Originally I believed that online dating was meant only for the hopelessly unattractive or disfigured, but that’s only half the story. After trolling Cupid and Plenty of Fish for needy and emotionally draining women for about an hour I realized there was an entire demographic that I had been neglecting: single mothers!

There seems to be two distinct groups of single mothers that utilize online dating. The first are those looking for someone to help raise their kids. You can’t blame them for looking online. I’m sure there are a plethora of introverted men looking to bypass the social experience of falling in love and would prefer to pick out a family online, similar to the way they shop around for their japanese tentacle rape pornography. Lord knows I do! The second is the strong and independent mother that doesn’t have the time to get out and meet men. This group seems promising! I’ll post an update in a few days and let everyone know how this online dating thing works out.

The industry is full of clock-punchers: the so-called artists that seemingly have a track quota they need to meet each year which they fill with generic lyrics born less from the heart than the wallet. I expect this sort of sell-out behavior from rap and rock; after all, musicians are like the rest of us and we all have a tenancy to mellow with age. So we’ve got guys that once sang songs like Cop Killa and Fuck tha’ Police playing detectives on TV and making children’s movies. As I said, I expect this sort of behavior from rap and rock and all of their subgenres because it’s so difficult to keep up that booze-drinking, drug-doing, groupie-banging pace as well as the level of anger that makes a legendary rap or rock song. And with social security being what it is, I understand Ice Cube’s need for a paycheck.

But I expected more from you, country music. You used to be about hard work, rebelliousness, heartbreak, and making bad decisions. Did you stop singing about hard work because the media keeps telling us that Americans are lazy? Has there been a time since 1861 when we’ve needed a little rebellion in our hearts more than we do today? Did relationships all of the sudden get simple while I was busy picking at my emotional wounds to the tunes of Tammy Wynette? And when did we stop enjoying a good soundtrack to go along with our mischief? Country music, I just don’t know who you are anymore.

Luckily the spirit of country is alive and well in the form of Hank Williams III. When I listened to Hank III for the first time two months ago I actually had to ask around to confirm that he really was off the radar of country fans and not just my own. You’d think the grandson and son of two of country’s biggest legends would have more respect in Nashville, but they’re not giving it and he wouldn’t want it if they were.

As soon as I heard the following lyrics, I knew I was in love.

I’m here to put the dick in Dixie
And the cunt back in country
Cuz the kind of shit I’m hearing nowadays
Is a bunch of fuckin shit to me.

He’s got the voice of Hank Senior, the piss and vinegar of his dad, and more than a little rebelliousness all his own. But he’s more than just the progeny of these two legends. The themes of his music go back to the roots of country but have a modern, sometimes almost punkish sound (Hank himself says he’s influences by cow punk). He’s rebellious; he’s hard working; he makes some bad decisions; and he’s the future that country music should have had.

For example, this weekend I single-handedly dismantled a terrorist network and assassinated the rogue Russian diplomat that controlled them.  In 18 hours of game play I won the war on terror.  How’s that for a withdraw timetable, Mrs. Pelosi?  Just set Iraq to Normal Difficulty and send me in; I’ll find Bin Laden and the WMD’s and be home in time for dinner. Perhaps Call of Duty 4 is going to my head; but if it’s wrong for an adult to wear camouflage an cookware on his head while camping out in front of the television all day screaming expletives at imaginary terrorists, I don’t really want to be right.

Playstation 3 could possibly be the end of what little motivation I had left.

I did manage to pry myself away from the war on terror long enough to go out with some friends last night.  Originally we planned on visiting the End Zone in State College, but half of our group bitched out before even we left town.  You know what they say: you can please some of the people all of the time and you can please all the people some of the time, but some people wait all week for better plans to come up and scumbag you at the last second.  That is what they say, right?  Don’t worry, I’m not bitter or anything.

So I go along with my roommate, his twat du juor, and one of his friends to Williamsport for dinner and a wild night on the town.  At some point we decided that it was worth the hour drive to eat at a restaurant that not only exists in our own town but isn’t even worth eating at anyway, so we pull in to Ruby Tuesdays to stuff our gullets. Apparently no one was listening to my infomercial for Ichiban’s Japanese steakhouse on the ride up, because I really wanted to go there instead.
After dinner we went to a bar called Benji’s.  There was nothing particularly special about Benji’s except that I got to see a lady in a wheelchair dancing, or as I like to call it, “treading imaginary water.”  I chuckled a little bit at first. Then I realized that it was actually really great that this woman wasn’t letting her disability ruin her fun and that I’m an awful person for finding her situation funny.  I’m also a bad person for secretly wishing she would have tried to ride the mechanical bull, but seriously, who can blame me?

Eventually we had mocked everyone at Benji’s and were forced to entertain ourselves elsewhere, so we drove down the street to the Cell Block. The Cell Block is not my kind of bar.  In fact I would have enjoyed myself more had they never converted it from a prison to a dance club.  Coincidentally I was tempted to shank half the people there, but it’s harder to break skin with the swizzle stick from a cocktail than you might think, especially when the people you want to shank are wearing a protective popped-collar which greatly inhibits your ability to make the shanking count.

Chuck’s girl spent much of the night dancing with an old man that looked like a bulimic Santa Claus. This guy looked as though he would crawl down your chimney and eat the cookies and milk, then proceed to gag himself with a candy cane he took from your Christmas tree.  He had a funny little dance that I’m hoping someone caught on camera.

Chuck’s friend Ryan was accosted by a drunk girl who made out with him all night at the bar.  Can I call it accosted? I guess that depends on whether or not she was cute.  I was accosted by a girl in Shamokin once, but she was large and I was too drunk to scream rape.  Ryan’s make-out buddy was cute, at least seen through the lenses prescribed by Dr. Jack Daniels.

But at the end of the night she ditched him, and that actually made me angrier than it made him.  I was appalled at the lack of follow through this girl presented.  If you’re going to be a beer slut then be a beer slut. Don’t get cold feet at 2:00 A.M. and go home with your boyfriend instead of the random guy you spent the night getting horning-up. Show some dedication! This girl was a disappointment to bar rats across the nation, and I was sure to let her know before we parted ways.

The evening ended with a scenic drive home through Lycoming, Union, and Snyder counties.  You know you never really appreciate the natural beauty of Pennsylvania’s highways until some drunk broad makes you stop at every mile marker to spit up Long Island Iced Teas.  I went to bed with a new appreciation of the Department of Transportation’s craftmanship, and a renewed disdain for college kids.

The Jeep I am selling is a 2006 Jeep Wrangeler 4×4 65 Anniversary Edition.  It’s a standard Jeep Wrangler with a bunch of fancy additions, including a Sirius Satellite radio, 7 speakers, a subroofer, a flip-up soft top, and whole bunch of other fantastic features.  On top of that, there are still 18,000+ miles or 22 months left on the warranty.

If you are interested in checking out my Jeep, I’ve uploaded a PDF of my in-window advertisement as well as the CarFax report which shows a flawless vehicle history.  Check them out and get at me if you’re interested.

Jeep Information
CarFax Vehicle History Report