My wife Maggie and I arrived in the mountains after surviving the “dangerous” city life of our childhoods. We soon found out that a hardened street gang member from the “hood” would find an “inbred redneck” far more frightening than another gang member with a different colored bandanna.
Just a few months after we arrived I rounded the curve in the road at the “charcoal” plant and saw my first visual of what is called around here as “redneck humor.” There lay an armadillo that had been hit by a passing vehicle.
The armadillo was obviously dead. His death though, had been honored at a new level of remembrance. He was cradling a beer can in his arms as if he was finishing the last drop. I found the scene humorous. You can be just so serious on this earthly plane. Anyhow, this was my formal introduction to the native “redneck” humor that would show up unexpectedly from time to time. By the way, the beer can was a “Bud Light” that we found later to be the brand of choice in this “[red]neck of the woods.”