Post by Rimmer on Jan 13, 2004 20:54:53 GMT
Nicks: Judd, Beer Stump.
Age: "I'm gonna die in a few weeks, who really cares?" or "I miss my Buckeroo... first rifles always end up in the lake, son. You can see the barrels poking out of it. But the cops ain't findin it, no siree Bob! Unless they want to itch poison ivy and be zapped by the mutant cow next the barn."
He's an older redneck with a memory as efficient as a sieve. Dor instance, he is married to some waitress, he's sure of that, but doesn't even know her name. Or where she is.
So he addresses the mufflers he gets her for Christmas to "somewhere past Kentucky on the left hand side."
How did his memory get so bad? Well, he works as a trucker shipping a s**load of weapons-grade plutonium from place to place, field to field, rocket factory to rocket factory.
The big problem is that he can't really go to work anymore. One of the more important reasons is because they banned beer drinking at the intersection. He also can't get to the intersection, see, because his rig is about a foot to much for "standards" in... all directions, has a blown head gasket, a busted oil pan, no carburator, and two flat tires.
'Nother one is because you can't really work around weapons grade plutonium without floating in and out of the quarantine. They all warned him not to touch and or eat the glowwy stuff... but Cloyde missed it, I suppose.
"Bumpkins who don't work can't be bumpkins at all" though, so he ships his plutonium by hamster power. Even with possible cancers orgying off him.
His new job then, is hanging around the bar in overalls, flannel, and a deerstalker.
Age: "I'm gonna die in a few weeks, who really cares?" or "I miss my Buckeroo... first rifles always end up in the lake, son. You can see the barrels poking out of it. But the cops ain't findin it, no siree Bob! Unless they want to itch poison ivy and be zapped by the mutant cow next the barn."
He's an older redneck with a memory as efficient as a sieve. Dor instance, he is married to some waitress, he's sure of that, but doesn't even know her name. Or where she is.
So he addresses the mufflers he gets her for Christmas to "somewhere past Kentucky on the left hand side."
How did his memory get so bad? Well, he works as a trucker shipping a s**load of weapons-grade plutonium from place to place, field to field, rocket factory to rocket factory.
The big problem is that he can't really go to work anymore. One of the more important reasons is because they banned beer drinking at the intersection. He also can't get to the intersection, see, because his rig is about a foot to much for "standards" in... all directions, has a blown head gasket, a busted oil pan, no carburator, and two flat tires.
'Nother one is because you can't really work around weapons grade plutonium without floating in and out of the quarantine. They all warned him not to touch and or eat the glowwy stuff... but Cloyde missed it, I suppose.
"Bumpkins who don't work can't be bumpkins at all" though, so he ships his plutonium by hamster power. Even with possible cancers orgying off him.
His new job then, is hanging around the bar in overalls, flannel, and a deerstalker.
Oh, and I nearly forgot... FIRST POSTER DAAAANCE!! <insert tinny disco music here> 
You'll like him, I promise.