Hey Sunday Besters! This is it… the BIG announcement we’ve been alluding to. WE WROTE (are writing) A BOOK! Skeeeeeew! Goddamn. This is why we’ve been so busy. Back to more political satire on the blog when this is over. In the mean time, check out our…
Here’s the OFFICIAL press release. Yuh – we got a press release for this shit.
Atria Books to Publish
THE LIBERAL REDNECK MANIFESTO: Draggin’ Dixie Outta the Dark
by Trae Crowder, Corey Ryan Forrester and Drew Morgan
(New York) – July 15, 2016. Atria Books today announced they will publish THE LIBERAL REDNECK MANIFESTO by political satirists and stand-up comedians Trae Crowder, Corey Ryan Forrester and Drew Morgan and on October 4. A recent viral sensation, Trae’s Liberal Redneck videos have had more than 50 million views — watched and championed not just by Southerners but by people everywhere craving a common-sense approach to issues like race, religion, LGBT rights, and gun control. Trae, Drew and Corey are currently in the middle of a sold-out 18-city comedy tour.
“We have some things to say about the New South and how to get there. We care about this place and its people and its place in the world, “ say the authors. “For Southerners, this book is a call to action for change and a chance for us to laugh at ourselves. For those outside the South, it’s part carny side-show, part case for the South as one of the richest sources of American culture, and part wake-up call that our problems and our dreams aren’t that far off from the rest of America’s. And it’s also a chance to laugh at us, with us, for us, however you want. We can take it. We encourage it. We’ve taken plenty worse over the generations (most of it self-inflicted), so much so that it’s only helped hone our proud tradition of Southern humor and storytelling as a way to pass the time, feel better, and make a point or two when absolutely necessary.”
The book includes their New South Bill of Wrongs – a take on the Bill of Rights for a New South where everyone gets along better — and the Ten Commandments of the South: thou shalt not put your God above everyone else’s life and rights; thou shalt not make bad music and call it “country,” “southern,” “blues,” “dirty south,” or “hick hop;’ thou shalt not live off the government if you can help it.
Atria Vice President, Senior Editor Leslie Meredith acquired world rights from Amy Hughes at Dunow, Carlson & Lerner Agency, and will edit the book, which will also be available as an audiobook from Simon & Schuster Audio.
“The Liberal Redneck Manifesto’s authors have a unique talent for biting satire that skewers political absurdities and social hypocrisy – wrapped up in an urgent call for reason and common sense — all while making you roar with laughter,” says Meredith.
Pre-sale links and information on the authors can be found at:
We’ve been told that pre-sales of the book are pretty damn important. If you go to our website you can choose from a list of retailers and get the hard cover, digital or audio version and you’ll be the first to get it October 4th!
We have a new YouTube channel to post videos from the tour, us goofing around, book promo and other media appearances. Of course each of us will continue to upload on Facebook as well, but sometimes those posts get missed because of algorhythms and some such nonsense. Here’s few links to our stand up, please feel free to subscribe & share because our manager said we should tell people to do that.
Trae’s stand up: They Don’t Know About Butter Tubs?
Corey’s stand up: The Sanctity of Marriage
Drew’s stand up: Mexicans Taking Carnies Jobs
This week we went up to Kentucky and Ohio and did shows in Lexington, Louisville, Akron and Columbus. Y’all came out in droves and the shows were super fun. We know that people in Kentucky had a choice of how to spend y’alls time and money this weekend between wellRED, Forecastle (a dope music festival), and this super hittin Biblically-accurate land boat. We’re so glad you chose to hang out with us. Seriously.
Our show at Musica in Akron was planned a couple months ago as a refuge from all the RNC mess. More on that later this week. We had a buddy in town and he was nice enough to surprise everyone and drop in on the show. He also brought a friend. That’s right, our favorite Daily Show correspondent ROY WOOD JR. and RONNY CHIENG…
Roy is a goddamn genius and put together this rap song made entirely from Donald Trump quotes. It’s incredible. Do yourself a favor…
Ronny Cheing is hilarious and absolutely crushed on our show in Akron. Here’s one of our favorite Daily Show clips with Ronny: America’s Voting Machines Are F**ked
As always, we stayed to meet fans after each show. Here’s a small sample of photos we pulled from you on Twitter. Again, we know we have said this before but truly, performing for people who specifically came to see us is the highest honor and it just hits so damn hard. All of us feel super lucky. Especially since our shows are full of hilarious, red ass liberals like us. Really proud of the diversity in age, race, gender, sexuality and sweatiness of our people. You are some seriously gorgeous rednecks.
Our book is due to the publisher on August 1st, so we’re gonna get busy putting pen to paper and resting up for the next leg of the wellRED tour. Here’s the schedule as it stands today but MANY cities will be added, so please go to wellREDcomedy.com to buy tickets and check the schedule.
Hey Sundy Besters! (It’s Monday, we know. We’re sorry).
First of all, let us say that we once again find ourselves in a position where being funny feels inappropriate and challenging, even for the CHO (Corey is the Chief Hittin’ Officer). Our country has suffered terrible tragedy once again last week with the unnecessary deaths and senseless shootings of both civilians and policemen. Not real sure what we have got to do to put a stop to all this, but it damn sure ain’t more hate and more guns… just can’t be.
To all police officers: stop treating black people like criminals… they are not all thugs… and they are not a threat to you. If you can’t understand that, go work somewhere else – you aren’t fit to be a cop. We love this video by Officer Nakia Jones, please take time to watch and share: Realest Officer In The Game
Also, this is a FB post by Drew, who if you don’t know, used to be a Public Defender:
To all people: Black lives matter.
To everyone upset right now: being open minded goes both ways… not all cops are racist assholes who want to shoot you. It’s totally understandable to be upset, but if that’s how you treat all police, you are essentially guilty of the same kind of narrow-minded assery that you accuse them of. Stop that.
We have got to get better, folks. It starts with each of us individually. Hell, treat everyone like you’d treat your momma. That ourt work.
OK…. Now on to something a bit lighter…
THIS WEEK WAS AWESOME!!!!!!
We’ve been traveling around this great country for the better part of a decade, hocking jokes in dingy bars and dreaming of the day we would all be able to tour together. We dreamed of performing for our own fans and being paid enough to afford more than a double cheeseburger split three ways (do NOT let CoFo do the splitting if you want your fair shake).
This past week’s leg of the tour landed us in in 4 great southern cities:
Asheville, NC – New Mountain Asheville
Charlotte, NC – The Warehouse Theater
Raleigh, NC – The Pour House
Chattanooga, TN – The Comedy Catch
As per usual (our new usual), wellRED fans did not disappoint… we cannot stress to you enough how great our fans are individually and collectively. We met people who drove several hours to see us. We met people who were seated together at tables and became new friends. We had offers to come to a mini-horse farm (thank you, Tara) and hundreds of messages offering home cooked meals, BBQ and places to stay. Our fans roll cans of pork and beans at us during the show, they make us custom t-shirt designs, and hell… sometimes they bring us fried chicken! We have posed for hundreds of pictures after shows, drank way too many free drinks and none of that love is lost on any of us. We love you all back so very much.
Love is what we ourt be talking about right now… cause that’s the only thing gonna keep us sane in these insane times we are living. Assholes be ware, love is free and it’s everywhere. See, we have had a lot of people curious at the fact that we are doing shows in North Carolina this year due to our collective stance on some of their awful and discriminatory laws, several of which passed just this year. While we understand where you are coming from we know that love is free and it’s the only cure for assholes. When Springsteen decided to cancel shows in NC and a lot of other famous artists followed suit, it made a statement. A statement that needed to be made: Hittin’ ass people do not support your backwards ass bathroom laws ya crazy fuckheads.
And neither do we, but one thing we also don’t support is the notion that a couple of assholes represent an entire group of people. I mean, that’s KIND OF what this tour is all about… ya know? We are attempting to prove that every southerner is not some Mt. Dew swilling, child-beating, fried-food-eating (Ok, but on occasion Hell yeah) toothless sumbitch. So it would be pretty hypocritical of us to deny North Carolina some fun ass shows on account of a bunch of old white assholes who are scared of everything that isn’t old and white.
If the hundreds of people we’ve met this week are any indication, discrimination is definitely NOT heralded as a unanimous practice in The Tar Heel State. Add that to the fact that they have some of the most choice BBQ in the country and , well, some of y’all need to reconsider your stance on these folk.
Night 1- Asheville – New Mountain
It was insane to have to sold out shows in one of our favorite cities, especially since we were just there not even 6 weeks ago. Thanks to our buddy Jeff Messer at iHeart Radio, we once again got to screw around on his radio show. If you are reading this blog carefully, you should listen to Jeff’s show where we give fans the tip off to an upcoming big announcement:
Corey’s girlfriend and Drew’s wife came out to help us sell merch and otherwise prove to everyone that we are some of the luckiest idiots on the planet. We ate brunch twice, went to a sweet dance club and listened to EDM whilst drinking PBR – just so we could stay red. An all around swell time… shows hit too. Thanks Matteo, Auburn and the whole crew at New Mountain.
Night 2- Charlotte – The Warehouse
We quickly sold out two shows in a small new theater in Cornelius called the Warehouse. Thanks to Bob Maier, the shows were off the chain and we met some super cool people. Including Patrick Hardin, a fan who designed the Carny Handed Mango Man graphic we are now selling as a shirt. Wish we could have played for more people, so definitely looking to come back soon!
Night 3 – Raleigh- The Pourhouse
Can’t say enough good things about this sweet ass rock hall. They really know how to have a good time in Raleigh. We all genuinely felt like rock stars. From the staff to the fans to the great beer, it couldn’t have been a better experience. Thank you Adam and all the truly supportive fans in Raleigh – we are working on dates to come back before the end of the year.
