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Survival Skills Title: Top Gear in America's redneck country Top Gear in America's redneck country Of all the hair-raising escapades in the show, being chased by murderous Traditionally, the question asked of me when I meet anyone for the first time has been: “So what’s the best car you’ve ever driven?” Recently there’s been a change, the new question running thus: “Did you really [insert ridiculous moment from Top Gear] or was it made up for the telly?” And for roughly a quarter of a year, maybe more, the new question was: “Were you really chased out of town by those American rednecks, or was it made up for the telly?” In the programme in question, we wanted to know if it was possible to buy a car and drive across a chunk of the USA for less money than the cost of traditional “fly-drive” schemes offered by holiday companies. It’s a pretty lengthy story, but in the course of our trip, by way of an entertaining diversion to keep up our spirits during an especially lengthy drive, we had devised a plan whereby we would each try to get the others killed. We would each decorate the others’ vehicles with slogans we felt might stir up the feelings of the locals, cause maximum discomfort to each driver and raise a laugh for the viewer at home. And so, in a broad, dusty lay-by at the side of a road leading to Alabama, we parked up and set to with the paintbrushes, spray cans and stencils. On the side of Jeremy’s ageing, beaten-up Trans Am I painted the legend, “Country music is rubbish”. Jeremy had adorned the flanks of James’s 1970s Cadillac with “Hillary for president” and “Nascar sucks”. I laughed at the slogans with Jeremy as we stood under the tall, smooth-barked trees and sheltered from the southern sun. James was still finishing the lettering on the side of my white pick-up truck and I didn’t want to spoil the moment by peeking before his work was done. Eventually, with a confident flourish of the brush, and a grin, James indicated that he had completed his masterpiece. We stepped up and surveyed. Along the side of my truck James had painted just four short words: “Man love rules OK”. Well, fair enough: it was perhaps the strongest of our three examples of automotive artwork, but nevertheless, we all felt that we would cause, at worst, a ripple of offence no deeper than that which might be generated among the residents of Cornwall by three visitors driving their cars through Truro with “Cream teas are rubbish” painted down the sides. We covered three miles before being placed in genuine fear for our lives. Things started well enough. Our convoy included the three cars being filmed, and, naturally, the cars and jeeps carrying the film crew and their equipment. It was a very hot day and every vehicle travelled with windows down and its occupants’ elbows out — not least James’s, since Jeremy and I had disabled his air-conditioning system with a crowbar at a campsite the previous evening. After just a mile or two, we spotted a road sign telling us we were in Alabama, and we pulled over to film it. The sign was riddled with bullet holes. And not the pathetic little air-rifle pellet holes you might occasionally see in the UK; this thing was peppered with shotgun blasts and a few larger, gaping wounds inflicted, I could only imagine, by slugs from high-powered hunting rifles. We were definitely not in Cornwall. A mile or so later, we pulled into what Jeremy seemed keen to call a “gas station”. The crew cars pulled up in a line to one side of us. As I rested a hand on the hot metal of the petrol pump nozzle and readied myself to heave it up and slot it into the car, a movement across the forecourt made me stop. A woman — presumably a local — was walking towards us. She had a long, rangy frame and looked to be made of wire and gristle underneath the plaid shirt and jeans. Maybe 50 years old with yellowing hair and brown teeth. “Y’all queers trying to see how long you can last in a hick town?” Post Comment Private Reply Ignore Thread Top • Page Up • Full Thread • Page Down • Bottom/Latest Begin Trace Mode for Comment # 18.
#1. To: Murron (#0)
“Y’all queers trying to see how long you can last in a hick town?” Murron, do you live in Alabama?
No, I was raised in Cincy, but moved to Kentucky, my families home state when I turned 18, I felt the city was no place to raise children after what I went through growing up. I now live on a nice ranch, about 25 acres, drive a SUV, have 2 dogs, 2 cats, and 3 horses. Now I want to ask a question. Why do some of you smear us who live in the south when you know absolutely nothing about us? Is it just to see if you can hurt a person?
Murron, skippy is just an asshole. Some people just can't help themselves. They are a product of genetics and their environment.
Fartsky, when you pull your head out of Mad Dogs asshole and see your shadow does that mean there's six more weeks of winter in your Alaska welfare state?
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