Some times I miss living in Georgia. I had tons of encounters with all the different types of people who inhabit that wacky state, some good (Bethanie, that smart guy who never stumped me at Hangman at the Waffle House, and the 20 people I would meet on the streets of Thomaston who told me they hated my whorish ex-girlfriend) and others, well, they were typical ignorant rednecks who were, for lack of a better term, “racist hypocrites”.

Allow me to elaborate.

I didn’t just live in Georgia, I lived in rural Georgia. There were three types of people in rural Georgia: black people, rednecks, and me. The African-Americans lived on the north side of the city past the train tracks (seriously). I called them “black people”, but I was told by the white denizens of my city to refer to them by their humble African surname, “nigger”.

I am not a racist at all, so this bothered me. I try to see equality in everything I say or do, even when it’s potentially unhealthy for my well being. Since I’m an alcoholic, I obviously don’t care about my well being. So, I asked one of the local rednecks (who was sippin’ on a Budweiser while trying to contain his teenage wife with a teenage daughter and all ten dogs in a kennel in front of his trailer), if calling a redneck ‘a redneck’ was OK.

He asked me why I would ask that. I said, “well, black people call each other nigga all the time. It’s socially cool with them, so—”.

And he stopped me and said, “NIGG-ERR”. Emphasizing his speech on the nigger part.

I said, “NIGGGGGG-ERRRRR”. I figured if I extended my speech I’d be less guilty of saying it, or in case a black person heard me, I could pretend to be retarded to avoid an ass whoopin’. I was dating Becca at the time, so passing off retardation would have been a walk in the park.

Anyhoo, the redneck nodded in approval with my Ebonics. I know better then to piss off drunken white country folks, besides, being a smart ass is much better then being a dumbass. With that said, I decided to try and see if his redneck radar was sharp, or if he was as dumb as he spoke.

I asked him (after we both took a swig of beer), how to pronounce a word, because you know, I’m from Cali-forn-yaah. I asked him, “Do I say, “RED-NECK” or (in my best Southern accent), “REHH-NACK”, HYUK!”

He looked at me for what seemed like 3 seconds but it was probably only 2 seconds. In fact, here’s a Simpson’s artist rendering of his face when I said that:

"Ohh, nawww, u diiint!!"

Not skipping a second, I said, “So, can I call you that? Because, you know.. isn’t that fair?”.

Needless to say, I’m not allowed in Georgia anymore.

I’m pretty sure if I was even allowed to step foot in Georgia, I’d be more welcome on the north side of the city’s train tracks, anyways. At least then I’d be able to listen to good music and chillax on the porch sippin’ 40oz’s of malt liquor.