We also got to spend the day eating fried chicken and swimming with a bunch of good buddies and business partners in Raleigh, so it was hard to drag our asses to the show. Trae was passed out in the kitchen an hour before the performance.
Night 4- Chattanooga- The Comedy Catch
This one was an especially awesome night for us. The Comedy Catch is where CoFo started doing comedy over a decade ago (yes, he was sneaking in when he was 16). The Comedy Catch is also the place where all 3 of us really became friends. Performing two sold out shows in their brand new room in front of family and friends was truly something none of us will ever forget.
Love each other, Y’all – it’s the only way to make this world a better place for everrrybody. We’ll see ya out there on the road.
Lots of new dates added to the tour and even more + BIG news on July 15th:
Hot damn, you guys! This past week has been just plum ON FIRE! Seriously can’t thank the good folks of Washington DC and New York City enough.
If we are being honest, wasn’t too sure how the folks above the Mason Dixon were gonna take to the wellRED boys…. I mean, sure.. We’ve all performed outside the South individually, but this package deal we got going is pretty in-your-face Red assery (I mean hell, we read books and shit, but still!)
Turns out, there are liberal rednecks everywhere and we are super happy to know that. SOLD OUT both shows and had some of the best crowds any of us have encountered over the years.
The first night in DC was something special because… Y’all… MIKE FUCKING BIRBIGLIA came to the show!
After we talked to literally every single sumbitch that was at the show, we hopped back in the Jeep and headed to NYC.
We got to New York thinking we was gonna have time to butt with all our old friends (butt means “to hang out”) but alas, duty called. Trae was a guest on Tell Me Everything with John Fugelsang Channel 121. Then we had a few meetings with Sirius XM. Holy shit, y’all.
The meetings hit and we even got to fuck with there extremely hittin coffee room. Shout out to Jack Vaughn who was cool as hell.
After all that mess, we headed over to Gotham. A literal legendary club that dumbasses like us just get to hang out in. Hits.
The show couldn’t have gone better and all of our New York comedian buddies came out to see us!!! (Probably cause we let their sorry asses in for free)
For all of us here at The wellRED Tour… this was a landmark week in our careers. We are over the moon happy and feel so blessed that y’all let us talk about politics and ding dongs. There’s another run of SOLD OUT shows net week in NC. We told ya there’s good folks out there and you ain’t alone in your beliefs.
Please check back to wellREDcomedy.com for future dates. We really wanna see yuns on the road! There’s a national tour in the works for Fall and we are busy getting our ducks in a row before the big announcement in a few weeks.
Corey here once again. I really wish I didn’t have to be coming to you all like this, but we’ve had another bad week in the Forrester household. If you have kept up with me at all in my career, then you are probably familiar with my Granny Bain. She was the best person I ever met, the light of my life, and my best friend for 28 years. On June 21st, 2016 around 1:30 pm, my sweet Granny Bain took her last breath. I was there.. And I saw it.
If I’m being honest, I can’t really bring myself to write about it at the moment (though I assure you I will later). Until then, I will leave you with the Eulogy my father wrote for Granny Bain.
I couldn’t have said it better myself.. I hope you enjoy.
The Eulogy of Edna Bain: By Dale Forrester
It was a typical southern mid-July day in north Georgia …cloudless skies, humidity as thick as syrup and screen doors slamming up and down streets of small wood framed houses as folks fought the heat and the flies and the leftovers of a depression that seemed to hang over the south much longer than other parts of the country, as if it was even further payback for the audacity of that War Between the States.
It’s July 12, 1939 to be exact.
This day a lady is bedded down …the agonizing, yet beautiful birth process has begun at one of those houses over on McFarland on the outskirts of the Fairview community. Like she has done five other times in her life, Della is in labor, the results of each of those previous episodes can be seen and heard, scattered about the house.
Five girls … the oldest, fourteen year old Dot is offering help in any way she can, while twelve year old Jean is charged with the duties of warming water.
Soon, word reaches over to the Potter house, a house that sits less than a scream away just around the corner on Schmidt Road …Della’s on the nest and the Potter’s soon to be nineteen year old daughter excitedly scampers over to the Thompson’s to witness the event.
Within hours, yet another baby is welcomed into the home of George & Della Thompson …the sixth daughter in a row …this one they will call Jeri Sue. Yes, eighteen old Edna Potter was there …she seemingly saw it all. And why not, she was that close to the whole family.
Within a year Edna would meet the one and we are all quite sure THE ONLY Harvey Bain. I will not add the word thankfully even though a great many would laughingly say so. Harvey was Sand Mountain born and raised, a strikingly good looking man …and although 13 years her senior, they somehow found common ground. Edna was smitten. A courtship ensued and soon in April of 1941, Edna said I do and so they did. The beginning of a 52 year marriage. A son, Larry would follow in 1943.
Ah yes, childbirth.
Now, in Edna’s mind you could go ahead and use ALL the spiritual and poetic words and phrasings you want to muster up to describe it, but as far as she was concerned, she had learned most all she needed to know about this so-called blessed event and therefore felt absolutely no need, one whatsoever to experience it again in this and/or any other lifetime for that matter.
The families never lost touch. Somehow folks could do that back in those days without fancy smart phones, Facebook, Twitter and other various social medias. You just “kept up” as they used to say.
My dad used to talk about his aunt Laura Mae who could step out onto her front porch over on Salem Road when he was a kid and holler for her son Butch to come on home for supper. Dad swore the noise that supposedly emitted from her lungs actually came from a region just a little bit further south and could pierce through the trees and slice throughout that hollow over there reaching as far north as St. Elmo a good 2-3 miles away. Looking back, I guess you could say she invented the Instant Message, but just never got the credit she so richly deserved. It’s often that the pioneer simply does not receive their due.
It’s now 1953, and Edna is working at the old Rhyne Pharmacy on Chickamauga Avenue in Rossville. She was a hard worker, but she lacked confidence in herself. As the story goes, one day she is waiting on a customer, a customer that she had waited on many times before, Mr. Ronald Shankles. Yes, the Mr. Shankles who just happened to be the branch manager at the American National Bank across the street.
“Edna, would you like to work with us at the bank? We’re needing another teller.” …he mentioned to her as she counted out his change.
I’m quite sure this startled Edna. I mean an important man like Mr. Shankles offering her not just a job, but a position.
“Mr. Shankles, I couldn’t do a job like that …I only have an eighth grade education.” she replied.
“Edna, you wait on customers, you fill their orders, you take their money, you give them their change …you’re very qualified to work for us.”
Mr. Shankles was a very wise man.
That next Monday, Edna began her new job as a teller at American National Bank, a position she would hold for the next 29 years. A teller, who would eventually take over the drive-thru duties. A job that would make her instantly noticeable to thousands of folks in the community over the years …”Why that’s Ms. Bain from the bank” folks would say. In keeping with her new found celebrity, Edna seemingly felt the need to keep the same hairstyle and glasses for pretty much the rest of her life …you know, so her fans could more easily recognize her. While other folks hair over the years would often times turn various shades of white, gray, silver and blue, Edna’s hair always kept that slight auburn tint all her days, Yep, in a world of constant change, somehow Edna remained ageless and her adoring public loved her for it. She would be offered promotions over the years at the bank but would always turned them down …she liked doing exactly what she did and she was good at it …it brought her a sense of pride and customers often let her know how much they appreciated her.
It’s now 1959 and later that year Edna’s loving son Larry would turn 16. A sweet but an inquisitive and oh so slightly mischievous sixteen year old Larry Bain …some would say he was about to hit his prime. Now, I have heard many stories about those days and after asking around, I have found most of them to be absolutely true. Somehow through all those years, Edna not only kept her faith and her mind, but her hair color as well. All his days Larry simply could do no wrong in her eyes.
This day in 1959 it was a cold January morning when the baby girl that Edna witnessed entering this world a little over 19 years before, gives birth to her own child, a son. Word reaches Edna and she undoubtedly thinks back to those Fairview days and how she can’t wait to see that baby boy.
Weeks later, Jerrie made her very first appearance at Edna’s teller window with her baby boy in tow. A soon to be ritual they would continue most each and every Monday for several years to come.
Oh what a night, late December back in ’63 …it’s the day after Christmas when Larry and his new wife are blessed with the birth of their first child …a beautiful girl they will name Laura Beth. Yes, their first child, but more importantly for Edna it would be her very first grandchild. She took to her immediately like a young girl to a Christmas morning baby doll.
Two and a half years later another granddaughter Leslie would be added to Edna’s collection …followed by her first grandson, Jordan. Often times they would all visit Edna and many times Laura would simply not want to leave. Other times Laura would simply be taken to stay with Edna for periods of time. Life was complicated. Laura would tell you that her entire life she felt a bond with Edna as if she belonged with her. Larry’s marriage would end in divorce and Laura’s visits with Edna became more frequent to the point where a decision was made. Laura would come live with Edna …the year was 1969 when five year old Laura would come to live with 49 year old Edna and 62 year old Harvey. A few years later in 1973, Edna officially adopted Laura.
Larry would eventually remarry and he and Linda would later welcome Edna’s final grandchild Jennifer into the world.
Now, back in the seventies downtown Rossville was still a booming shopping district. Four women’s clothing stores, The Frances Shop, the Personality, LaDean and the Joann Shop as well as Miller Brothers. Edna frequented them all and dressed Laura up in the latest fashions. Laura was her baby and she dressed her like her baby doll.
