Metro Rednecks

POOR WILLIAM’S WHIMS:

 

Metro Rednecks

By POOR WILLIAM


Poor William enjoying a chilled chardonnay in a stirofoam cup while climbing a grain elevator during harvest time near Clarksdale, MS. Photo by The Delta Bohemian

Poor William enjoying a chilled chardonnay in a stirofoam cup while climbing a grain elevator during harvest time near Clarksdale, MS. Photo by The Delta Bohemian

Metro redneck is not necessarily an oxymoron—words that don’t go together, but it might raise the ire of those with latent tendencies and or an aversion to anything not clothed in camouflage and smelling of cordite—gunpowder.

According to one definition found in the Urban Dictionary, a metrosexual is a “normally straight male who possesses qualities of a gay male without being attracted to men. A metro often appreciates the finer things in life and enjoys making himself look good; be it through styling his hair or wearing fashionable clothes.”

Poor William is constantly heckled by many folks dear to him for his use of gel in spiking his hair, which thankfully he still possesses, though his head becomes hoarier with every season change.

How does one define redneck?
Though not an easy task, the etymology—origin—of the word redneck draws its inference from how white agricultural workers’ necks used to burn because of long hours spent in the fields.

According to the Cultural Dictionary, a redneck is often thought of as a rural white Southerner who is conservative politically, racist, and somewhat of a religious fundamentalist.

Poor William objects to the racist and fundamentalist’s portrayal of all rural conservative white Southerners who are considered to be rednecks. While many are both of the latter, some are not, and surely none are acquaintances of Poor William—other than those whom he uses for character development in his writings.

The use of the word redneck is safe to use even in “redneck quarters,” simply because most rednecks think somebody else is a redneck. There are many shades of “red,” and we always presume someone else’s hue is a bit deeper than ours.
We even refer to ourselves as rednecks, but do so with the understanding that present company is obligated to refute our claims or at least is obliged to add a disclaimer stating that we are “sophisticated rednecks,” which is nigh on an oxymoron.

Poor William’s ex-wife, not from “these here parts,” thought she married a Southern gentleman, but swore she woke up a day later married to a redneck. I don’t know what happened to that fellow she married, but I feel sure he was a fine man.

So, how can a man be a metro redneck?

The metro redneck may be the sole heir of the term Renaissance man—homo universalis (Latin for man of the world)—one who is well educated or who excels in a wide variety of areas.
Every redneck believes he knows all there is to know about damn near everything, is well educated in the “ways of the world,” but he might object to the use of the Latin word “homo,” signifying just a hint of insecurity and a lack of knowledge about the etymology of the four-letter word, which does not categorically imply “latent” tendencies.

The metro redneck’s life is one big oxymoron. He hunts by day and wears starched, patterned, all-cotton Brooks Brothers shirts by night. He eats finger food—all of it–at cocktail parties. He likes fishing and reading, beer and wine—from the bottle, beef and fish, likes bikini-clad vegetarians, enjoys four-wheeling and foie gras, particularly if he killed the fatted goose providing the liver.

He never shies from battle, except with his wife and momma, and is not opposed to hanging impressionistic art and expensive old-country hunt prints in his house, along with pictures of “Dogs Playing Poker” and the obligatory seven or eight deer heads on the living room wall up in the big house.

Nor does the metro redneck shy away from spooning outside as well as in the best suite at the Peabody Hotel. He is truly a Renaissance man. He will make love or something akin to it almost anywhere–think Uncle Eddie’s Mississippi leg hound in Christmas Vacation. The dog that enjoys, no needs, to constantly be humping one’s leg, and once he starts, it’s just best to let him finish.

Poor William, his bride, best-friend John and a way-cool chick who is married to one of his brother’s best friends all canoed a muddy slew near Leland last year, prior to a beautiful cocktail party held in the hamlet known as Tribbett.

It was a metro-redneck weekend. Canoeing, snake bashing, beer drinking, outdoor elimination, followed by drinks on the veranda poured by a most excellent bartender, accompanied by cloth cocktail napkins. It’s good to be a metro redneck!

