There are obvious, animal-activist reasons to avoid rodeos. Exhibit A: calf roping. Not exactly a legitimate “sport.” If you haven’t been to a rodeo (and I’m talking to you, East Coast), the process goes something like this: a man with no visible career prospects runs pell-mell toward a cute baby cow, ties it up in a sisal cocoon and pulls it like a trussed chicken through the dirt until somebody sounds the buzzer.

Misanthropists can find oh-so-many more reasons to avoid the carnival that goes on in the parking lot all weekend. For your consideration: Exhibit B, the drunk redneck. Exhibits C, D, E, and F: the drunk’s redneck kids. Followed by exhibits G, H,I: three different, drunk baby mama redneckesses with a total of two weeks clean time off crank…

…eating corn dogs…with ketchup…

…wearing halter tops.

(That image alone is scarier than anything M. Night Shyamalan has put out in the last decade).

Still and all, I’ll be in the damn stands Saturday night. Fifth row, baby! Cheering on the idjits in cowboy hats and spurs. Trying to hide the uninhibited burst of excitement coming from my otherwise cynical little mouth.

The sad truth is I like the rodeo. That YEEHAW–that’s gen-u-wine.  I have no justification except that I got the tickets for free. See, you’re not really supporting something unless you pay for it.  Right?

Now, please excuse me while I stop off for discount Citgo gas…..