, You’ve got plenty fer shore. ‘Cuz you married me, back in ’74.
Still them fellers at work, They all want to know, What I did to deserve such a purty, young doe.
Like a good roll of duct tape, Yo’re there fer yore man, To patch up life’s troubles, And stick ’em in the can.
Yo’re as strong as a four-wheeler, Racin’ through the mud, Yet fragile as that sanger, Named Naomi Judd.
Yo’re as cute as a junebug, A-buzzin’ overhead. You ain’t mean like no far ant, Upon which I oft’ tread.
Cut from the best pattern, Like a flannel shirt of plaid, You sparked up my life, Like a Rattletrap shad.
When you hold me real tight, Like a padded gunrack, My life is complete; Ain’t nuttin’ I lack.
Yore complexion, it’s perfection, Like the best vinyl sidin’. Despite all the years, Yore age, it keeps hidin’.
And when you get old, Like a ’57 Chevy, Won’t put you on blocks, And let grass grow up heavy.
Me ‘n’ you’s like a Moon Pie, With a RC cold drank, We go together; Like a skunk goes with stank.
Some men, they buy chocolate, For Valentine’s Day; They git it at Wal-Mart; It’s romantic that way.
Some men git roses, On that special day From the cooler at Kroger; “That’s impressive,” I say.
Some men buy fine diamonds, From a flea market booth. “Diamonds are forever,” They explain, suave and couth.
But for this man, honey, These will not do. For you are too special, You sweet thang you.
Christmas in West Virginia
Twas the Night before Christmas, and all through the shack
Not a creature was stirrin’, cept the lice on muh back.
The Skoal cans wuz nailed to the screen door with care,
With hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there.
The children were sleepin’, all snug in their beds,
While visions of tractor pulls danced in their heads.
And Ma in her nightgown all stained with pound cake.
Had just settled down to watch Ricki Lake.
When out in the driveway, a loud noise I heard,
I opened the winder to check muh T-bird.
I ran to the door, like I’s on a mission,
But I tripped on some parts from muh granny’s transmission.
The moon shone outside, the hound dog wuz barkin’.
Muh daughter weren’t home yet, she wuz still out parkin’.
When what to muh whiskey blind eyes should I see
But a Chevy S-10, pulled by eight flyin’ sheep.
With a fat nasty driver, so disgustin’ and sick
I said, “Shoot Fire! That must be St. Nick!
More rapid than X-lax his wooly sheep came
And he belched and he hollered, and he called ’em by name.
Now CLIFFORD! Now VERNON! Now LESTER and ENUS!
On FESTUS! On ELMER! On ROSCOE and CLETUS!
From the top of the shack to them there garbage bins
Now Dash Away! Dash Away! Dash Away youins!
I heard a loud sound on the roof of muh shack.
Pud down muh beer and went fer muh gun rack.
He fell through the roof, plum killed my dog,
I swear that ole’ Santa looked just like Boss Hog.
He wore a T-shirt, rebel flag on the front,
And his jeans were all bloody from that morning’s hunt.
A big nekkid lady tattooed on his arm,
And he wore black boots that he’d picked up in ‘Nam.
His eyes, how they glazed from too much Wild Turkey.
From the side of his mouth hung a stick of beef jerky.
A scar on his cheek from a fight with the cops.
The veins on his face looked ready to pop.
The butt of a Marlboro clung to his lip
He wore a hip pack full of B-B-Q chips.
He had a fat face and a hairy beer belly.
I ain’t seen one that big since muh ex-wife Shelly.
He was gap-toothed and dumb with an I.Q. of three
And I laughed cause that redneck was smarter than me.
A wink of his eye, a fierce shake of his head,
From his hair came a rat that ran under the bed.
He reached in his sack, sipped his gin and tonic,
Then filled the kid’s stockings with Hooked on Phonics.
His toys came from Big Lots and they weren’t very nice
But he had lots of them and yuh can’t beat the price.
He gave us a tape of them hound dogs that sing Jingle Bells.
Some Crisco, some Spam, some Oatmeal Cream pies,
And a Nascar T-shirt in Double X size.
When the presents were gone and he had no more,
He staggered and stumbled right through muh screen door.
He hopped in his truck, to his sheep gave an order
“Hurry up youins! To the Tennessee border!”
And I heard him cry out, with a strong southern drawl,
“MERRY CHRISTMAS, YOU REDNECKS! MERRY CHRISTMAS Y’ALL… YEE HAWWWW!
You might be a redneck if you’ve ever hit a deer with your car, deliberately!