Stuff Hillbillies Like: Armed Standoffs

Hillbillies are bound by some sort of code that covers not only how they live their lives of squalid excess, but also outline the ways they die, usually in exuberant depression.

While the code is unwritten and is decipherable only by the hillfolk, there are some magnificent acts that serve as a redneck Rosetta Stone for those of us who wish to know the hillbilly, but lie just outside of this genetically-shallow gene pool.

Hillbillies honor this code by choosing not to end their lives silently and respectfully, but to shuffle off the mortal coil in the most expressive and expensive way possible: the armed standoff. The armed standoff generally starts off innocently enough with a liberal mixture of booze and prescription medicine, along with copious quantities of cable television programming, including Lifetime.

Any emotional incident can trigger the armed standoff: a soured relationship, the repossession of a favorite pickup truck, or, as is more often the case, a deepening suspicion that the government may be using miniature helicopters disguised as bumble bees to spy on their pocket knife collection.

The armed stand off starts when the hillbilly barricades himself in his house or trailer. Then, he calls 911 to tell the police that he is, indeed, barricaded in his house or trailer. So, as not to totally ruin the surprise, the hillbilly is cagey about the amount of arms he possesses and the ultimate intention of his actions.

It's generally referred to as "goin' down in a blaze of glory," which fills the mind of the hillbilly up with visions of Jon Bon Jovi in a cowboy hat, asleep on a private jet.

Much to the chagrin of the hillbilly neighbors, the police must show up in the early morning hours, in force. Police cruisers, SWAT trucks, fire apparatus, water mules, ice cream trucks, motorcycles with sidecars, clown cars, helicopters, and a few tractor-trailers.

Back in the day, the cops would rush to the window and toss in a telephone that would serve as a means of communication between the hillbilly and a negotiator. Now, despite refusing to pay for adequate health care, the hillbilly will spend hundreds on cell phone and texting service. The cops just call the cell and wait for the Korn ring tone.

After tedious negotiations, the cops will then call in "relations" who will try to talk the hillbilly out safely. The standoff usually ends peacefully, with the hillbilly exiting the premises expecting to be greeted with hugs and high-fives from friends and family. The police, however, proceed to slam him to the ground and hogtie him faster than a rodeo heifer.

On the odd chance that the situation does not resolve peacefully and the hillbilly actually dies, the grief will spawn survivors into a heightened round of boozing and country music.

Followed by another armed standoff.

Stuff Hillbillies Like: Dirt

As evidenced by their sports, their vehicles, their homes and trailers, and their bodies, hillbillies like dirt. And all its multitudinous forms: dust, mud, filth, grime, and grit.

A hillbilly wants nothing better than to spend--the culturally insensitive might say "waste"--his or her Saturday afternoons driving a vehicle through mud. The more exposed that vehicle can be to the elements, the better. The hillbilly will ride small, open, four-wheel vehicles in the mud so he can become caked in the sacred substance.

The hillbilly likes to call this vehicle an "all terrain vehicle." Terrain, after all, is just a fancy city word for "mud."

It's better known, though, as an ATV because terrain is hard to pronounce and it sounds vaguely French.

ATVs are responsible for more than just dirty hillbillies, though; the ATV is the cause of injured hillbillies. Despite days and days spent riding aimlessly in the hills and valleys and who could forget the "hollahs," hillbillies seem unable to master the art of avoiding trees and telephone poles in their four-wheel Medicaid machines.

Fortunately for the hillbilly, the government subsidizes their recuperation time to the tune of billions of dollars each year. Unfortunately, it's time spent in a clean, sterile and booze-free environment: a hospital.

And that's no fun.