Again, I’m not the one trying to tear down statues and history and justify it. They go, they stay, doesn’t matter to me. I don’t have Southern Heritage or Southern Pride. I don’t like sweet tea, pecan pie, or homemade wine. And I can’t stand chicken fried. I’m a hillbilly converted to waterman.
Cool sea breezes, rum drinks, sun kissed skin, and sound of diesels spooning up with the occasional salt spray on my face all ripped into action with the sound of drag beginning to scream on my flat line, that’s what gets me hard. You fvckers can have all this nonsense in a couple of years. You need me, I’ll be the one in the visor on the bridge of 52 feet of Custom Carolina speaking broken Spanglish.