HOGWILD.NET semi-hilarious comedy: Kentucky jokes and pictures
Kentucky inbreds and Yeeha Karaoke Night
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HogWild in Hawaii!
(But first this pit-stop in Kentucky)
was an awesome experience. But first we had to get there.
The first challenge was to dump our dog Sherwood
off at the Pet Lady. Thank God for Pet Lady. This woman boards like 50
animals in her home. She takes care of them, feeds them, and plays with
them. Mrs. Potato-Head really likes this woman’s service—
especially given my suggestion that we stuff Sherwood in a luggage locker
at the airport. I don’t see what’s wrong with that! Put some food in
there, a water bottle thingy like gerbils have, and you’re all set—
see ya in 2 weeks doggy! But The Pet Lady’s place is outstanding.
She’s got like 20 cats boarded at any one time. This time she was
boarding 6 of the cutest little gray kittens. So small and fuzzy. Wow,
their little paws would make great key chains. Sorry, it’s just the
businessman in me.
Lady. This woman boards like 50 animals in her home. She takes care of them, feeds them, and plays with them. Mrs. Potato-Head really likes this woman’s service— especially given my suggestion that we stuff Sherwood in a luggage locker at the airport. I don’t see what’s wrong with that! Put some food in there, a water bottle thingy like gerbils have, and you’re all set— see ya in 2 weeks doggy! But The Pet Lady’s place is outstanding. She’s got like 20 cats boarded at any one time. This time she was boarding 6 of the cutest little gray kittens. So small and fuzzy. Wow, their little paws would make great key chains. Sorry, it’s just the businessman in me.
Now that doggy is
taken care of, our mission is to get from the Media Mecca of the Midwest,
Dayton, Ohio all the way the Hawaiian Island of Kauai. So naturally to
save a few units we haul azz to Cincinnati’s airport. Now here’s
something stupid: Cincinnati’s airport is actually in Kentucky! What the
hell?! That’s like naming a team the New York Giants and having them
play in like, New Jersey. Stupid!
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had to stay overnight in Kentucky to rest before our flight the next day
and so we could keep our car parked at the motel. I was actually surprised
that I was allowed INTO Kentucky. I didn’t know they allowed Jews in
that state. I thought for sure we’d be stopped at the border by Kentucky
State Troopers on a routine foreskin check.
On the drive down to Kentucky (which is world famous for its Fried Chicken and Professional Cock-Fighting Tournaments aired on ESPN2) I made Mrs. P really mad. She yelled back at me, “My dad does not have a mullet!” For those of yawl ignant to such hairstyles, it’s when you shave the sides, leave it kinda bushy on top and round it out with a rat tail in back. It’s the official hairdo of chain-smoking bowling alley attendants.
I was like, “There’s nothing wrong with your Dad having a mullet!
It’s like Rastafarian’s with their dred-locks—
a mullet is like a
religion for white trash."
Mrs. P’s dad doesn’t really have a mullet.
He can’t, he’s a college professor. They would throw him out of
academic society. But it would mad hilarious if he did. Imagine your
teacher with a mullet! I just like starting tish with my woman. It puts a
little fire in her pants.
So what do you do
when you’re stuck in Kentuck-tuck-tuck-ay overnight? I know, go to the
local saloon! Now I swear to you, you can look it up, the establishment we
went to was named the, “Peecox.” I don’t know if these people
can’t spell or if this was a comment on their deviant sexual desires.
This place made every stereotype come true. I looked around the smoky
joint as we stepped inside. Long bad hair, black t-shirts with rolled up
sleeves, ponytails, scruffy beards. This describes both the men AND women.
It was Yeeha
Karaoke Night. I was thinking, if I ever wanted to commit suicide, I would
come back to this place and rap on stage. There were some interesting
creatures here. I saw one nub with the worst toupee of all-time. I can
understand if you’re losing your hair and you want to do something about
it. I mean, comb-over, shave it all off, tattoo hair on your head, wear a
afro-wig, but don’t purchase a toupee at J-Mart! Think
about it. Your purchase was stuffed into the same plastic bag as your
milk, bread, and cans of tuna. Can this product really be quality? Or is
it a clump of cat hair held together with rubber cement?
hair-piece did not even MATCH! Apparently his real hair is gray on the
sides. But his mop was fully brown and fluffy. It looked like he was
wearing a coonskin cap! Plus I think he was wearing one of those clip-on
rat tails. Wait, I know what he was doing. He had a mullet hair-piece!
It’s new for Kentucky! Imagine the TV commercials, “Men, is your
mullet losing it’s fluffiness on top? Is your greasy rat-tail getting
shorter? Then you need the Mullet-Hat! Slap this furry lid on your dome
and you’ll back to yeehawin’ in no time!”
Yeeha karaoke was
amusing for a bit. The locals got up on stage and were singing about
“Pass the Guns and Ammunition, got no money for College Tuition.”
Songs like, “My Wife Left Me and Took my Truck, Man I really miss that
Truck.” Good stuff. I was yeehawin’ it up. But then it got biZaRre.
On nub got up there are starting singing Billy Joel! Oh my gosh-dilly-goodness! And the Kentucks were eating it up! Imagine these blue-collar Southerners with dirty fingernails and cowboy boots screaming, “SHE’S AN UPTOWN GIRL!”
Craziness! Then they did Tone Loc’s Wild Thing! And if that wasn’t bad enough, one bim got up there and starting singing a Tracey Chapman song. Holy crap. If Tracy Chapman saw this scene-- that her music was the drinking anthem for back-woods swamp-creatures— she’d bite her lip off!
There were people dry-humping on the dance floor to this music. Like two bims rubbing their confederate coochies on one nub’s legs. But dude was like, “It’s okay, we’re all family.”
Now it’s getting freaky. I know all people from Kentuck-ya can’t be like this. Can they? Just one bar in one town. Right? But that didn’t stop me from cracking jokes and singing song parodies at the top of my lungs.
I’m surprised I wasn’t escorted out by my testicles for what I was singing.
“I don’t want no love if she ain’t inflated!
don’t want no love if she ain’t related!”
love you girl and I ain’t fibbin’
love you like you’re my sibling!”
want your body and I ain’t got no shame
so sexy when we have the same last name!”
baby, gimme some play
got lots in common-- like our DNA!”
Now that I’ve pissed off the entire state of Kentucky, I’ll take a breather (which may be my last breath) before my next installment. Just think I haven’t even gotten on the plane yet! Wait ‘til I go HogWild on THEY azz!