Day 36- Cowboys

Since I’m not quite done with “Fahrenheit 451,” I wanted to wait to make a response blog entry. There are a lot of things I should like to discuss if I will be able to properly formulate sentences to talk about it. We’ll see. The book has seemingly lit my mind on fire. As if I am burning instead of the book.

But more on that later.

For now, I just want to plead with my town to find some other form of bar entertainment life besides line dancing to 90’s music. Unfortunately, the only place that is packed on Friday and Saturday nights ’round here, is a country western bar. It disappoints me so.
I also think it’s odd that the only time I want to be around people is on weekend nights when I dress up like a super tramp. And yes, I would qualify myself as I super feminist. I’m not sure if that directly quarrels with my desire for my own beauty to be appreciated, except that it means that I subject myself to idiot crowds with poor taste in music in order for that objective to be accomplished.

At any rate, this wanna be cowboy hotspot is filled with wanna be cowboys who are rhythmically impaired.
I’m slightly irritated because I grew up on a farm and feel no reason to be proud of a gun-toting, Bush supporting, cowboy boots and big trucks using, less than burdened with an over abundance of schooling upbringing. I’m specifically referencing country-western songs that glorify things staying the same, being backwoods and staying culture deficient. As if to say anything related to the having of culture is womanly which just naturally means sissy, so of course a good ol’ boy can’t appreciate a priceless French painting. Not if he’s a REAL man.

Let me be clear, the people who attend this bar are from the city. They’ve probably never scooped horse poop once in their life, but yet they don flannel, cowboy boots, carharts and cowboy hats like they live the real Texas, steer-wrangling life.
I’d just like to say: if you’ve actually shoveled chicken shit, you’re most likely not gonna want to wear those boots out dancing.
This culture of dressing down for evenings out makes me super annoyed. Why don’t people take pride in their appearance?

I just want to grab these douche canoes by their reproductive bits and tell them: You’re not a cowboy/girl. You’re an idiot who paid too much for boots that are going to pinch your feet and never see the stirrups of a saddle. Your insistence on glorifying the “country life” reinforces negative stereotypes of people who are actually hardworking, educated farmers. Don’t even get me started on your poetically challenged “music.” Go fuck yourselves with your “mudding” truck’s double exhaust pipe.

This, this is why I’m called Spitebitch.


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