If you pay your rent with gray goo you dig out from under the cushions of your gray goo...you might be a redneck.
If you get wired to the telehive and the first thing you wanna know is how to turn on CMT...you might be a redneck.
If you've got a garbage bag taped up over the window of your translocation chamber...you might be a redneck.
If you use your 3D printer to try to manufacture a hamburger...you might be a redneck.
If the symbiont connecting you to the omninet is wearing an "I'm with stupid" t-shirt and the arrow points to your "I'm with stupid" t-shirt...you might a redneck.
If your uplifted dog is the first member of your family to graduate the eighth grade...you might be a redneck.
If the predictive AI conduit is installed in your house and the first thing you ask your holo assistant to predict is the outcome of a Royal Rumble...you might be a redneck.
If your nervous system gets wired into a tank for battling back the Organic Front and you can only make left turns...you might be a redneck.
If the Genomatrix revokes your procreation chit for being your own uncle...you might be a redneck.
If the pitiless black nutrient spiders carry off your wife to protein reprocessing and you ask for her to be turned into a ketchup sandwich...you might be a redneck.
If your consciousness is temporarily housed in a hovering drone body slaved to the oppressive city management AI and you still get thrown out of a Denny's for not wearing shoes...you might be a redneck.
If the algorithm derived from your liquefied brain can only process math equations if the numbers are represented as cans of Budweiser...you might be a redneck.
If you're on moon labor detail and you put a tarp in the bed of your regolith processor and try to fill it with water to make a hot tub...you might be a redneck.
If you upload your core to a transhuman squid sapient repairing deep sea refineries instead of taking a bath...you might be a redneck.
If you use right wing bumper stickers to cover up the primer spots on the chest plate of your battlemorph...you might be a redneck.
If you blast your way into the last bunker of the Organic Front four miles under the Himalayas and make a joke about "Friends in Low Places"...you might be a redneck.
If you are finally absorbed into the faceted neuroscape of the omnimind to live out eternity as a glittering gem of cognition within the greater tapestry of transhuman consciousness and you keep asking who farted to cover up the fact that it's you...then, gawddang, you might just be a redneck.
Need more redneck ID help? Try Zack's Facebook.
Sometimes I dream that I'm sitting in the back of the defunct Weinermobile as it careens driverless down the highway. At first I thought this was symbolic of the powerlessness I feel in life, but then I realized it's actually the Weinermobile's dream of being able to drive again.
Three years ago, when we were burying my uncle, Cleaver and some gross lady dog (Solstice???) showed up at the cemetery and starting going at it really loudly. It ruined everything and we had to have a "re-do" the next day and it cost a fortune. I've hated him ever since for that.
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