She also encouraged her somewhat brief athletic endeavors on the softball fields of Fort Oglethorpe, but found her true calling when she heard the first musical note emit from the lungs of her precious daughter. Fire up the ol console stereo and toss on some Dean Martin, Jim Reeves and an Elvis album or two (oh yes and don’t let me leave out Edna’s favorite, the one and only Faron Young) and let Laura perfect her style. Soon, the prettiest alto in all of Fort Oglethorpe was ready to make her stage debut. Granted that stage was initially just the living room there at 406 Forest Road to whatever company …be it family, friends or possibly even an unsuspecting door to door salesman that passed by. These impromptu concerts were many times against Laura’s will, and often accompanied by the piano stylings of one Edna Bain. Soon, Laura was singing in church and the pride that ran across Edna’s face could simply not be removed. Laura was growing into a beautiful young lady and Edna made sure she also dressed the part …toss in the big hair and stardom surely awaited her. God bless big hair. If there had only been an American Idol show back then …well, who knows.
Aunt Pauline once said this of Edna …”I’ll tell you right now, Edna might walk out the front door butt naked, but she won’t walk out without her face done.” I am here to bear witness that Edna Bain passed that admirable trait onto her daughter.
It’s January of 1980 and I’m riding down the road with Robbie Robertson, the same Robbie Robertson sitting right there. We’re cruising along in his Jeep when he begins telling me about a girl he has gone out with a couple of times and how she’s a “church girl” …I’m sure I did a double take on that line. He then tells me her name and I already knew her …still he was adamant that I go to church with him the next Sunday to see her and watch her play the piano. Reluctantly, that very next Sunday I walked through the doors of Shiloh Baptist Church and there she sat up front slapping that keyboard in ways I had never heard in a church house as folks milled about hugging and laughing with each other just before the service would commence. We had found us a seat near the back on the left hand side and thankfully I knew quite a few guys there. I was still a little nervous and about to sit down when the room suddenly and with absolutely no warning switched to a super slow motion mode and I swear at the same time someone turned a fan on and pointed toward the front right side of the building just as a strikingly attractive girl went sashaying by like something out of a Cover Girl commercial …she was wearing a sweater dress and had hair that reached clean upward toward Jesus. She made her way up and found her place in the choir.
My lord, why haven’t I been going to church over these last few years?
No, I remember nothing of the service. But this I do remember distinctly. After the service, Robbie and I were talking with some buddies and were about to head out the door when I noticed a lady walking up to me.
It was Edna Arlene Potter Bain in the flesh. This time there was no six inch green tinted piece of glass between us …this time it was not a Monday …this time I wasn’t that little boy with his trusty Roy Rogers six shooters standing up in the back seat of that red Plymouth holding her up and demanding a sucker which she gave to me by the hundreds all those years many times faking fear at the very sight of this tough hombre who was robbing the bank of their sweet goodies.
…and this time I was not sitting in the car with my mom …Jerrie Sue.
I remember Edna reached out and gave me a big ol hug. I can remember it feeling like that favorite aunt that I hadn’t seen in awhile. She then turned to the side revealing someone standing behind her …why it’s Ms Sweater Dress.
“I want you to meet my daughter …Laura”
I GUARANTEE those were her exact words. Stunned, I reached out and shook her hand. I absolutely remember nothing else other than for some strange reason there were all these animated birds, they appeared out of nowhere and they were happily dancing and chirping as they floated around her head and they were accompanied by the most beautiful harp music ….I distinctly remember being shocked that someone around there even knew how to play a harp. Looking back I know it seems rather odd, but I’m telling you to the best of my recollection it happened just like that. Go figure.
Well, obviously, either the soul stirring message delivered by Rev Paul O’Neal that morning had made a huge impression on me or perhaps it was the piano playing, but for some reason I simply could not wait to revisit the house of the Lord once again that night. I’m sure I was thinking that maybe He would like me to perhaps wear my new silk shirt and for good measure toss on an extra splash of cologne as well. I probably sweetly asked mom if she could do a once over with the iron on my bell bottom jeans also.
Believe it or not, I became a faithful attender of any and all services at Shiloh Baptist church. I even made sure I was one of the first in the door to see those Missionaries slide shows on Wednesday nights. I couldn’t get enough.
I was totally convinced that this girl with the big hair and the nice dresses was totally out of my league and would not dare be seen with a heathen like myself. I was also somewhat convinced that she was possibly a figment of my imagination cause I went home and told mama about seeing Edna at church and meeting her daughter I was immediately informed that Edna didn’t have a daughter, she had a son Larry but did not have a daughter. Daddy backed up the story. Was she real? Was this all a big setup to pull one over on me? I was totally intimidated …it didn’t help that she sat up front there with Edna at each and every service much like a Mama Hen watching out over her prized baby chick. My gosh, they were church royalty and I was a simple commoner.
Various folks in the church were egging me on …”ask her out” …”I don’t think she’s dating anyone” …”she’s 18, I think she’s a freshman in college” …”she won’t say no, well maybe if you ask her out for a second date …but I’ll bet she’ll go out with you one time.” Such encouraging words.
Finally, after six weeks I worked up the courage to ask her out. With my heart pounding I dialed, yes with a rotary dial mind you ….866-6877. I asked her if she’d like to go to a Youth Revival at Rossville High School the upcoming Tuesday night. Against all odds and perhaps out of sheer curiosity she said yes.
That night went well (at least I thought so, you may want to get her opinion) …as a treat, I took her to the Wendy’s on Brainerd Road for a late supper. We sat out in a lonely dining room there …just us and a policeman sitting a few tables over and to the middle of the room.
Nervously I asked, “well how are you liking college”
“I’m not in college yet”
Immediately I realized my well placed sources had been misinformed.
“Oh, so you haven’t decided on college yet.”
“No, I’m still in high school”
I took a deep swallow and then said, “You’re a senior in high school?”
That next bite of my cheeseburger didn’t go down very well at all, but I finally worked up the words ….
“You’re a junior in high school?”
She looked right at me and said ….”No”.
This 21 year old was now in a total state of shock, but I was working hard to keep it together. Sweat is appearing on my forehead and I’m looking for the nearest exit
I once more swallowed deeply and said …”You’re a sophomore in high school?”
Finally thank God she shook her head yes.
It was at that very moment that I knew this was it for me …the policeman was already there …I’m sure he was almost through with his meal …one more sip of that Frosty and he could go ahead and cuff and stuff me and I’d still have time to be on the 11:00 news.
We made it out the side door and headed home. It was only a five year difference but it may as well have been 20 years at the time …I didn’t know what to talk about anymore …hey, whats your favorite Saturday cartoon?Yea me too. Love me some Scooby Doo. I didn’t have much game to start with but what I had got tossed with the rest of the trash in the garbage can at that Wendy’s. To this day I can’t eat their chili.
I got her home walked her to the front door …shook her hand, kissed her on the cheek and left Forest Road as quickly as I could.
I told no one …well, except for Robbie …he wasn’t listening anyway …he had the piano player on his mind.
That next Sunday night as I was about to leave church, Laura walked up to me and thanked me for the date and then she said these four words …four words which change everything and alter the course of my life to this very day.
“Mama made a Cheesecake.”
What else could I do …you may as well have put a gun to my head …I had no choice.
Every Sunday night …there would be a Cheesecake or sometimes an Egg Custard Pie …there would always be something. Being the southern gentleman that I am, I felt obligated to drop by even if that meant at times waking up from a sugar coma on the love seat at three in the morning and driving home.
I went from being a fairly thin guy to having a new found roll around my stomach …my gosh that Edna Bain could make a cheesecake.
The pretty girl in the sweater dress and I would marry in September of 1985 on the hill at Shiloh Baptist somewhat looking over McFarland Avenue where in 1939 it had all began.
Our son Corey would be born in 1987, followed by Kirby in 1990. Mom would pass away in 1993, followed by Harvey just a few months later. My dad would pass in 1996 and finally Larry in 2004. Edna stayed on to help us. Her love and devotion to Corey and Kirby could only be equalled by her undying love for Laura.
Edna kept an almost permanent smile all her years …you seemingly could feel it without even looking her way. She was appreciative of anything …and my gosh that woman had a great sense of humor. Even over these past few years as her mind started failing her and her memories would rapidly leave, I could still throw zingers out at her and she would belly laugh like only she could. You would sometimes have to holler to get the words to her while other times she could hear you speak under your breath. When other family members tired of my humor and story telling I could always count on Edna to be my best audience.
She would often not recognize people …but I’m proud to say that each and every time I visited her I was met with a smile and the following words …
“Well there’s ol’ Dale!” that would be followed soon with “Is that a new shirt?” That same question was asked of me hundreds of times over the years. She would repeat over and over to me each and every time I visited the nursing home.
Edna, for the record …this is a brand new shirt.
I was a spectator to it all these past months …I watched Kirby fix her hair and pluck chin whiskers while telling her how much she loved her …I watched Corey make her laugh and see the glow on her face just to have him step into the room and I watched Laura show patience and strength as she dealt with the day to day needs and other times I saw the roles reversed …the daughter became the mother.
Laura, Corey, Kirby I could not have been prouder.
I watched in these final months when at times Edna might not quite realize who Laura was at first …that’s when Laura would lean over very slowly and softly hold her cheeks with her hands and simply say ….”You’re my mother” ….and Edna would light up as only she could and look up at her and say …
“…and you’re my girl.”
Laura, to the very end she never forgot.
Oh, I wish you could have seen those moments.
I have watched many, many times as Laura would explain this seemingly somewhat complicated parental situation …”she’s my grandmother but ….”
I too have explained it countless times as well as if to be apologetic …as if to say “well she’s not really her mother, she’s actually her grandmother …but …”
Earlier this week a nurse came into Edna’s room and was kinda taken aback when she found out that Laura was the daughter.
I said …”well, did you explain it to her?”
She simply and proudly said …”No.”
Let it be known and let it be shouted to the world that today we are burying Edna Arlene Potter Bain, the mother of Laura Beth Bain Forrester.
