Back in 1995 during the heyday of the war on Big Tobacco, anti-smoking groups created what they thought was a clever marketing campaign. They contrasted the powerful warning labels for cigarettes in other countries with the weaker labels here in the United States.
To illustrate the point, the clueless crusaders sent sample labels to every member of Congress and to journalists like me. There was just one problem: The labels were on actual packs of cigarettes. Activists who had dedicated their lives to kicking tobacco’s butts had become charity tobacco distributors for a day. Free smokes for everyone!
That irony came to mind today when I saw this “public service announcement” against guns:
“What the ad-makers are encouraging is highly illegal and invites danger,” The Daily Caller noted in describing the ad. “The boy would be guilty of weapons theft, illegal concealed carry and carrying a weapon on school property.”
That last point is the most outrageous when you think about the senseless zero-tolerance atmosphere that anti-gun zealots have inspired in public schools. Children can’t even use their fingers to simulate gun play or shape a pastry to look like a gun without being punished severely.
Who’s the ad wizard who thought it would be a good idea to tell students to sneak actual weapons, and presumably loaded ones, onto school property?!
That’s actually a rhetorical question. Her name is Rejina Sincic, and she is standing by her creation, to the point of calling people “cowards” for not sharing it. Thousands of YouTube viewers have voted the video down, compared with a handful who actually like it, yet she still can’t see the hypocrisy of it all.
That’s what happens when you’re blinded by a superiority complex.
Update, Dec. 27: The backlash against her video, including the Hit & Run blog calling it “the worst anti-gun PSA of all time,” prompted Sincic to make private her original upload, which I had embedded here, and block all comments about the new version, which is now embedded above.
Filed under: Advertising and Culture and Education and Hunting & Guns and Video
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This here is real redneck talent:
Filed under: Hunting & Guns and Music and Video
After watching a contentious election season back in 2008, I thought bloggers across the political spectrum might like to blow off some steam, so I tried to organize a friendly but potentially painful round of paintball for bloggers in the Washington, D.C., area. Here’s how I pitched it:
The response to the invitation was telling. Some conservatives bloggers expressed interest in the idea right away, but there were no takers on the left.
The most amusing feedback came from a liberal journalist who said he wasn’t interested because “I hate violence, even the sublimated kind.” That’s the psychobabble way of saying paintballers don’t just wanna have fun. They’re really expressing a desire to engage in bad behavior “by changing it into a form that is socially acceptable.”
It’s that kind of elitist ignorance of redneck culture that leads to embarrassing incidents like this:
That’s right, a Huffington Post reporter whose beat is to cover the police can’t tell the difference between earplugs like my wife wears to drown out my snoring and the rubber bullets that officers regularly use for riot control.
Filed under: Hunting & Guns and Media and News & Politics and Photography and Rednecks and Social Media
About 15 miles north of downtown Atlanta, just inside the Interstate 285 loop that encircles the metropolitan area, there’s a mansion that screams enlightened redneck.
The enlightened features include:
Now for the redneck rooms of the estate, located in a separate “two-story entertainment building.” These two pictures from the Coldwell Banker listing are worth any 2,000 words I could muster to describe the rooms:
For a cool $1.499 million, this home in Sandy Springs can be yours. But the collection of stuffed animals doesn’t appear to be part of the package.
Filed under: An Enlightened Redneck ... and Culture and Hunting & Guns and Rednecks and Wildlife
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Jim Geraghty of National Review Online came away from this year’s National Rifle Association convention with fresh insight into one of America’s great cultural battles.
This battle pits the bearded, meat-and-potatoes men of the NRA against the “muppies” (formerly metrosexuals) who hate everything “those guys” of real America represent. Or as I preach it on this blog, it’s the rednecks versus the elitists.
In Geraghty’s eyes, the hatred of the NRA and its members boils down to this:
The muppies will not rest until they crush the redneck. We rednecks “may laugh at Metrosexual America,” Geraghty said, “but you rarely if ever see them argue that America must be purged of its metrosexuals.” By contrast, the muppies demand that everyone conform to their elitist vision.
And that’s why the NRA will continue to be a force for enlightened redneck culture.
Filed under: Culture and Hunting & Guns and News & Politics and Rednecks
As a tee-totaling redneck, I’ve always been annoyed that beer brands make some of the most clever TV ads. But you gotta give props where props are due, and Keystone Light has a winner in my book with its fishing ad that glorifies the lowly worm:
I’ve always been partial to the worm as bait. During my high school years, I earned some hefty pocket change catching dozens of nightcrawlers a night in my hometown and selling them for 50 cents to 65 cents per dozen. My biggest problem as a businessman was not using the inventory myself in the Ohio River and its tributary streams on the West Virginia side of the river.
Some of my fishing mentors and companions razzed me over my choice of bait. Even the hillbilly hollers have their share of anglers who look down their noses if you use live bait, and especially nightcrawlers, instead of tying a fly, a spinner or some other lure on the end of your line. Dough balls, corn and even stink bait for catfish ranked higher in their minds than dirty worms.
“A River Runs Through It” memorialized this brand of redneck elitism in a scene where the bumbling bait fisherman showed up late and drunk, with a coffee can full of worms. The uppity fly fishermen, the movie’s main characters, found him hours later, naked and sunburned because he fell asleep in the grass with the hussy he brought with him.
But no matter how much mocking I endured, I never wavered from the worms. I also usually caught far more fish than my friends who were loyal to their lures, as did the fishermen who came knocking on my parents’ door for bait — sometimes to the tune of 20 dozen or more at once.
The pinnacle of my fishing youth came on the day when the man who taught me the most about the sport asked if I’d share my worms with him. He had been fishing all day with his favorite lure, white Curly Tail Grubs from Mister Twister.
