. . . it's as predictable as the swallows coming back to Capistrano, or the rednecks to Panama City . . .
( . . . keep yore cat-hats on, boys, I am a proud descendant of Alabama rednecks myself . . . )
I always say “You say redneck like it’s a bad thing.”
It’s become as much an Easter tradition as the Easter Bunny. Every year they come up with a new twist. We found Jesus’ casket. We found a new scroll that says Jesus had 15 kids. We found Mary’s diaphram.
Ahhhhh...the Redneck Riviera — my childhood stomping grounds!