Deep Inside

I saw a very different city last night. As Kimmy said, "Some shit is going down here, tonight."
There is a revolution going on, and it's name is Kid Rock.

The park was full, but not over-stuffed. The crowd was made up of an interesting mix of young girls in mini dresses, bikini tops and go-go boots and shirtless guys, proud of the fact they couldn't see their own feet. Mullets waved gloriously in the evening breeze and the confederate flag flew on stage and made me think of simpler things, like tail gate parties, cars up on blocks and hucking beer bottles at each other's heads, just for fun.

West Coast Chopper, Fubar, the Trailer Park Boys, the Dukes of Hazzard and Kid Rock. The show was slick, the musicians were the best, the pyrotechnics were stunning and in the middle of it stood a man who has claimed his birth-right; the right to speak his mind, carry a gun, indulge in strippers and beer and will kick your ass for getting in his way. He had me at 'Fuck, yeah.'
He reached into my liberal soul and shook loose the arrogant, loud and dirty pride I feel at rocking with my head down, smoking pot when I want and pissing anywhere at all.
It felt good, for awhile, to reclaim my heritage, to be proud of the struggle of my forefathers, the fight against creeping political correctness, and stand tall against the pressure to globalize, institutionalize and compromise.

Then I noticed the people in front of me dumping everything from empty beer cups to baggies to food wrappers on the ground. The women were squat, loud and went for beer whenever their men ran out. The men were proud of being fat, ignorant and dirty. They don't realize that Kid Rock has packaged their lives and is selling it to a western world that is becoming afraid of change, diversity and multi-culturalism. These are my forefathers, who held rallies at the Orange Hall, intolerant of blacks, Jews and the English. They've circled the wagons in an effort to protect their right to beat their wives, torture their kids and destroy the environment that allows them to prosper. Their heroes are bigots, religious zealots and closed-minded politicians who are trying frantically to stop the changes they see in social evolution and global thinking.

And they love Kid Rock. I can't blame him. He's making a living and he's found his niche market. He's tapped into the culture and used his business savvy to recreate the feel of a bush party, and, while he claims to speak for those too stupid to string together a coherent sentence, he's taking their money and spending it on twenty foot columns of fire that shoot skyward every time he yells, "Kid Rock." They see him as one of their own made good. He sees them as a gravy train.

But like the Fabulous Bee says, "If I pay good money for it, I want that monkey to dance. Dance, monkey, dance."