If y'all was born anew in the glorious image of the unified synapses just so you could swing on a tire over a river of bile, y'all might be a redneck.
If y'all instantiate your neurons in a feeder host to experience the joy of consumption and you get your Pringles in a bucket, you might be a redneck.
If you formed secondary eye-stalks and bifurcated y'all's occipital lobe so you could watch NASCAR and the WWE at the SAME time, you might be a dang redneck.
If you reach out across the landscape of your unfurling flesh and y'all still can tell the model of John Deere tractor underneath your ganglion sprawl, you might just be a redneck.
If you learned how to lay eggs just so you could make a McMuffin, y'all might be a redneck.
If y'all can circulate your lymph directly into the ducts of your wife without triggerin' a cytokine cascade cuz you're family, y'all might be a redneck.
If your boneless limbs slap at an imaginary gear shift even when you're in the gestation sac, you might be a redneck.
If you herniate a secondary stomach through your garage door just to excrete tobacco juice straight in the storm drain, y'all might be a redneck.
If you would rather re-speciate to a burrowing organism covered in mucus just to avoid cuttin' the lawn, y'all might be a redneck.
If you have absorbed sufficient nutrients to bud a duplicate of yourself and you go ahead and ask yourself out on a date, y'all might be a redneck.
If your oozing nodes sheath your body in a frictionless slime, eliminating the need for feet or legs, but you're still wearin' a dang ol' pair of work boots, you might be a redneck.
If your name is on the belt buckle twisted up in your reproductive stems, you might be a redneck.
If your urge centers respond to ketchup more than sunlight even though you figured out how to photosynthesize, you might be a redneck.
If you stand taller than a church steeple, a swaying tower of livid flesh searching endlessly for sustenance, but ain't bothered to take your Christmas lights down by July, you might just be a redneck.
If you got deer antlers in your kitchen, on your truck, growing from your heads, and entire skeletons of deer tumbling out of your body in dis-articulated piles, you might be a redneck.
If you use tape to replace your car's tail light even though your body is joined to the continental body writhing from coast to coast, pulsating with urgent life, consciousness freed of the prison of singularity by the remaking of all flesh, y'all might be a dang redneck.
Editor's Note: Due to a freak power outage, this obituary of Barbara Bush was written without the benefit of research. In order to pay our respects to this great woman in a timely fashion, we have decided to post this piece as-is. We hope you forgive any errors on our part.
"God of War is the realization of our collective hopes and dreams, not just as gamers, but as gamer-citizens."
My game is funded. Now I know everything.
Sea of Thieves: Reduced the number of quest types from 3 to 2
The Something Awful front page news tackles anything both off and on the Internet. Mostly "on" though, as we're all incredible nerds.