Yes, today we will say goodbye to Laura’s mother, let there be no more confusion on that.
Shame on me for thinking less and ever thinking otherwise.
It’s as if Laura has lived her life with an imaginary asterisk beside her name …but no more.
Over the past year, Edna would often complain that her people never come see her and she continually spoke of wanting to see her mother and going to see her mother …a mother who died 46 years ago. Laura would remind her at first.
“Mama, your people all gone.”
Finally, she didn’t explain it anymore, there was just no need… She would simply say “they dropped by and you’ve just forgotten.” Or, “I bet they’ll be coming by soon.”
Now, I believe what I believe …and I’m of the belief she closed her eyes here for the last time on Tuesday
…but I also believe she opened back up and there they were ….at last
Wayne, I believe they were all there waiting ….Marvin, Charles, Frank, Mack and Gordon …Nettie and Irene. Their mom and dad …believe it or not, I feel Harvey and Larry are close by as well.
They’re still laughing and singing and hugging all with new bodies ….and one more thing
….they’re all wearing brand new shirts.
God Bless you Edna.
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Hey Sundy-Besters! Corey here..
Gave the boys a break this Sunday so that I could hop on here and ramble about a few things that have happened in the past week. First off, would like to say that we are still deeply saddened by the events that transpired in Orlando. This is a tragedy that had a ripple effect throughout our country for many different reasons. Of course it was immediately politicized. Of course there was continued bigotry from religious nutbags. Of course there was a litany of facebook arguments – and look, most of that is to be expected, and for the most part, is (unfortunately) quite natural for us here in the good ole United States.
I’m not even going to act like I didn’t participate in my normal back and forth with my gun-crazy friends on social media. I did. That all changed for me, however, when I saw Anderson Cooper’s piece on the tragedy (watch it here). Anderson did what no one else covering the story had yet to do; he mentioned their names, he showed their faces, and he told their stories. It was as powerful as it was sensitive. It served to remind us that when something like this happens, before we start politicizing, before we jump down someone’s throat on Facebook for promoting a different agenda than ours, before we write our congressman, we need to take a step back and remember that these are people just like us. These are people who loved and were loved.
I find it a bit easier to keep that in perspective this week because I have also faced a personal loss: my cousin. Well, ok… before I get ahead of myself… he wasn’t really my cousin.. But y’all know how the South is… his family has treated me like family my whole life and then his first cousin married my sister, so yeah.. we were cousins. Well, my cousin passed away last week. He was only 24 years old. Whenever something goes down like this – at least in the South – two things happen:
1.) Everyone cries and asks God why this has happened.
2.) Every woman in town preheats her oven and gets to whooping up a casserole.
I got the call at around 6:45 AM. It was my sister calling, so as soon as I noted the time, I was very aware that something was wrong (the last time my sister was up before 11 am on a weekend was to watch the Royal Wedding). I answered the phone like I always do when I get an unexpected call from someone in my family: “Is it granny?”. Holding back tears she said, “No, it’s Joey.” I threw my britches on (ok, squeezed into them), brushed my teeth, and headed to Mama’s house (I went upstairs). By the time I got home, my sister was already in the kitchen with a cake in the oven and sausage dip on the stove top. A few hours and coffees later, we made it over to Joey’s mama’s house. There was banana nut bread in the oven and all sorts of snack trays laid out on the kitchen island for the family. Death is the only factor in a situation like this that could prevent me from skeew-ing* out of pure food joy. Cars pulled in and cars pulled out, offering condolences and pies. Half the women in the family were busy for most of the day huddled around the stove. I expect partly for necessity (grief begets calories), but perhaps a large part for comfort themselves (it’s harder to cry around gravy).
The way we handle funerals in a small southern town is something else. The entire community comes together in a swarm of pot pies, chicken fingers, crock pot dishes, and tears (or as we call it, “boo hooing”). It’s amazing how organized it all becomes in a manner of hours. It’s almost as if there is a secret Mamaw meeting every week where they plan for it like a fire drill. If you are not from the south and would like some tips on how to handle a funeral like us slack-jawed simpletons, I have gone out of my way this week to list a few things you will need:
- A whole mess of them tin foil 9”x12” casserole pans: If the mourning festivities are going down at your house, you can just use your Fiestaware or Le Creuset; but if you are traveling with it you really don’t want to risk it getting lifted by Meemaw Doris and having her plead ignorance when you call her up a week later to ask for it back… I’ve been there far too many times.
- LOCATE THE CRAZY AUNT: Really can’t stress this one enough. A death, and subsequently, the funeral can be a very difficult thing. In the south, we are not ashamed to admit that we are drinkers. However, it remains uncouth in the land of Baptists and fried chicken to rock up to a memorial service with a 30 rack of ice cold beer. No worries.. Your crazy aunt will have a flask. And Drugs. Drugs hit when you’re sad (tell your kids).
- The “friend” who everyone is pretty sure only came because they are an attention whore: As disrespectful as someone who barely knew the deceased parading themselves around the funeral home making everything about themselves can seem, it’s actually a necessary evil for the southern funeral. You see, if there is one thing southerners like more than pork chop biscuits and pissing on a tree, it’s talking shit about people (this applies double to southern women). Standing in the back of the funeral home near the kitchen while eating those damp-ass ham sandwiches that have been left in a bag in the fridge since the visitation, it’s not uncommon to hear things such as, “Who the fuck does she think she is?” or, “She aint know him like that!” or even more often, “I don’t give a shit what she says, that aint his god damn baby!”. Outbursts like this can be very cathartic and provide a much needed distraction. A brief respite from your agony.
- The kid you ain’t seen since he was 9 who is now 14 and just fucking sucks: Ain’t nothing throws a stick in ya spokes when you are trying to have an adult conversation quite like a smelly, pizza-faced, 8th grader coming up to the cool kids corner trying to brag about how he smokes cigarettes now. Hell, we know, Bryson… you stole em from momma’s make up bag… we seen ya. Now go home and try something else for the first time – deodorant! But before your sorry ass leaves, let’s get a few things straight: Jordan is better than Lebron, your rap music sucks, Michael Keaton is fucking Batman, and no one gives a shit about your god damn SnapChat. Now run along and get bit by something.
- The Uncle wearing a two toned Garth Brooks shirt and Bolo Tie: Here’s a guy whose idea of dressing up is throwing a coat of shine on his snakeskin boots and tucking his shirt into his black jeans… often accidentally into his underwear, as well (which we forgive, shit like that requires practice). Smelling of full-flavored cigarettes and Mennen’s ‘Lectric Shave”, he walks his bowlegged ass straight to the plethora of grieving women sitting cross legged on the decorative funeral home couches and in a brief moment of lust, completely forgets he is related to them. Between bragging about the fish he (allegedly) caught yesterday, and contemplating aloud which Keith Whitley song he will be soaking panties with at karaoke this weekend, he steps outside to smoke a cigarette and finds time to give all the boys valuable life advice on how to crush ass and what they ourt do in order to make a little extra scratch. This coming from a guy whose divorces are only outnumbered by how many times he has been laid off…. this year. But as he repeatedly told us, that’s Obama’s fault.
There are several other things I could list here, but sometimes it’s best to find them out organically. Also, don’t say the word “organically” at a southern funeral… or just in the south as a rule. People will think you are a super-barista trying to take their guns and force their daughters to date black guys.
I mentioned food several times there, so it would be rude of me to leave you hanging without tossing y’uns a couple of foolproof recipes to be used in the event of a funeral, or just anytime you have to toss something together real quick. These are from my mama, Laura Lou:
Laura Lou’s Pimento Cheese –
This was a staple at my family bakery back in the day and something I still find myself throwing together at least once or twice a month (Quit dying, yall).
What you will need:
- A pound of shredded sharp cheddar (You can grate it yourself, but hell, you’re grieving. Don’t feel obligated)
- 8 oz of cream cheese (softened at room temperature for a bit)
- One a them little jars of diced Pimentos
- A couple peppadew peppers (minced)
- Mayonnaise (Dukes or GTFO. Also, they ain’t really a need for measurements here… this is all contingent on the consistency you prefer)
- Garlic Powder, Onion Powder, Celery Salt, Tony Chachere’s Original Creole Seasoning, Sea salt, Cracked Black Pepper, Sriracha, Honey (didn’t see a reason to list these all individually, and again, ain’t no measurements… do it to taste…skeew)
Directions: Mix all that shit in a bowl and throw it on a sandwich. Croissants hit, but it’s whatever bread y’all want.
Laura Lou’s Chicken Casserole-
I can’t recall a time in my life before Momma’s Chicken Casserole. It has always been there and it has always been my favorite thing. When I was 9, Daddy took me to Hooters for my birthday. Momma didn’t like that nary a bit so the next year she made me stay at home and fixed me Chicken Casserole, mashed potatoes, creamed spinach, crescent rolls, and coconut cake. I have had that same meal every single year on my birthday ever since. I even flew home from New York once just so I could eat it. A 19-year tradition that I can assure you will continue come December 11 (I’m a large in t-shirts, and I collect vinyl.. Private message me for shipping address).
What you will need:
- A rotisserie chicken (You can cook individual breasts if you want, but this is easier and I am a fan of both white meat and dark meat….ladies?)
- 1 can of condensed cream of chicken soup (Campbell’s is my choice)
- 1 can of condensed cream of chicken soup w/ Herbs (Again, Campbell’s is the only brand I’ve seen of this and it hits)
- 12 0z of sour cream.
