Randy Travis: Live! at the Grand Ole Am

Randy is shorter than me. And uglier.

Randy Travis has gotten himself into a steaming heap of dung, hasn't he?

Oh, you didn't hear?

Randy was obviously feelin' a little Randy when he ran out of smokes, got buck naked, wrecked his 98 Pontiac, fell out in the road, and threatened to kill some Texas Rangers. That's a hell of a night, right?

Did you hear what I typed?

Randy wrecked his 98 Pontiac.

Randy Travis wrecked his 1998, 14 year old Pontiac. 

No, I didn't say the local Sav-A-Lot manager wrecked her Pontiac. I said Randy Travis wrecked his Pontiac.

When I heard this story, I wasn't shocked that Randy Travis was found drunk, in the roadway, naked as the day Mama Travis birthed him.

I wasn't shocked that he was going all NWA and wanting to kill a cop.

 I was shocked that Randy Travis drove a 1998 Grand Am.

Thank goodness that guitar was strategically placed over Randy's Travis.

Can you picture Vince Gill in a Celica?

Can you picture Kenny Chesney in a Sunfire?

Can you picture George Strait in a Tercel? 

Can you picture Randy Travis in a Grand Am?

No.

It was originally reported that Randy wrecked his 1998 Grand Am. Later, the reports were changed from a Grand Am to a 1998 Pontiac Trans Am.

Oh, forgive me, Randy. A Trans Am changes everything.

I mean, a Trans Am. Those bitches have T-tops.

"But on the other hand, there's a golden band, to remind me of- hey, is that
John Michael Montgomery's Mazda 626 parked in the upper left hand
corner behind that bush?"

Randy Travis in a Trans Am changes everything, but it's still a 14 year old Pontiac. 

Eastbound and down, Randy T. Tell Sally Field to walk her punk ass fly backs into the Exxon and get you a pack of USA Golds. That kind of thing is expected in a Trans Am. 

I said go get me some cigarettes, bitch. USA Golds. In a box.

Yes, it was a Trans Am, but I just couldn't shake my original vision of Randy in a Grand Am.

Do you know who drives a 1998 Grand Am in the year 2012?

Guys that owe back child support and girls that love guys that owe back child support.

Not Randy Travis. 

I woke last night- not once, but twice- with a serious case of the pee myself giggles, because all I could see was Randy Travis, with that wet forehead curl, stark naked, driving a Pontiac Grand Am.

"My Grand Am is whiter than the snowflakes that fall in late December."

Does anyone remember the Pontiac slogan? 

Well, I do. 

"We Are Driving Excitement." 

Damn, straight, Randy. Damn straight. 

   

This week, I was invited by the incredibly talented Wily Guy to link up with this man cave of a blog thing they've got going on over at Dude Write.

Basically, it's a bunch of dudes over there, writing about farting, beer drinking, and belly button picking, and they usually don't let girls participate. I may be a girl, but I totally dig farting, beer drinking and belly button picking, so I'm a huge fan. Wait! Let me rephrase this! I may be a girl, but I totally dig READING ABOUT farting, beer drinking and belly button picking, so I'm a huge fan. Whew. I almost got really un-lady like right there.

Really, I kid. There's a lot of entertaining posts and talented writers hanging around at Dude Write. It isn't all just shits and giggles. Check them out.

I want to thank Wily Guy for inviting me into the man cave for a few days. I hope the stench of recycled pork rinds and beer doesn't send me running for cover.