There is a threat so sinister one must wonder why no one speaks of it. You hear of nuclear apocalypses, zombie apocalypses, Biblical apocalypses, even fish apocalypses, but what about the hillbilly apocalypse? I know, I know. I hadn't heard of it either. Until I moved. To the hills. This seemingly benign demographic has flown under the radar far too long, amassing blue tarps, collecting firearms, and assulting humanity with their tobacco stained smiles and inbred border collies. They aren't as unassuming as they appear. It's my mission to expose this evil threat for what it is.
Hillbillies. They're everywhere, and they're armed. I thought they were just from the movies too. But they're real, and they're my neighbors. They roam these wild hills on their ATVs, shooting at ground squirrels, slapping Tea Party stickers on anything with wheels, and drinking Keystone in alarming quantities.
My very survival depends upon my staying in their good graces. Just as the debutante in the "big city" or, as I like to call it, "civilization", must attend the right social functions, so must I. Although in this venue, I use the term "social functions" VERY loosely. These soirees consist of "deep pit pig barbeques", any function with "4-H" in front of it, and a laundry list of various meetings held at the *ahem* community center. These may sound like charming and somewhat provincial gatherings, but in reality they are disturbing hillfolk rituals.
Now, lest you think me harsh in my criticism of the hillfolk, let me assure you it is warranted. I moved into their territory with the most generous of intentions. Green Acres-like, I yearned for the country and all it's charms and diversions. And, in that, I was not disappointed. It is glorious here. However, always lurking, are...the hill people. They eye you, fish-like, with suspicous peering orbs as you cruise by their double-wides in your huge, shiny SUV. They grunt unintelligible answers when you cheerfully ask where the nearest espresso shop is. They chatter maliciously amongst themselves when your belongings arrive in flashy PODS (love them!) instead of in the back of Bubba's truck. And, they GOSSIP! Taters and biscuits do these people gossip! There is a hillbilly grapevine so fast and efficient that Verizon Wireless should take notes. Plots to overthrow the government not-withstanding, these people are just plain mean.
I hope this blog serves as a wake-up call. The hillbillies are real, they're mean and they want to take over the world. They want to cover the world in blue tarps, marry their chickens, spit "tobacky" EVERYWHERE, and leer at anything female. A-N-Y-T-H-I-N-G. But, take heart. I am here, among them, with my ear to the ground, and I intend to expose their evil little sleeper cells before they spread, mildew-like across this great land. Welcome to Hillbilly Apocalypse.