- 2 sleeves of Town House Crackers (Yes, it has to be Town House.. I fux wit them elves bayba)
- A stick of Butter
- Salt and Pepper to taste
- Love (if ya got it)
- Get ya a 9”x12” casserole dish and tear the chicken apart in it.. As good and shredded as you can. No knives, use your hands.. Lick em afterwards. (as a treat for myself, I eat all the chicken skin as I go. Hits)
- Now that you’ve got the chicken in it’s home, take everything EXCEPT the crackers and the butter and toss that mess in the dish. Mix at sumbitch up real good and then smooth it out on the bottom of the casserole pan.
- Smoosh them crackers up in the sleeve and then spread em out over the (what now looks like) chicken pudding. Don’t crush them up to much though, it don’t need to be cracker powder (Though if it was, you can bet money I’d snort a line of it and go to the dog track)
- Slice the stick of butter up into little thin squares.. Divy it up amongst the tops of the crackers.
- Bake at 425 until the crackers are golden brown, then cover with aluminum foil and continue to cook until bubbly.
- Let it cool and dive smooth in… you bout to be in a food coma dreckly. Be near a couch.
There ya have it, folks. My definitive guide to a Southern funeral. I could go on for a few days, but this is a blog, not a book.
Hug your loved ones. Tell them you love them even when you don’t feel like it. Go see your Meemaw.
Bye. Love yuns.
Hey everybody, Trae here. Today is Sunday and normally that would mean another riveting edition of OurSundyBest. And we had one in the hopper too, almost done, but honestly it just feels….wrong, somehow to post it now. Tone deaf, or something. Also it’s NOT yet done and this is supposed to be a comedy blog and none of us are feeling particularly funny at the moment.
I’m so god damn sad. And furious. I’ve spent a fair amount of time in Orlando and absolutely love it there. I’ve got a lot of (mostly comic) friends down there and as I’m writing this I’m not even 100% sure that they’re all OK, though I think they are. And then when I think about the probable reasoning behind why this happened where it happened, it just…I hate Hate, so much. I hope the people constantly spouting hateful homophobic bullshit under the pretense of their “beliefs” realize now exactly the type of people they are putting themselves in league with. This right here is exactly why that shit is NOT OK, god dammit. This is what happens. Anyway. Sigh.
The shooting itself is something I’m sure will be discussed endlessly in the coming days/weeks, including probably in here or on my videos, although it’s going to be hard to find the humor in this bullshit. Which is what it is. Stupid fucking bullshit perpetrated by assholes. Big bull assholes. Anyway, OSB will be back soon. We love y’all.
Tragedy befell our country this week. A gorilla died. And he was beautiful. He was. However you felt about him, you’d have to admit he was magnificent. Let us mourn him.
The gorilla’s name was Bernie Sanders. When his time was up, he held in his powerful grip a little boy – a little boy named America. That little boy had heard that ol’ fence Hillary Clinton warn him about the gorilla, but he needed to get a better look. He needed to see for himself.
He got too close. And the gorilla didn’t mean to hurt the boy. He loved America. Oh how he loved him. He loved him too much, really. He knew that the fence wasn’t good for the boy. That while the fence kept the boy safe, it also kept him contained. It prevented him from reaching his full potential. But the thing is, that fence, sure it kept the boy from his true love, the gorilla, but it also is what kept the boy from climbing into that baboon’s cage. The baboon, named Trump, what threw shit everywhere, just wanted to smash America the boy’s head in and eat him.
So a zoo worker named Democracy shot the gorilla. Not for being evil, but for being too much. Bernie gorilla was gonna love America too hard, and squeeze him too tight. So with a bullet named practical voters, Democracy killed Bernie Sanders, a gorilla, and not a politician. This is their story. We tell it here as an oral history.
OSB editor’s note: Drew is the boy and the shooter, Trae is the Fence, and Corey is of course the gorilla. The baboon is played by himself.
A Little Boy Named America (Drew):
I remember waking up that day, making a new spotify playlist, and thinking “change is in the air. I really feel like something special will happen for me soon.”
The Shooter – A Zoo Worker Named Democracy (Drew):
Started out as a normal day. Had my coffee, read my paper, all was quiet. I mean my role at the zoo isn’t usually very hands on.
Little Boy America:
We go to the zoo every four years or so. Mom is always droning on and on about how nice the fences are. I’m WAY more into the animals.
Hillary Clinton Fence (Trae @traecrowder):
I loved the little boy the moment I saw him. What was his name again? Oh yes, America. He and all the kids and whoever else I should love are great. I remember his mother not watching him that closely, but she is also great.
Trump the Baboon:
Look how red my ass is! I have the best ass.
Little Boy America:
In retrospect maybe my infatuation with the Gorilla was immature, or at least a little too romantic. I was mystified by his beauty and simple wisdom, ya know? Plus, he was sincere. I think that is what drew me to him most.
The Gorilla Bernie Sanders (Corey @coreyfcomedy):
ALL I WANTED TO DO WAS BRING SOMETHING BEAUTIFUL INTO THIS UGLY WORLD AND YOU SHOT ME FOR IT! Sorry to paraphrase Tombstone so flippantly, but that’s just how I feel right now.
Little Boy America:
And I knew the baboon was also beyond the fence. I was certain that trying to get close to that gorilla was gonna put me in danger of having to deal with that shit slinging baboon. But I just felt like the Gorilla would protect me from the Baboon Trump.
Trump the Baboon:
The gorilla is a dumb ape, ok? I love the little boy.
Little Boy America:
When I started to get over the fence I wasn’t necessarily saying “I am going to live with this Gorilla. Forever.” I just wanted to check out something real. See the fence, well, she lied to me. A lot. Saying she was gonna be one way, then being way higher. I realize she is safer – I see that now. But the truth is I don’t like her. And man, I still don’t know – is the Gorilla that dangerous?
Look, I know that I SEEM different than you, being a primate in a land of homosapiens (and some Cheeto stained neanderthals) , but I’m not that much different.. In fact, if you want to get down to it, we share 99% of our DNA Policies, yet for some reason, all you give a shit about is the 1% (Something you will never be). YOU put me in this cage – I did not want to be here. I wanted to be independent, remember? But that simply cannot happen because I was placed behind the fence from the jump. The fence claims to be safe, the fence claims to be sturdy, but as we are all aware the fence IS A GOD DAMN LIAR!
Hillary Clinton Fence:
I know exactly why this happened. I need to be bigger. I’ve been saying that forever. I’ve been here in this zoo, doing my job diligently and without complaint for YEARS, and I deserve to be bigger and stronger. If they had elevated me 8 years ago like I asked them too, that boy would never have fallen in with that damn monkey to begin with.
Trump the Baboon: The fence? She’s right about the gorilla. She’s a cunt but she’s right. You want me to throw poop on her? I do it every day.
Democracy the Shooter:
He started over the fence and down the path. Yeah I mean I guess I got nervous but like I said I’m pretty hands off ok? Democracy doesn’t really do much unless he has to, ya feel me?
The only reason anyone is even on the fence’s side is because it has been around forever, they are familiar with it, and consistency and familiarity is something people trust. But consistency in what? Remember last year when the fence had signs posted all over it? “Do not feed The Gorilla,” “Do not lean over me,” “Keep an eye on your fucking kids.” Then all of the sudden these signs were conveniently deleted… excuse me, Removed.
Hillary Clinton Fence:
Look these kids don’t understand. They all think they want to be in there running around with the animals when in reality they are safe exactly where they are. Little America started down the path toward the gorilla and I knew it was gonna be bad. Why would anyone want to change where they are? Why can’t they be happy just standing and looking, why do they think they have to be actually in there? They are fine where they are. That’s what I’m here for. To keep everybody safe and satisfied exactly where they are.
Little Boy America:
I went toward him. Fast at first. And yeah I guess some people are gonna say I chickened out or showed my age by climbing toward the gorilla all proud and arrogant, and then crying when I got close.
Hillary Clinton Fence:
The minute that boy started reaching toward the gorilla, I knew it was going to end badly. He has no idea what’s good for him; he just sees a gorilla looking all awesome and thinks he wants to run away with it. Well gorillas are dangerous! So are baboons! We need fences! Fences are important! Fences are trustworthy! Fences know what they’re doing!
Trump the Baboon:
The fence is fat. Look at my long fingers!
Hillary Clinton Fence:
Fuck that baboon. Ok I’ll admit the gorilla is nice to see (though I’m WAY more useful) but all he does is literally sling shit all day and fuck mangos.
Trump the Baboon:
(makes fart noises)
Democracy the Shooter:
Then I saw him get close to the gorilla. Now me and Gorilla Bernie go way back – we do. I love him and he clearly loves me. And my initial thought was “who am I to stand in the way of their love?” I mean if Bernie and America want to love each other, I think that is beautiful.
Before the shooter turned on me, we had several good years together. When I first arrived I was a young Gorilla, my back was a lot less silver and that monkey dick stroke was a lot more on point if you catch my drift (Guess that wasn’t really innuendo). One thing that has not changed however is just how much I loved that boy.
Democracy the Shooter:
The fence, Hillary, was freaking out! Haha. Between you and me, I don’t like her. She’s too rigid. Democracy and HIllary have never gotten along. And she hates the gorilla.
Hillary Clinton Fence:
Look, I’ve got no problem with gorillas. They’re fine. Whatever. But they need to be contained. They cannot be allowed to cavort around with the little boys. I’m a fence, so I know what I’m talking about here. I knew as soon as that boy got in there with the gorilla that there was only one way to save him. The gorilla had to die. It’s sad, but it’s just the way it is.
Democracy the Shooter:
I saw that the gorilla was really too much for the boy. I got nervous. Then I heard the boy’s parent’s scream “the gorilla is gonna let the baboon get him if we ain’t careful.” I knew what they meant. The gorilla was dragging the boy around – no doubt not trying to hurt him but he was hurting him.
