Bah. Rednecks.

You know, I consider myself to be very tolerant of people of other cultures. In fact, I suppose many people consider me to be one. But this weekend I experienced a number of rednecks who were decidedly unsavory, and I don’t know that I dealt with it very well.

The first one was last night. Sarah and I went to the putt-putt and go-cart place out at the Nicholasville bypass. There was a group there from a local church. There was another group who may or may not have been affiliated with the chuch group. I think they weren’t, but I’m not sure.

The young man in this latter group apparently had suppressed the swallowing instinct, and spat every two or three seconds. It was unbelievable. He spat constantly. On himself. On his girlfriend. On the ground. On his shoes.


Then, today at lunch …


This guy next to me at the counter at McDonalds had a pornographic tattoo on his leg. Large, in color, and very graphic. It featured a naked woman, spread-eagled, chained hand and foot to a wall.

Now, I suppose, if someone wants to draw things on themselves, that’s really none of my business. But when he’s displaying pornographic artwork in a public place where my 7-year-old daughter is exposed to it, I think it becomes my business. I really can’t imagine why someone would get that particular tattoo, or why they would display it so proudly in public, or why his wife would be happy to let him do so. Apparently folks have no shame.