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.
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Face it, bro, you're never going to get a hot babe with us around. We're the bad boys. It is definitely our fault women don't like you.
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