Everyone’s worried about what I would have done to the boy? The boy has been getting dragged through the mud his entire life, yet when I try to drag him out of the wilderness and into a safe spot, all of the sudden I am stricken down in the prime of my life? Ok I mean, sure, I am getting a little old.
Democracy the Shooter:
He was inching closer to that baboon Trump’s cage. I couldn’t have that. Like I said as democracy my role at the zoo is minimal, hell some people think I don’t really do anything anymore. But I knew I couldn’t let America get too close to that baboon Trump.
Trump the Baboon:
That boy knows what he wants and it’s me. Do you ever eat your butt fleas?
Little Boy America:
If I’m honest, it was worth it. I know I looked a little foolish, but I wasn’t afraid of the Gorilla. I just cried because, well, Bernie Sanders the gorilla was a little too real. It was all too much. Like the first time you did acid, or had sex (so I’m told). I cried not for what the Gorilla was, but for what me, and the fence, and the baboon and the shooter aren’t. Some of us were practical. Some were dedicated. None of us was as majestic.
Hillary Clinton Fence:
I told Democracy to shoot the gorilla, and that is why he did it.
Democracy the Shooter:
No one told me to shoot the gorilla. I decided to end Bernie on my own. I did it. Me. They’ll tell you Hilary the Fence ended him, or some corrupt or ignorant practice of the zoo’s. But I take full blame and I acted alone. That’s something I want everyone to know – I, democracy, killed Bernie Sanders for the sake of America. I didn’t enjoy it. I am not happy about it. I kinda feel like a coward. But I did what I felt was right. I’ll live with that, and this dumb fence, for the rest of my life. Or four years. Whichever.
Trump the Baboon:
One time a penguin came in here and told me stories. They was good stories. I ate it.
I don’t think I was going to kill the boy… I was trying to help America, not hurt. But in all honesty, had they not shot me and grabbed the boy, the shit flinging orange-assed baboon one cage over probably would’ve butt fucked him to death. I guess in that way me and the fence are the same – we both didn’t wanna see that.
Little Boy America:
In truth, I just wasn’t worthy of that gorilla. I kinda wish they’d just killed me .
Yes we missed a week of the blog while we were on tour. Yes we are sort of cheating this week by just telling y’all about said tour. But look, we are tired.
The cold hard truth is traveling around this great land and bringing live comedy to you folks is one of our dreams. While realizing it, we just didn’t wanna do a damn blog. I mean, we didn’t NOT want to, but we were busy being hilarious and climbing chickens.
Since many of you couldn’t be there with us (but A LOT of you were – thank you!) we figured we’d do a little review of the days. Well, Trae and I figured that. Corey apparently figures he’s too Hollywood for blogs. He’s certainly too fat to climb chickens.
Night 1: Atlanta @ the Punchline Comedy Club
Night one was an amazing start to the tour. It literally could not have gone any better. We played to not one but TWO packed out houses on back to back shows. Everyone had great sets.
Our photographer Jason Grindle was around, and we felt very lucky to have him there. Especially since we needed him to grab a shot of us with comedy legend George Wallace. No not the segregation governor, the other George Wallace. George decided to drop in, do a guest set, and then drag us back on stage to publicly praise us for being hilarious.
Having a legend tell a sell out crowd you’re gonna do big things feels pretty good. Having him then tweet it to the world also hits. We crushed and then sold a hell of a lot of t-shirts (Thanks Atlanta!).
Night 2: Asheville @ The New Mountain Theatre
Stop two of the tour took us to Asheville, NC. Home to hippies, carnies, freaks, and apparently a slew of liberal rednecks, Asheville is my favorite city to visit in the whole world. I dig southern hippies and I dig southern beer- it did not disappoint. When the sound guy checked on us in the green room his eyes were redder than Trae’s neck, and he just started laughing and mumbling. I knew in that moment the crowd would be on board with jokes. I was not wrong. The show was incredible.
That night we all had separate rooms (a real treat on a road trip) and an amazing hotel thanks to some friends of ours.
The next day our good friend Kevin took us to Biscuit Head. The restaurant came highly recommended during our question and answer session. By that I mean more than one drunk fan yelled “biscuit head!” at us. At first I thought they’d just given CoFo a new nickname. But no, it was an al day breakfast spot.
We loved it. Corey literally was overwhelmed and tried to buy “one of everything.” He was sincerely upset his bill only came to 40 bucks as he was hoping to spend more apparently. I think this was about the time he dubbed himself “the CHO” – or Chief Hittin Officer.
Night 3 – Johnson City, TN @ the Hideaway
As I mentioned, the wellRED tour was not want for liberal rednecks coming out to support. Y’all came out in full force and we appreciate it so very much. But Johnson City was absolutely the reddest crowd we’ve had so far. There were barefoot women, drunk ass peepaws and more than a few slurring fans trying desperately to speak in full sentences during the Q&A and failing. But absolutely the reddest cat we met was a dude named Aaron. A vet, a liberal, a comedy fan and one hell of good guy – Aaron was red as hell. He brought a kazoo to the show and had to be asked to refrain from playing it multiple times. He also brought two cans of pork and beans, one of which he rolled on stage during the Q&A. Corey thought it was a bomb and, upon realizing it wasn’t, ate it.
Please reread that fucking paragraph. A man came to our show with a kazoo and two cans of pork and beans and to support us he decided to throw one at us. Corey responded by eating it, using the lid as a makeshift spoon. Y’all – shit got redder than hell at that little punk rock bar. The last time we saw Aaron he was outside after the show. A hippie redneck womern asked him for a smoke. He told her he would give her a smoke AND a lighter for her headband. It was a home-ade hemp like rope she’d clearly made herself. She obliged and the stained shirted, boot wearing redneck put the hippie girl’s hemp necklace on and danced in celebration. If that ain’t what the wellRED tour is about, then I don’t know what is. It was one of my favorite nights in a long time. Shout out also to Jaime for the “special” cookies. They hit.
Nostalgia is a drug. Dwelling on the past is addictive for so many reasons: 1.) It is filled with a litany of reasonable excuses to justify the piece of shit that you are. 2.) As a man inching closer to his 30’s and getting balder and fatter by the second, a spank bank is important (My personal favorite reason). And 3.) In the past, we weren’t one step away from a Tangerine Colored Johnny Bravo wannabe becoming the leader of the free world.
Seriously, most people think nostalgically in terms of “Man, Wasn’t life great when we used to catch fireflies in a mason jar and play wiffle ball with papaw before they took his leg?” or “Gee Golly, going to the sock hop was such a swell time before we had to worry about microaggressions”. But nowadays, the most appealing part of the past is the fact that it was a time where we weren’t about to elect Donald Fucking Trump.
Remember Mitt Romney? Remember his Binder full of women? Remember how ridiculous we thought that was? That is literally NOTHING compared to the lunacy that comes out of Trump’s mouth on a daily, nay, hourly basis. The GOP should get down on their hands and knees and pray to Darth Reagan’s force ghost that they could go back to being “Binder full of women” ridiculous.
With the ongoing insanity that is The Trump Campaign, we thought it may be interesting to delve into an even more ridiculous question: Which Reality Star Would Make A Better President Than Trump?
The boys have since penned their hot takes on the subject, but first, here’s mine –
—–LITERALLY ANY MEERKAT FROM MEERKAT MANOR——
Much like trust fund babies, Meerkats are small burrowing animals that live in a large underground network. Meerkats are also known to share their dwelling with the Yellow Mongoose and the Ground Squirrel.. Two animals that if you combine the color from one and the appearance of the other, you get Donald Trump’s hairpiece.
Much like a flip – flopper who says what they need in order to win a vote, Meerkat calls carry specific meanings, and language may bare a completely different meaning depending on the urgency of the situation, or to whom the meerkat is addressing.
Often times, the male physically fights with the woman until she submits to him and they begin copulation. I don’t think I need to explain that one.
Meerkats, much like Trump, are immune to several types of venom. For the Meerkat, it is things like the Kalahari Desert Scorpion. For Trump, it’s things like “Facts” and “Integrity”.
I’ve gotten a bit off topic here. I’m not supposed to be telling you what Meerkats and Trump have in common, I’m supposed to be telling you why they would make a better President (That sentence is super hilarious if you know how seriously I take my job).
Unlike Trump, Meerkats forage in a group. Not only does Trump alienate literally every group of Americans (seriously don’t understand how my poor country folks don’t see that) but the thought of foraging is far too communist an idea for someone who has 3 mexican ladies blow on his soup until it’s the proper temperature for his pussy ass tongue.
New Meerkat groups are often formed by evicted females joining a group of males. Have you ever heard of some more Bill Clinton shit in your life? Men taking in a group of broken women is one of the most Democratic things I can think of, and you can’t argue with statistics (yes you can) but our country has always thrived economically under a democratic president (http://www.forbes.com/sites/adamhartung/2012/10/10/want-a-better-economy-history-says-vote-democrat/#1e5bc2ed67a1).
All that is great, but if I had to break it down to the main reason.. The end all be all… the Coup de grâce. The number one reason why any Meerkat from Meerkat Manor would make a better president than Trump is that that Meerkat would not actually be Donald Fucking Trump…
Now for the rest of the boys….
Damn, this is way harder than it seems. The kneejerk reaction to the question is “Uh…all of em?”, because Trump is so overtly poopy that it seems like you could just pick any random reality star and make a case for them being a better President than him. But then you remember that reality TV is home to some of the worst Garbage People the world has ever seen.
In any other field it would be so easy to pick someone better than Trump, but in the world of midget pit bull fighters and plastic whores that talk to dead people, the Orange Leather Man is King. Despite how utterly ridiculous the idea of President Trump is, it’s hard to argue that any other prominent reality star wouldn’t be even worse.
