the awesome/terrifying freedom

behold the sad, weary eyes of a man who can't seem to find a cousin, goat, or mossy knothole with which to relieve himself. behold the tattered clothes, the blank stare of a falcon porn star that says 'yep, that's my cock. you like to look, don't you? go ahead. it's all i got.'

the horny hillbilly gazes out into the cold unfeeling world and demands that he be looked at. he demands to be sexualized. the gun slung behind his back holds no power compared to the muscle between his legs (though he seems to be the victim of an overzealous circumcision). he says 'i am not of your socio-ecomonic class. i am often the object of ridicule. and yet i have unfliching reproductive desires.'

but here is the most disturbing part:

made in china.

somewhere across the ocean is a factory devoted entirely to the production of horny hillbillys. a massive room full of chinese women with paintbrushes who feed their children and pay their rent by painting sad eyes onto little plastic applachians with raging boners.


meet li. she carefully peels the mold excess from the seams, polishes each tiny penis and shakes her head, wondering what the hell is happening over here, that a product like this would sell well enough to justify mass overseas production. she watches thousands and thousands of horny hillbillys go by, plucking out those with penis deformities seen only in the most obscure medical textbooks. she imagines that the hillbilly must be the most respected class of citizen in the us. he's like a buddha, she thinks, but skinny. and hung. with a gun.

though if america did have a buddha, i suppose this would be it.

does she know that it's the tackiest piece of shit in the world?