King of the South
I've spent my whole life in the South and I love it here. When people play the "If I could live anywhere, it'd be ....." game, my answer is always the boring one. Because it's here, just with more land and a nicer house. I love how you can go from a bustling city like Nashville to rolling farmland like Triune in the space of about 20 minutes' drive. But over the years my beloved South has undergone a lot of changes. Part of it is just the world moving on as the world does. Global television and the internet have brought New York City and Nashville seconds apart from each other. Part of it is the car factories that moved to Tennessee to take advantage of the cheap land and lack of income tax, bringing unemployed Michiganian auto workers with them. As Lewis Grizzard once pointed out "there's more yankees here now than there were when Sherman marched through".
But that's ok. My wife is a yankee (reformed) and most of my friends are from out of state somewhere. I welcome anyone to come experience the splendor of our great state. But, in order to keep the South the wonderful place that it has always been, there've got to be some rules. Therefore, I've decided that someone has to do the job and it may as well be me. From here on, I have officially declared myself King of the South.
As any good king would do, I have even written some proclamations for my new subjects to abide by. This goes for yankees and corrupted natives alike...
Proclamation 1: Anyone in the Kingdom of South displaying a garment, bumper sticker, or other accoutrement displaying the phrase "Cowboy/girl Up" will be required to prove that he or she has spent at least 8 of the last 12 months herding cattle from Wyoming to Texas. Those found to be in violation of this proclamation will be held down by 3 "real" cowboys while a fourth demonstrates the art of branding by permanently embellishing the offender's forehead with the word "MORON". The offender will then be banished from the Kingdom of South and set free to find his/her fortune in the barren wastes (also known as Baltimore).
Proclamation 2: Nascar is not a sport and heretofore will not be referred to as such in Kingdom of South. Football is a sport. Basketball is a sport. Boxing is a sport. Nascar is driving. In circles. For 5 hours. If a denizen of the Kingdom of South really wishes to fork out $300 to watch nail-biting, edge of your seat action in a car, they may pay the same fee to me, thier king. I will then allow them to ride shotgun in the Royal Minivan as I attempt to merge onto Briley Parkway during rush hour. This is not recommended for the faint of heart.
Proclamation 3: Real southerners do not eat chitlins. These are touted as southern delicacies in an attempt to play jokes on yankees. Bets are often made between southerners on whether the part of a pig that the crap comes out of can be made appetizing sounding enough to convince a northerner to eat it. This practice is hereby outlawed in the Kingdom of South. It is cruel and heartless and the poor yankees don't know any better.
Proclamation 4: If a citizen of the Kingdom of South is found to be wearing a belt buckle that is similar in weight and size to the WWE Heavyweight Title, said person will be forced to defend his right to wear such a belt against Batista and Stone Cold Steve Austin in a Texas Tornado Death Match at the next pay per view event.
Proclamation 5: There is no animal that naturally produces hot pink leather so anyone in the Kingdom of South caught wearing hot pink cowboy boots will be summarily dumped in the Cumberland River, his fate to be decided by the ravages of whatever chemicals happen to have been deposited there the day before.
Proclamation 6: Citizens of the Kingdom of South will not be permitted to begin any sentence with the phrase "You might be a redneck if..." Jeff Foxworthy is funny when he says this. You are not.
Proclamation 7: Singers will be required to take a test that proves a passing familiarity with the works of Hank Williams Sr., Patsy Cline, Willie Nelson, and Ronnie Milsap before being allowed to use the word "country" to describe his/her record. If your primary influence is Def Leppard, you are not a country artist.
There you have it. A few decrees to keep the Kingdom of South running smoothly. I think this king thing might work out. It's good to be king, at least according to the Kingdom's Secretary of Rock & Roll, Tom Petty. Besides, once Darth Kel conquers the left coast as she seems poised to do any day now, we can begin a sweep of all the states in the middle until we meet in Oklahoma, poised to raise our flag (a pint of Guinness and a Miller Light in the bottle) and begin our reign of terror. Mwahahahahahahahahahahaha!!!!
Or something like that...
Until then,
King Gryph
"It's good to be king, whatever it pays..."
-Tom Petty
NP: Tom Petty: The Last DJ
But that's ok. My wife is a yankee (reformed) and most of my friends are from out of state somewhere. I welcome anyone to come experience the splendor of our great state. But, in order to keep the South the wonderful place that it has always been, there've got to be some rules. Therefore, I've decided that someone has to do the job and it may as well be me. From here on, I have officially declared myself King of the South.