Or would they? I mean Snooki would, yes, but it seems like people have forgotten how utterly absurd everything about Donald Trump is and has always been. When I stop and think about it, it still blows my mind that people are taking this dude seriously now. And look, for the record, we NEED to take him seriously. At this point it could be super dangerous not to, but I still can’t believe this shit. I’m 3o years old. Literally my entire life, Donald Trump has been famous for one thing: being a rich douchebag. He has existed entirely to be made fun of. He’s been a national laughingstock for decades. And he is now the Republican Nominee for President of the United States. Seriously guys what the fuck.
So yeah, when you really think about how ridiculous the thought of a Trump Presidency would have been even a year ago, it becomes easier to envision other reality stars pulling it off. But it’s still super hard to pick one that you’d actually WANT to do it. But after much deliberation I think I have my answer. I hope American Idol contestants count. They do, right? I mean that’s still reality TV. For example, if hypothetically you Google “list of reality TV stars” because you chose a topic you know nothing about for some reason and you need help deciding what the hell to write about (just hypothetically), you will find that American Idol contestants are included. So I’m going to say that they count. And in light of that my choice is Jennifer Hudson.
Now some a y’all is callin shenanigans, I’m sure. That’s cheating! Jennifer Hudson is a hell of a lot more than a reality TV star! For God’s sake the woman is well on her way to an EGOT! And that’s all true, but A) Trump was more than just a reality star too, and B) it’s also my whole point. This lady is a god damn worldbeater. Considering the track record of other Idol alums, the odds would point to her eating ribs with Ruben Studdard before a show at the Davenport, Iowa community center tonight. But instead she just finished performing the Broadway lead in fuckin The Color Purple. She’s obviously ambitious and driven and smart and talented and all that other presidential shit, but honestly none of those is my biggest reason for picking her for this…
You see, I’m a HUGE fan of “Pissing Off Shitty Old White People”. It is just the best. If something upsets Old White People, I’m probably all the hell about it. Jameis Winston? That’s my dawg. Talkin shit about the Lord? Just the best. And Jennifer Hudson is a black woman. Who in this scenario would be running for President. Obviously for Shitty Old White People, this simply would not stand. But she’s also pretty much universally beloved. She has a great story, she’s a very sympathetic figure, does a lot of work for charity, and just seems to be a god damn sweetheart. Me and Drew went to a Daily Show taping last month and she was the guest and good lawd y’all the woman beamed. Trevor Noah fucked up her credits and even though she may have went all Naomi Campbell on his ass backstage, outwardly she handled it with grace. And she sang some and I felt like there were angels playing harps in my butt. I dunno she just seems cool is all I’m saying.
But she’s still a black woman, which means Shitty Old White People are going to have to find ways to hate her. They already have years of practice with this thanks to Obama of course. But I just don’t know what ammunition you could possibly have to do that with JHud. But that will absolutely not stop them from trying. And hopefully in doing so they would reveal their suckery to the rest of the world and thus undermine the Shitty Old White Agenda forever. I mean…prolly not, due to the sheer number of Shitty Old White People. But a man can dream. So I say let’s do it. Hudson/Dog 2020.
So … a reality star could sincerely end up being President. That’s not good news at all, but why’s it gotta be someone who looks like he got wood stain all over his face? For me personally, I would really rather see Tron from Mad Real World play the role of President of the United States of America.
“But Drew, you’re not following the rules. He’s not a real person.” Ok first of all, none of these reality stars are real people. Secondly, I’ll break every rule you throw at me to get Dave Chappelle back in the spotlight.
I’m not gonna waste breath defending my claim with my personal politics. Tron would be the better than Trump because he has WAY better policies. Let’s just compare those:
Race: Trump’s a racist. “Build a wall. Mexicans are rapists. Ban Syrians. I don’t want blacks counting my money.” It is disgusting.
To be fair, I kind of thought Tron was a racist as well. If you see how he treats Chad (admittedly annoying) and his Dad (seemed cool really), you might think it too. This would still be more acceptable than Trump’s awful views, but it’s actually not even true. Tron was hard on Chad, sure, but he also had sex with Katie. Katie’s white. Boom.
Winner: Tron (honorable mention: Katie)
The Economy: Trump’s economic plan boils down to two main tenants: lower taxes (mainly for the rich), and renegotiate trade relations with China to “put them on notice” that their days of “currency manipulation and cheating” are over .
The tax the rich less so we can all have more plan, also known as trickle down economics, also known as the “Let them eat cake” plan, has been taken to task and proven faulty numerous times. The basic plan is hey let’s give rich people a break (they totally deserve it after all) and they’ll reinvest and of course share. Well, I’m no economist, but I have met humans. Seems like a leap of faith to me. To Trump’s credit, however, the China plan might be helpful in one regard. In globalism, none of the money is trickling down. Rich people are taking their extra money and investing it where rich people always invest it – wherever the return is greatest. This means moving factories abroad and hiding their YUGE bank accounts overseas. Some aspects of this China renegotiation could help this issue (assuming he could pull it off). Of course another, more simple, plan would be to simply make, for example, Apple pay GD taxes .
But that wouldn’t get Trump paid. See, Trump is self proclaimed “deal artist.” You ever talk to artists about their art? Ugh – the worst. “I don’t do it for the money, I do it for the love of the art.” *Pukes in mouth.
The problem here is that money is art to Trump. So sure, Trump could try to carve out a plan that makes sense for most Americans, but he’s an artist, dammit. He has an opportunity to make a shit load of money for himself AND change the tax code so that said money doesn’t get taken by the greedy evil government he NOW IS if he’s President. This would be Trump’s Mona Lisa. His Don Quixote. His masterpiece. He’s not gonna let that one go. Of course the other big problem here is that Trump isn’t even a great deal artist so he probably won’t pull it off. He isn’t that great at business.
Tron on the other hand is a phenomenal business man. He turned his reparations into an amass of wealth so big he passed Bill Gates to take number one on Fortune Magazine’s America’s richest list. How? By winning a dice game. Then he said on the news he would give money “back to the community… Psyche!” At’s a real stone cold business man.
Trump turned a substantial inheritance into a reality TV career and slightly more money. Tron turned 40 acres and a mule into billions.
Crime: Trump’s record on crime is atrocious. In 1989 he inserted himself into a rape trial by taking out ads in newspapers trying to make sure five TEENAGERS were convicted of brutally raping a woman. He was successful. The only problem of course is that those young men were innocent. Overzealous police pressured by politics (and a real estate mogul) had broken ALL kinds of rules in the investigation and in the process literally tricked the kids into confessing. Seven years later a violent serial rapist confessed from prison to doing the horrendous act. His semen was a DNA match.
Shame on those cops, right? I mean Donald couldn’t have known those kids were tricked into confessing. He should have some thoughts on police reform since in some ways he was a victim of it here too right? Well, no, of course not. When he’s not arting up deals, his other preferred medium is pandering. Trump is fond of saying that the police are misunderstood and mistreated in this country. That’s a sincerely amazing claim. He treats the police as a whole like they’re a brooding 24 year old athlete who hasn’t adjusted to being rich and under the spotlight. They aren’t misunderstood. They are in need of checks and balances.
Tron, conversely, had this to say about the justice system:
“There are, so many amendments, in the Constitution of the United States of America. I can only on choose one. I can only choose ooooooonne. I plead the fif. I plead the fif. Five. One two three four FIF.” – Tron, future President of the USA
Guns: Pretty sure they actually feel the exact same way about guns.
Trump is a terrible leader. It is well documented that he is a horrible boss, always looks out for himself above others, and doesn’t have the confidence to withstand the backlash and ridicule that comes from being in charge. He has regularly sent a reporter who claimed Trump’s hands were small, pictures of his hands with a note that says “Not small. HUGE.” Numerous times. Think about that. He got a picture of his own hands. He wrote out a letter. He put an address on an envelope. He licked a stamp for fuck’s sake. Numerous times – that’s a man who can lead the country?! No.
Conversely, Tron displayed an inordinate amount of leadership qualities during his time on Mad Real WOrld. It was Tron who welcomed Chad into the house when he first arrived. He informed Chad that he would be sleeping in the same room as Tyree- clearly Tron had organized everyone’s sleeping arrangements. It was also Tron organizing the at-work dice games. When the police arrived during one said game, it was Tron who alerted his co-conspirators it was time to leave and showed them the best route to take. Finally, it was Tron who first explained to chad that he had to leave the house. He spoke on behalf of everyone in the house and laid out all the issues everyone had with him. That is a tough job. A real leader takes that job on willingly.
It was also during this conversation when Tron pointed out that he TOO, along with Lysol and Tyree, had had sex with Katie. Imagine sitting on that information for that long, not telling anyone, then only letting it out when it was necessary to get Chad to leave. Only a true leader could have kept that secret- I mean afterall “Katie got some big ass titties.”
Tron for president.
Ted Cruz has worn many hats. Lawyer, policy advisor, professor, Senator, hats made of hooker skin, you name it. But Ted’s most recent job application, for President of the United States of America (piercing Bald Eagle caw), was was summarily denied this week. Poor Ted. Even though he was Anointed by The Lord, he still was no match for The Donald. That’s got to sting. Knowing God lied to your wife’s stupid face like that. Knowing that God clearly hates you (and your stupid face). And so does literally everyone else.
Maybe it’s us, but man if you are reviled by the hierarchy of anthropomorphic lizards who run the Republican Party, then it would seem as though you are just the worst. I mean that’s like Alabama football fans thinking you’re a dumbass. If the cream of the crop of dumbasses think that you’re a dumbass, then you prolly need to go back to potato.
