Look, I don’t belong to a yacht club.
Mostly because I don’t have the money, but even if I did, I would’t want to be a part of that stuffy, caviar eating, Sperry Topsider wearing, fine wine drinkin’ group of bozos anyway.
I’m all about the redneck yacht club where the boats are shit, the beer is cheap and the fun is actually FUN. Keep your fancy marinas and sail boats, I want a makeshift boat that may, or may not, sink as soon as it gets out to the middle of that muddy lake. I want a cooler full of cold Busch Light that’s weighing down said makeshift boat, so much so, that we better drink them fast or we’ll definitely sink. I want jean shorts and cut-offs. I want “Chattahoochee” as loud as humanly possible, blowing out the eardrums of every fish in that lake. It’s non-negotiable.
I want this…
or this…
definitely this…
little of this…
But I think Craig Morgan said it best…
