Posted by Vladimyr on Monday, December 8 2003
You may or may not be familiar with the name Cabela's. Basically, it is redneck heaven. It is a store that caters to the hunters, fishermen and general outdoorsmen in the United States. It is your one stop shop for guns, ammo, knives, camouflage, boats, dead animal heads and more. Yes indeed, it's a unique place. I recently went to a new Cabela's location that was built in Kansas City, Kansas. I was thoroughly disgusted, and amused, by what I saw.
First, let me give you just a little background on the area where this Cabela's store is located. If you aren't familiar with the Midwest region of the United States, you're probably fortunate. If you go to the southern states, you find cowboys and rednecks. If you go the coastal areas you find rich folks and preppy assholes. If you head north, well, I don't know any stereotypes for those areas, so fuck off. Basically what I'm getting at is that in the Midwest you have a strange concentration of all of these things in one place. Walking through Cabela's in Kansas City is like going to a "people zoo."
So, I'm walking through the main isle heading towards the clothing section, attempting to find a particular denim jacket for my old man. I pass some asshole wearing wrinkle-free khaki pants and a Ralph Lauren button up checking out the latest Remington pump 12 gauge. I guess his country club is going to be more active with their skeet shooting. I'm sure you'll be paying cash for it, won't you Biff? Then you'll go and get your wife Buffy, who is looking through the "oh so cute" woodsy knick knacks and decor. You'll hop into your Escalade and head back to your $400,000 house that is 18 inches from your neighbors on both sides and make sure Hunter and Lyndsey are at home doing their school work. How I'd love to grudge fuck your too proper wife and club you in the face with a tire iron.
Next, I pass a man dressed head to toe in camouflage. I barely saw him. He had summer teeth and smelled of greasy beef jerky and Wild Turkey. His neck was so red it glowed. As he walked along with his crusty wife, Bobbie Jean, our new friend Cooter spied a pair of camouflage, fancy that, hunting gloves. He stopped with a look of glee on his face and turned to Bobbie Jean. "Hey!" Cooter exclaimed. "I used to have me a pair 'a gloves like them but I burnt 'em up on the exhaust on my four wheeler." Cooter, I fucking hate you. You should not be allowed to procreate. Holy shit I would swallow your fucking soul! After recounting his enthralling account of the demise of the gloves, Cooter and Bobbie Jean lumbered out into the parking lot and got into their rusted '72 Chevy pickup and sped off into the night to go spotlight some deer.
Last, but certainly not least, I saw the biggest surprise of them all. Seven young Mexican guys came walking in to the store together. They may as well have had a cloud of smoke surrounding them. You could smell the pot from half way across the store. You could have blindfolded these vatos with some dental floss. As I turned and looked about the store I was momentarily at a loss as to why they were there. They weren't hunters or outdoorsmen, that much was clear. They weren't there to buy guns. They would get those illegally. They weren't there for the bass boats or gigantic barbecue grills. Then, it struck me. I had a sudden and powerful epiphany! They were only there for the flannel. Sure, they'd have to remove all of the buttons except the very top one, but that was a small price to pay for the plethora of flannel shirts available at Cabela's. After purchasing their fill, I'm sure all seven of them put on mesh ballcaps and loaded in to the front of a single pickup truck before speeding home to the apartment they shared with 37 others. After all, there was grass to be cut and dishes to be washed the following morning. Fucking illegal aliens.
I need a t-shirt that simply reads "Surrounded by Assholes." That says it all.