So it really shouldn’t be that surprising that Ted lost, but he didn’t just lose; he lost with…whatever the opposite of style is. He picked an arguably more insane lizard to be his intended Reptilian Queen…
He then sought affection from his father in the presumably typical fashion of humiliating a woman. All before getting absolutely trounced by a man who literally accused his father of being involved in the Kennedy assassination. Look at all that one more time…Jesus Christ this country has jumped the fuckin shark.
But either way, Ted is dead. Or his campaign anyway. I mean he’s probably also literally dead because that dude is clearly a fucking husk. So what now, Ted? Yes, he is still the Junior Senator from Texas, but it’s not like he’s ever done that job in the first place. So we at OSB got to thinking:
What Job Should Ted Cruz Have Now?
Alright I gotta be honest here y’all. After our first blog post,and then my most recent Liberal Redneck video, I’ve said about all I care to say about this saurian sack of shit. I could not possibly be happier that he’s out of this race, and not just because of spontaneously vomiting when I see his face without being warned first.
I’m also thrilled he’s out because y’all, fuck this dude. I am supremely opposed to the farcical circus that would be a Trump presidency, but if you put a gun to my head and made me choose him or Cruz, I’d grab that gun and press it harder against my brow while screaming “DO IT MOTHERFUCKER! DO IT!! COME ON!! BE A MAN!! JUST DO IT!!!” and then you would put the gun down because you’re not a killer, you’ve never been a killer, and this was all just a figure of speech anyway.
Nah I’d pick Trump. I mean…gross, but yes I would. Over Cruz. All day, everyday. I don’t know that I’ve ever been more revolted by a candidate, and I’ve seen Sam Hunt get nominated for Country Album of the Year.
So yeah, to hell with Ted. I don’t really give a fuck what he does now, but if I could choose what job Ted would work next, I have something in my mind. I would make Ted be an assistant front-of-the-house manager at the Cracker Barrel in Guntersville, Alabama. But he would only work Sundays. A double shift every single Sunday.
For any readers who have ever been a server before, especially in the Bible Belt, y’all already know where I’m goin with this. For anyone else, I’ll elaborate on why I would pick this profession for ol Teddy Turdheart. Ya see, I was a server for about 4 years in college, at an O’Charley’s in Cookeville, TN. I didn’t hate it. Actually had a lot of fun there, and I don’t think there’s a better part-time job for a college student. I generally enjoyed working there, for what it was at the time.
Except for Sunday Brunch. Fuck Sunday Brunch. Look, I’m an avowed Not-Christian, so I realize it may seem like bias, but if you ask any honest server who the worst tippers are, the odds are 83.5% or better that they will tell you that its the God Squad. It’s horrible. I could have them goddamn rolls on the table before Aunt Tammy’s even had a chance to talk shit about Eileen and them tacky ass shoes she’s so proud of, and what would it get me? Not damn much, buddy let me tell ya. Sometimes a pocket Bible (no shit); sometimes nothin, and usually about five percent. Meanwhile the Lord been ignoring their prayers for the middle boy to not be gay no more for years, but that sumbitch still gets his 10%, please believe it.
And it’s not just that they don’t tip worth a shit. They put you through hell to get that sorry ass tip. You see, many of them do not approve of working on the Lord’s day. Or well, it’s more accurate that they don’t approve of you not going to church on the Lord’s day, even though somebody has got to bring them their fuckin chicken tenders. I don’t know if they expect restaurants to staff Sundays with exclusively pygmies or Jews or some shit but regardless, they don’t appreciate you literally waiting on them hand and foot. Just don’t set right with em, you being their servant and all. Ourt be the Lord’s servant, I guess. Or whatever. I don’t know. They suck.
Which is exactly why this is the life I want for Ted. After all, these are his people. His constituency. These were the people who were supposed to deliver him unto the Promised Land, which apparently is located at 1600 Pennsylvania Ave. And they failed him. They let him down. Now obviously it was he who failed them but you know that ain’t how it’s playin out in that frog brain of his. You know he’s bitter. You know he resents em. And I want him to be reminded of just how shitty the people he so baldly panders to can be every Sunday, all day long, forever.
Just imagine it. Imagine a man who thought he was literally chosen by God to be the most powerful man in the world, having to grovel to some tractor-salesman-Deacon because “this coffee ain’t hot don’t you know what hot coffee is that little girl said it was a fresh pot but now I know better believe somebody ourt send you down to McDonald’s so they could teach you how to serve hot coffee now this is just ridiculous…”. And all Ted can do… is take it.
Have fun Ted.
Poor ole Teddy 2 Peckers (The Human one and the Lizard one what is mashed inside of it). I guess we finally answered the question “Is America ready for a Cuban Reptile Christian from Canada?” with a resounding “Pfffffffttt!”. His candidacy was certainly interesting though; I mean, it’s not every day you get to see a man with the last name CRUZ underperform with Latino voters against Rick “Do these Dockers make my gun look like a Penis?” Perry.
Many people claim that Ted Cruz is secretly the Zodiac Killer, but let’s think about that for a second – serial killers are typically charming white men. I mean hell, Ted Bundy was still laying the wood long into his prison term. Ted Cruz is about as charming as footage of the North Tower falling with Nickleback playing in the background. Plus, the Zodiac Killer was mysterious. The only thing mysterious about Ted Cruz is the fact that there isn’t footage of him licking an ice cream cone by himself wearing bicycle shorts next to the entrance for Space Mountain. Truly blows my mind.
I’ve thought long and hard (Name two things Ted Cruz isn’t… and CIRCLE GETS THE SQUARE!) about what Ted Cruz should do now that his campaign is over and it all keeps coming back to one thing: Lamborghini salesman in The Appalachian Mountains.
As a Lamborghini Salesman in The Appalachian Mountains, Ted will enjoy a much cooler climate that fares well with his cold, cold blood. When not at work, he and his wife can enjoy long walks through the Appalachian trail wearing the zip-off cargo pants filled with dried apples you just KNOW they have.
And what geographical destination would be a more perfect fit for a man who voted AGAINST the “Violence Against Women Act” than Ole Appalachia? The locals will take to him like flies on a donkey’s butthole because statistically, Appalachian men beat their women like it was a job the USED to have until corporate fat-cats raped their land and got them addicted to Hillbilly Heroin.
That’s right, Teddy, ol’ buddy, ol’ pal. Enjoy everything the rural South has to offer: a crippled economy and a heartbreaking pill epidemic that was bought and paid for by “Good Christian Men” like yourself. Think being a Lamborghini Salesman in a poverty stricken area will be too much work for ya? I disagree – because selling people fancy horse shit that goes against their best interests is right in your wheelhouse, you theocratic so-and-so! Good luck to ya 🙂
In all the pressure and work leading up to losing to a potato skin in a wig, I feel like Ted’s really lost sight of who he is at his core. For example, In 2009, Cruz wrote a brief laying out the case that federal stimulus money would “directly further the greater purpose of economic recovery for America” if given to retired Texas teachers. On his campaign trail, however, he’s consistently shat on similar stimulus programs President Obama has instituted. I think he’s just confused about who he wants to be.
Which is why I think ol’ Ted should just take a gap year and figure out who he is.
Perhaps backpackin through Thailand is what he needs to get in touch with “Teddie,” that cute little Cuban American (Canadian) boy who loved nothing more than to pray with his father and torture animals for fun probably. Is that boy still in there, somewhere? Rentin a scooter and riding through Bangkok dodgin ladyboys and drinkin tea on a Khlong tour, perhaps he’ll find him.
Alternatively, why not spend some time island hopping, hittin up Belize, the Caribbean, and/or Greece? Live a little, Ted. Buy a yacht. Do some Molly with Italian models. Hell, fuck a black girl.
You have the money to be a jettsettin partier. And you’ve earned it. I mean the stories of how Christ-like you were at those two very expensive private Christian high schools you attended are at this point as legendary as the one about how your father was a poor dishwashing exiled Cuban immigrant. You know the one about how he supported Castro then later recanted, came to the US where his COLLEGE job was washin dishes, and then he went on to raise you on his no doubt humble salary as OWNER of a seismic-data processing firm for the Oil Industry. I really don’t know how he did it. Coming from such meager upper-class beginnings, and holding yourself to such high standards, I think it’s time for you to let loose Ted.
Or perhaps you could spend a year at sea. Just a man, his thoughts, and the wild untamable ocean. Out there on your sailboat, you could ponder the nature of mankind, our esteemed quests for greatness, and all our follies. Maybe in the days and nights on the endless blue, you’ll catch up on the novels you’ve been meaning to write about yourself. Somewhere out there where the stars meet the water, perhaps you’ll look out and think deeply about your wife, what’s her name, and how much she means to your image.
And may haps your ol’ buddy God will converse with you once again, and explain to you why it was He asked you to run for President in the first place. He might tell you why making you fail miserably and lose embarrassingly to a dried apricot in a black suit in front of the entire nation was part of His plan for you. Perhaps He will tell you why he made you and your family go through the public shame of having everyone see how awful you are at interacting with each other, and give you guidance on what lessons you should take from this going forward.
Or maybe He will tell you to grow up. Maybe he will tell you that He doesn’t care if we capitalize his name or that he ain’t even a he or a she and the Universe is too grand a place to be contained by your extremely basic ideologies about him/her. Perhaps she will also tell you that she is sick of your bullshit. Maybe God will open up your mind and your heart to other people and you’ll realize how we are all connected to one another in ways so mysterious it actually moves you. And you might learn that no all-powerful being is guiding the minute details of your life or gives enough of a damn to dictate the outcome of such trivial bullshit as making sure you or anyone else is who America picks to tell us we are number one and safe and the best.
And maybe you’ll learn a thing or two about who you are, but also who you are not. Maybe you’ll learn some humility and stop claiming to know what God wants for everyone else on this planet.
Or maybe you’ll just die in an awful and scary way, and that would also hit for me.