For every bass he tricked with those lures, I hooked two to three with my nightcrawlers. They were biting within seconds after my bait hit the water. His “luck” improved dramatically when he swapped the plastic for the natural.
My mentor was a teetotaler, too, but if a non-alcoholic version of Keystone Light had existed back then, he just might have bought me a brew to toast the worm for the win.
Filed under: Advertising and Business and Family and Fishing and Rednecks and Sports and Video and West Virginia
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Joe Manchin may regret shooting a piece of legislation with a high-powered rifle in his 2011 West Virginia Senate campaign, but his “Dead Aim” ad has spawned another enlightened redneck imitator this year.
In his race for an Alabama House seat, Will Brooke takes a few shots, literally, at President Obama’s healthcare law — and makes a statement in defense of gun rights at the same time:
The moral of this video story: Not even a speeding bullet fired from the barrel of a high-powered rifle or pistol can penetrate the mountain of bureaucratic language that now governs American health care.
Filed under: Government and Health and Hunting & Guns and News & Politics and People and Video and West Virginia
Something happened in the White House that you don’t see every day: President Obama hosted gun-loving rednecks in a celebration of college athletics. Or to be more specific, he hosted the West Virginia University rifle team, which has won a record 15 championships.
“This is a great honor,” Mountaineer rifle coach Jon Hammond told WAJR.com. “We’re honored to be the first WVU team to attend the White House. This promises to be a great moment for the student-athletes, and I’m glad they have the chance to enjoy this experience. Hopefully, this day will be something they’ll look back on fondly when they’re older.”
But I’m sure WVU’s shooting stars weren’t clinging to their guns while they were there. They also weren’t the only guests, as Obama invited championship teams from multiple sports. Watch video of the event:
Filed under: Government and Hunting & Guns and News & Politics and Rednecks and Video and West Virginia
The world only knows them as John and Mary. They understandably want to remain anonymous after finding a stash of gold coins that had been buried on their property in eight cans for decades. The 1,411 coins are worth $28,000 face value, $2 million if melted for the gold and an estimated $10 million in collectible value.
The Los Angeles Times reported these details about the “Saddle Ridge Hoard,” the largest ever found in U.S. history:
When I heard the story on the news one morning this week, I told our daughter to go get our son and tell him to take the dog for a walk. You never know what you might find!
The story also got me excited about using my metal detector again. My wife bought it for me for Christmas in 2012 and gave me some accessory equipment this past Christmas. I’ve only used it once on my father’s property in West Virginia, and the only coin I found was a wheat penny from the 1940s. (I also found an old, rusted pocket knife and other metallic odds and ends.)
But we’ve only just begun. We have more than 30 acres to search. National Geographic’s coverage of the Saddle Ridge Hoard says there are few hoards of gold coins in the United States.
Here’s a quote from Douglas Mudd, the director and curator of the American Numismatic Association’s Money Museum: “You get a lot of hoards in Europe — coins buried for hundreds or thousands of years, but they’re less common in the U.S. Our history isn’t that long, and for most of the time we’ve had banks, so people have tended to put their money there. … Sixty, 70, 200 coins — yes. Fourteen-hundred? That’s exceptional.”
But that’s OK. I’d be happy to find a few random silver coins and maybe an Indian arrowhead or two. It’s all about the hunt to us diggers. And as National Geographic says, “People who sweep metal detectors over fields as a hobby, and backyard dog walkers casually kicking up a bit of dirt, can always hope for a lucky strike.”
Filed under: Coin Collecting and History and Human Interest and News & Politics and Technology and West Virginia
I remember well the rush of adrenaline that coursed through me as I watched a seven-point buck (eight points if you counted the nub of another tine) turned the corner of the hillside and came into view on my grandfather’s farm. His antlers were thick and stood high above his ears. I could see them easily even though he was about 60 yards away in thick woods and brush.
The buck had no clue I was there and didn’t seem to care about anything around him. I soon realized why. I took a shot at the buck with my .32-caliber lever action, and a deer I hadn’t seen leaped from her bed. He was walking intently, with his nose to the ground, because he was on the trail of a doe in heat. I doubt he even heard the sound of the rifle discharging.
I took three more shots into the brush, and that buck never broke his stride. But after I fired my fifth round, he jumped up and to the right. He quickly disappeared up the hill, so although I was sure I had hit him, I also suspected I had missed the kill zone.
I waited a few minutes before heading up the hill to look for a blood trail. I lost hope after a half-hour and headed back to my stand to wait for my fellow hunters who were driving the woods toward me opposite from the direction the buck had been traveling.
A short while later, my uncle came around the hill. We then headed uphill to reconnect with another hunter who had been standing point at the top of the hill. He had fired a few shots not long after me, and when we met him, he blurted out, “Whoever shot five times hit a monster buck!”
It turns out that I had gut shot the buck, and he didn’t start bleeding until well after my last shot. My fellow hunter saw him crossing the right-of-way at the top of the hill and took a few shots. He later found the blood trail and followed it briefly before heading back for help.
For the next hour or more, my uncle, the other hunter and I trailed that blood trail for two miles. It was almost dark before we finally stumbled upon the buck. He staggered to his feet but didn’t get far before my uncle, who was at the front of our tracking group, finished the kill with his .348-caliber lever action.
I’m looking at the antlers of that deer on the wall of our living room as I write this. That hunt was 30 years ago, but I remember it like yesterday. I’m reliving the details now because I just read the story of Makayla Hay, a 15-year-old girl who downed a true monster of a buck in Texas this fall. My trophy pales in comparison to the one she claimed.
Filed under: Family and Hunting & Guns and Rednecks and West Virginia and Wildlife
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