"hey let's load that them there potato gun!"
So I worry about being white trash.
No, not right now, as I know that now, going on my twenty-third year of life, I am still quite classy and attractive.
But what happens in a year when I am done earning a higher education? And quite nearly homeless due to the fact that my college work study income will no longer support anything resembling life, including me.
This is stupid because it is inevitable.
I will be reduced to wearing stretch pants. Growing my hair out far too long, stringy and greasy. Using a scrunchie to hold my long, stringy and greasy hair back off of my face, which will be covered in hot pink lipstick and "Much Too Blue" eyeshadow that God never intended anyone to buy, let alone actually wear. Except, of course, White Trash Emilee. That's right, I will of course need to change the spelling of my name to go along with my new way of life. I will even dot the "i" with a heart. Or a small trash can, to show how I have embraced my newfound trashiness. I will be forced to marry some revolting member of the opposite sex, who thinks "Harley Davidson" t-shirts and mullets are still, or ever were, an acceptable fashion trend. My weddin' dress will be one of two things: either made out of garbage bags, because they can be bought in bulk, or huge with a lot of bows. Large bows. And I will get my nails done for my special day -- hot-pink-bordering-on-fluorescent-orange beautiful. We will, unfortunate to society, procreate. Little Bobby-Joe, Shelly-Jo, and Tammy-Jo. We will stuff the chillin' in our rusty pick up truck and frequent The Walmart every night after our feast at The KFC.
I would really like to go on Jerry Springer, too.
Just to throw a chair or two at some hussy that wants my man and thinks she can go breakin' apart my family.
Man, what a fulfilling life I will lead.
No, not right now, as I know that now, going on my twenty-third year of life, I am still quite classy and attractive.
But what happens in a year when I am done earning a higher education? And quite nearly homeless due to the fact that my college work study income will no longer support anything resembling life, including me.
This is stupid because it is inevitable.
I will be reduced to wearing stretch pants. Growing my hair out far too long, stringy and greasy. Using a scrunchie to hold my long, stringy and greasy hair back off of my face, which will be covered in hot pink lipstick and "Much Too Blue" eyeshadow that God never intended anyone to buy, let alone actually wear. Except, of course, White Trash Emilee. That's right, I will of course need to change the spelling of my name to go along with my new way of life. I will even dot the "i" with a heart. Or a small trash can, to show how I have embraced my newfound trashiness. I will be forced to marry some revolting member of the opposite sex, who thinks "Harley Davidson" t-shirts and mullets are still, or ever were, an acceptable fashion trend. My weddin' dress will be one of two things: either made out of garbage bags, because they can be bought in bulk, or huge with a lot of bows. Large bows. And I will get my nails done for my special day -- hot-pink-bordering-on-fluorescent-orange beautiful. We will, unfortunate to society, procreate. Little Bobby-Joe, Shelly-Jo, and Tammy-Jo. We will stuff the chillin' in our rusty pick up truck and frequent The Walmart every night after our feast at The KFC.
I would really like to go on Jerry Springer, too.
Just to throw a chair or two at some hussy that wants my man and thinks she can go breakin' apart my family.
Man, what a fulfilling life I will lead.