In case you were wondering how Miley Cyrus is going to change things up in 2014, she’s not unless you count seeing how far up her vulva she can wedge her leotard without splitting herself into two. Which, now that I think about it, is why Justin Bieber exists, so forget I spoke. Anyway, I promised myself I’d try and make it as far into the New Year as I could without posting about Vadgity Chipmunk, so I brought in a guest writer. Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Jeff Foxworthy!
Folks, if you’re hootenanny has to be readjusted for drag, well, you just might be a redneck.
If your lady curtains… look like a hound dog’s ears… I may have just received information that you might be a redneck.
If I were to pick you up, throw you cooch-first against the wall, and watch you slowly roll down it like I got you out of a cereal box, there just might be a letter from your doctor that says you’re a redneck.
If your pappy… takes one look at you… and the first words out of his mouth are, “Shoot, baby doll, that ain’t near enough flappia majora,” I may have just been delivered confidential documents that say you might be a redneck.
I made millions of dollars doing nothing but this in the 90s. Your God is dead. G’night!