As any good king would do, I have even written some proclamations for my new subjects to abide by. This goes for yankees and corrupted natives alike...
Proclamation 1: Anyone in the Kingdom of South displaying a garment, bumper sticker, or other accoutrement displaying the phrase "Cowboy/girl Up" will be required to prove that he or she has spent at least 8 of the last 12 months herding cattle from Wyoming to Texas. Those found to be in violation of this proclamation will be held down by 3 "real" cowboys while a fourth demonstrates the art of branding by permanently embellishing the offender's forehead with the word "MORON". The offender will then be banished from the Kingdom of South and set free to find his/her fortune in the barren wastes (also known as Baltimore).
Proclamation 2: Nascar is not a sport and heretofore will not be referred to as such in Kingdom of South. Football is a sport. Basketball is a sport. Boxing is a sport. Nascar is driving. In circles. For 5 hours. If a denizen of the Kingdom of South really wishes to fork out $300 to watch nail-biting, edge of your seat action in a car, they may pay the same fee to me, thier king. I will then allow them to ride shotgun in the Royal Minivan as I attempt to merge onto Briley Parkway during rush hour. This is not recommended for the faint of heart.
Proclamation 3: Real southerners do not eat chitlins. These are touted as southern delicacies in an attempt to play jokes on yankees. Bets are often made between southerners on whether the part of a pig that the crap comes out of can be made appetizing sounding enough to convince a northerner to eat it. This practice is hereby outlawed in the Kingdom of South. It is cruel and heartless and the poor yankees don't know any better.
Proclamation 4: If a citizen of the Kingdom of South is found to be wearing a belt buckle that is similar in weight and size to the WWE Heavyweight Title, said person will be forced to defend his right to wear such a belt against Batista and Stone Cold Steve Austin in a Texas Tornado Death Match at the next pay per view event.
Proclamation 5: There is no animal that naturally produces hot pink leather so anyone in the Kingdom of South caught wearing hot pink cowboy boots will be summarily dumped in the Cumberland River, his fate to be decided by the ravages of whatever chemicals happen to have been deposited there the day before.
Proclamation 6: Citizens of the Kingdom of South will not be permitted to begin any sentence with the phrase "You might be a redneck if..." Jeff Foxworthy is funny when he says this. You are not.
Proclamation 7: Singers will be required to take a test that proves a passing familiarity with the works of Hank Williams Sr., Patsy Cline, Willie Nelson, and Ronnie Milsap before being allowed to use the word "country" to describe his/her record. If your primary influence is Def Leppard, you are not a country artist.
There you have it. A few decrees to keep the Kingdom of South running smoothly. I think this king thing might work out. It's good to be king, at least according to the Kingdom's Secretary of Rock & Roll, Tom Petty. Besides, once Darth Kel conquers the left coast as she seems poised to do any day now, we can begin a sweep of all the states in the middle until we meet in Oklahoma, poised to raise our flag (a pint of Guinness and a Miller Light in the bottle) and begin our reign of terror. Mwahahahahahahahahahahaha!!!!
Or something like that...
Until then,
King Gryph
"It's good to be king, whatever it pays..."
-Tom Petty
NP: Tom Petty: The Last DJ
posted by Gryphon at 7:30 PM
3 Comments:
Sire,
Having been born a Yankee by mistake- I had no control of the location of my mother at the time of my birth- and being as in love with the south as you are, I can tell you with wholehearted glee that I can easily subscribe to your proclamations.
Being a king, AKA a man, you missed one important Southern distinction. Southerners are polite. Okay, SOBER Southerners are polite, and they have honed this politeness to such a science that they have ways in which to be insulting in a polite manner. Somewhere in the distant past, Southern women found you could say anything negative about another person as long as you suffixed the statement with the phrase "bless his/her heart." Example: "Honey, he's as dumb as a bag of hammers, bless his heart." "She looks like death nibblin' on a cracker, bless her heart." "That child is not right, bless its heart." I find this charming... bless my heart.
I could be pursuaded to lift a Black and Tan once we've conquered the states... but if I lift more than one, well... all I can say is that it's a good thing you're the King. 'Cause I'll look like your court jester.
Young Gryphon,
I do not understand why Darth Kel is letting you get away with not posting more frequently, but I want to remind you that I am your biggest fan, and I know where you live. And while I would never chop off your feet a la "Misery", I can make your life a misery without the axe. Ask my children. Writers write, right? So WRITE!
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