the words of Skeeter, White Trash and Proud of Showing of His Ass Crack
Sure, I wrote a recipe for roasting elves... Don't like it, suck my hairy bubbas..
My name is Skeeter and I am proud as all hell of showing my ass-crack!! I watch Blue Collar TV and recognize myself as the New White Trash. Hell, I got it tattooed on my goddamn arm the last time I was in prison!! Well, at least the White Trash part. In letters four goddamn inches high, which I could do cause I'm a big guy, which I am cause I have always dearly loved my doritos and subs and pizza and before beer and sometimes to wake up in the morning, classic coke... and of course the staples, donuts, corn dogs, fruit loops. Ever since I got my meth mouth going and my teeth rotted down into little black stumps, I just have to put everything in a blender.... I throw it all together with some beer and jack daniels and a couple valiums and chug on down. Or I do shots.
I have been driven to write this note to my fellow denizens of Rabby's Trailer Emporium, because recently I have found myself the target of a lot of mean talk. I have been criticized for using elves in demented cooking experiments involving hard drugs and candy canes. I have also been accused of just dressing up midgets and cooking them, while pretending they were elves... In fact, it seems to me that people think we have got some meth head dream going about cooking elves, but no... I'm swearing on the confederate flag man, those were elves, and there is a goddamn santa and he is spying on everybody, man, to make that damn list of his and he is probably gonna nark on us and we will find the cameras, or spies, responsible for narking us out as naughty, man!!! We thought those dudes who came to the door looking all yuppie and cleaned up and putting on airs were minions of Santa. Hell, we could have got in trouble for that if they didn't turn out to be mormons out knocking on doors. Sure am glad the cops even agreed we were better off without them northeners spreading their liquorless cult. Other than that one mistep, we are seeing signs everywhere, man, of a coming war between this trailer park and the minions of Santa, man --- signs!!! It ain't just that we been tweaking for two weeks,like some will tell ya, either.
We're pretty much sure cooking elves is why Santa skipped our house... Well, that or our reputation for sitting on the roof of our trailer and firing shotguns at passing planes -- or sleighs, should we see one. You can bet we discussed shooting down the red one this christmas eve as we sat up there drinking beers and blasting to shreds any and all passing birds, cats, squirrels -- you know, anything that makes a good barbacue!!
This year me and Shredder and Boner and Hickup decided that until Santa gets the balls to just slit the throats of the bad kids, we are going to remain philosophically opposed to that bearded obesity.
In fact, we got to talking, and I kinda realized that I should be Santa, or was Santa in a past life, or maybe am just Santa on christmas, and then forget... somehow I believed all these things at once, so you know some of them are true. Oh, man, I can see myself all dressed up in red, my Book Of The Naughty in the one hand, shotgun in the other!!! Hell, I'd let the elves handle the good kids, give em shit and stuff. I'd just spend the night blasting steel balls out of a barrel, splattering squirming grey brain matter and yellow globules of fat and fresh, deep-red blood all over their little Star Wars sheets.. or Sponge Bob, or whatever (though personally I prefer the Star Wars sheets, and will sleep on nothing else (well, in an emergency I will, though of course, I do seriously pout over this -- sometimes for days)) .
Back to Elf eating, though... I forgot to add that when you are killing the elf by breaking all of it's bones so you can truss it into a ball, you should record the screams.
You can then play the screams over and over for days. And then, use them like I do. I mix them in with other screams I have recorded -- most animals, though there are others and we just don't talk about them here in these parts -- ain't safe to, no it ain't safe at all. I use my walmart synthsixer to mix the screams into a symphony of screams, which I play loud and racous out of my bookbox while I'm cutting up pigs and cows and old dogs and unwanted hamsters. I am the unofficial butcher for our block, in fact. I am prouder than all hell to say that everybody in these parts brings down their dead cats and road kill and stuff, and I cut em all up. Me and the boys just love putting the knife to small animals so much that we don't mind skinning anything they bring along... hell, sometimes we just spend the day down by the lake with a cooler of Bud and a fifth of jack just cleaning fish for people. We do it for free, just to get a little blood and gut action, you know ... hell, who wouldn't if they could? Yea, people say we're living the fucking dream, man... And we are. So take your plastic world and stay the hell out of this trailer park... where we have plastic... but... man, I sure did a lot of speed today....
I decided to start writing a blog because selling meth kind of makes me a guru with the neighborhood kids... that and I used to play in a heavy metal band, probably... they can sense that. We got our lab out back in a rusty, metal shed. The smell from the butchering is so strong nobody can smell the chemical-stank of cooking our special crank, which we put in little packets labeled with our trade name, White Trash.
I want to use my literary skills (no body else here can read much more than stop signs and such) to help people to know and love our culture, and understand that just because we're bigoted, closed minded, full of ourselves and stubborn about really dumb shit, it doesn't make us unlovable. Hell, we get layed all the time now that we have a roofie connection and the snow cone business.
By the way, showing our ass cracks is a cultural thing. If you don't like it you can look away, otherwise do what our women do -- enjoy the goddamn, crusty haired view!!!