For the purpose of this article, I’ll remove the straw from my teeth, put down my gun, detach the Dixie flag from the back of my Ford F250 but you will have to pry the Bible from my cold, dead hands. In case you’re wondering, I am an ignorant Hillbilly and this is Hillbilly Country. Yeehaw!
According to FBI officials Peter Strzok and Lisa Page, those of us who live in Loudoun County, Virginia are “largely” ignorant Hillbillies — as they so eloquently illuminate in the following text message:
Guess it’s time to “Listen to a story about a man named Jed” where Pa and Elly May (that’s me) hang out in our crude, illiterate world.
Loudoun County is a stone’s throw from my home, so I am friendly with other Hillbillies, but you do have to be careful because as Strzok and Page point out in yet another text these are the kind of people who shop at Walmart. And we all know that Walmart shoppers “smell.” Unfortunately, the odor emanating from my ill-bred Hillbilly skin is that unique D.C. perfume known as Power by Ann Hand. Sorry to disappoint. Strange to say but my Hillbilly friends don’t smell either. Well, maybe they shop at Nordstrom’s or Wegmans or drive down the road five minutes for a bobble or two of bling at Tiffany’s. Who knows?
It is true that those of us who live and work in Hillbilly country actually shop at Walmart from time to time. We even have a super Walmart in Loudoun County where the uncouth are able to purchase groceries. We recognize this is a strange dynamic for city folk but heck all Hillbillies know Walmart takes our food stamps.
Strzok and Page: Such a charming Washington couple should pick up their gold-plated compass and map and drive the 20 minutes from K Street to the Old Dominion and check out Hillbilly Country sometime. You know – stop by to sniff around a little. But they may be disappointed. Oh, the banality of life in Hillbilly Country. In fact, I don’t know a single person who has struck oil or bales hay a la Green Acres.
Thus, we are a trite, ordinary, dull and of course, somewhat dim lot. ‘Tis a sad state witnessing so many college-educated Hillbillies driving around in their Mercedes and BMW’s. Must be new money. So gauche.
Let’s also not forget that just over the Fairfax County line as you enter Hillbilly Country there is that ghastly (and let’s be honest here) somewhat tacky Trump International Golf Club rising up like a phoenix from the Appalachian ash heap. Imagine the chutzpah of building a Country Club in Hillbilly-land? You just can’t count on decent zoning laws in such unsophisticated places.
Way back yonder in 2008 and ‘12, Loudoun County even voted for the Obama-Biden ticket. Can you imagine? What is Hillbilly Country coming to? Out in these parts, we don’t even have tractor pulls or WWE wrestling. It’s a travesty.
Unfortunately, even our Hillbilly lexicon is eroding. Despite three decades out here, I’ve never heard anyone refer to their Granny as MawMaw. However, in typical Hillbilly fashion, we don’t much cotton to outsiders or folks who act “too big for their britches.” (That’s a classic Hillbilly saying, in case you don’t know.) Otherwise, we might get stuck having to be hospitable to the likes of Strzok and Page. That guy really needs to buy a vowel.
Perhaps the best way to sum up an ordinary day in Hillbilly Country out here in Loudoun County, Virginia is by looking at how we end our days. J.D. Vance in his book Hillbilly Elegy gives us the skinny:
“Pajamas? Poor people don’t wear pajamas. We fall asleep in our underwear or blue jeans. To this day, I find the very notion of pajamas an unnecessary elite indulgence, like caviar or electric ice cube makers.
So as we end the day in Hillbilly Country, it’s likely our bedtime attire will shock Lord Strzok and Her Ladyship, Lisa Page. Maybe they better not come out here after all. They just might get the S*** kicked out of them as Hillbillies are wont to do.