Some people don’t consider Florida to be part of the Deep South proper.
They think of us as The Lower Northeast. As God’s Waiting Room. As A Wholly Owned Subsidiary of The Disney Corporation, with Promotional Consideration Courtesy of Tropicana, Uncle Owen’s Sunny Daze Industrial Postcard Production Complex and The Bail-Jumping Psychotics Local 913.
For these doubters — the ones who don’t believe Florida is down-home, backwoods, “earthy,” “bucolic,” twangy or racist enough to qualify for true Deep South status — I have two words and a number:
Python Challenge 2013.
Read the rest at Creative Loafing …
Want to revisit a bunch of the usual cretin-packed news dispatches from Florida for the Year of Oh Lord 2012?
MSN.com has thoughtfully compiled a Top 20 list for you. (I assume they would’ve done a Top 50, but the human soul can only take so much.)
I’ve never been prouder.
(Memetastic image stolen from Miami New Times blog Riptide)
Let’s say you’re out and about one day, running errands and whatnot, and you’re in the parking lot of a convenience store or Wal-Mart or whatever, and some strange guys come up to you. They tell you they produce pornography for a website, and they need to launder some sticky, sticky porn money, so can they pay you a thousand bucks to let them deposit two thousand bucks or so into your checking account for a couple of days using your cash card and PIN number?
Here in Florida, some people are falling for this. And some people who were suspicious have reported being forced to go along with the scheme at gunpoint–which, in my opinion, sounds more like a poorly conceived lie told by somebody who didn’t want to admit he actually fell for this.
The Sun-Sentinel has the sad, sad, cretinous story here.
Fucking kids, man. You try to do ’em a favor, like get ’em something refreshing to drink, and you end up end jail just because you left the kids in the hot car while you were getting ’em something refreshing to drink.
So says David Shawfield, who was arrested on Friday for letting his kids bake in their own juices while he ran into the supermarket to get them more juices.
I guess that cops and folks who don’t live in Florida won’t ever realize that letting your young’uns marinate in the humidity of the Deep South atmosphere and tasty faux-leather seat-sweat is nothing more or less than a Florida tradition.