 

Joey Young - artist and owner of Lambfish Art Company in Clarksdale, MS. Phtoto by The Delta Bohemian

Joey Young - artist and owner of Lambfish Art Company in Clarksdale, MS. Phtoto by The Delta Bohemian

Artists Bradley Gordon (Owner of Gordon Gallery) and Austin Britt (Owner of Foxtrot Gallery) in Clarksdale, MS. Photo by DB

Artists Bradley Gordon (Owner of Gordon Gallery) and Austin Britt (Owner of Foxtrot Gallery) in Clarksdale, MS. Photo by DB

Artist Randall Andrews throwing the football at the Shack Up Inn near Clarksdale, MS. Photo by The Delta Bohemian

Artist Randall Andrews throwing the football at the Shack Up Inn near Clarksdale, MS. Photo by The Delta Bohemian

 

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Comments

  1. Not sure if Metro Redneck is a politically correct term, but is surely is one I can drink to. In West Texas they are often seen at the country club in their “it’s 5oclock somewhere” golf cart. Would John Daly be a Metro Redneck?

    • Lord Chuck, John Daly might just be the poster boy for METRO REDNECKS! Great connection! Thankfully our boy, John, has more REDNEXK than METRO! 🙂 Good to hear from you my brother!

  2. True true, you gotta love the south, and if you don’t, stay the hell out!. Take care Brother!

  3. Poor William, does the Metro Redneck extend his pinky whilst shooting his Kimber .45 and when he swills a Dixie Beer? And is it acceptable for the Metro Redneck to use road-kill when preparing foie gras?

    • LD, LD, the Metro Redneck never has to lift a pinky wether shooting or swilling, ’cause he always has a YAAAAANKEEEEEEE to do the loading and the pouring; he jus’ merely has ta shooot and guuuulp! You know this LD! However, road-kill is not for eating, just for SKINNING! It brings $2 a pelt in the county!

  4. Very well written Poor William. There is a lot to be said about a man who can harvest wild game, prepare it and make the appropriate wine selection. Hope all is well.

  5. Ken sparks an idea. I have always been looked upon as strange by my redneck brethern for my unique adroitness in the kitchen and my impeccably clean pad, when I was a bachelor. I also have a fondness for good wines. I am wondering if a recipe book would be a best seller. You could advise others on what type of Sangiovesse would set the perfect mood for your crawfish boil? Just the right amount of gun oil to use on Talipia when your local 3 shelf grocer is out of garlic infused olive oil? Could be the next best seller.

    • Lord Chuck, I can attest that your pad was always spotless, except for Allen’s beer bottles out front and the lube that you SAID you only used on Tanner’s motorcross bikes! I think you might be on to something with the wine, crawdads and oil, but we mostly just use a gunpowder dry rub around hear on our Crappie! 🙂

  6. P.W.-You have been to my Crib. Where do I fall in there? I have been to every Major city in The States and many others around The World. And a Ole Miss education. However, I have been informed of comments made by others regarding yours truly along the lines of ” He is a Great Guy and would do anything for you, But- He has “A Little Redneck In Him”. A little Redneck? What The Hell Does That Infer?

    Hell, I am a Southerner/Redneck whose Great-Great grandfather rode with Nathan B. Forest and never owned a single Slave. Nor did he want to.

    BTY- ld. When shooting my 1911 U.S. Navy/Marine Colt 45 ACP. I “Never” hold my pinky out. This is a good way to put one’s eye out.

    • Spikehead, you know anybody with a nickname like Spikehead ain’t metro, but he sho is a redneck, and more than a little! Dude, you are from Tallahatchie County, and being in Charleston and Oakland doesn’t gualify for major cities around the world. I love you, but you don’t even have a pair of green corduroy pants! 🙂 See your country-ass in Clarksdale tomorrow! 🙂

    • Thanks mom. Perhaps I’ll pick up a metro redneck ascot so I don’t catch pneumonia here in the perpetually freezing, and very firearms unfriendly People’s Republic of New Jersey.

      And should you ever wish to part with that little gem of a gun please keep yours truly in mind as a buyer. It would suit me well.

  7. Just so happens that I find myself in a Metro Redneck moment today. I had an epiphany while sitting in a local beer joint in Lubbock Texas this morning. I am reading Quantum Psychology on my new Ipad, when the waitress comes by for my order. I proudly order a Shiner, of course, I do live in Texas. She abruptly states, “you can’t order alcohol till after 12.” Would you believe that the cash registar has to say 12, not my watch?
    You might be a Metro Redneck if…………………………………….!

  8. What about a pair of Madris corduroy pants P.W.? Does that count? Pizza Bob’s Daughter loved them soo much she stole them from me and I had to have UPD retrieve them from her.

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