Category: Shit gets real on the oil rig

He mighta been made outta old coffee grounds

Don’choo tell me I smell like coffee grounds, you smell like a turtle, Buckums.

Buck bunked down in that dead-end with this old black feller the color of coffee grounds, smelled like ’em too, shit he mighta been made outta old coffee grounds. Buck told that man — his name was Lem — that one evening after they day off, when they done come back to they bunk.
“You hillbilly sucka, you don’t tell me-” Lem drunk from his flask. He stayed drinking from that flask, hiding it when he could get away with it, like he thinked Buck’s hillbilly eyes don’t see. “-don’t tell me I smell like coffee grounds, you smell like a turtle, Buckums.”

From The Redneck Ex-Con, Cellmate Memories and Overwhelming Manhood

A curtsy nod

She got no hankering for no elderly homeboy who smelled like a basement. She want whiteboy dingdong, most likeishly.

She ported a tray of drinks past the front door and delivered a curtsy nod at Buck. Him and Lem stopped short, though she ain’t have eyes fer Lem, prolly cuz she got no hankering for no elderly homeboy who smelled like a basement. She want whiteboy dingdong, most likeishly.

From Buck on the Oil Rig

Lots of things wrinkle Buck’s brain

They learnt from a mandatory video that the most important part of drilling fer oil was respeck fer diversity.

Whatever status made Habib hafta put Buck’s and Lem’s feet in his mouth, it might as well be slavery. They ain’t ax cuz they ain’t wanna be distolerant of his culture — they learnt from a mandatory video that the most important part of drilling fer oil was respeck fer diversity.
Imagine that! The most important part! That wrinkled Buck’s brain.

From Buck on the Oil Rig

Lem was a young cat then, built like a steel mill

Buck best not say shit ’bout Lem looking like a tire that exploded on the highway.

Lem was a young cat then, built like a steel mill, not like that portly hillbilly Buck, who got a fat hairy ass like a ape with a ugly mama, yes he do, and he best not say shit ’bout Lem looking like a tire that exploded on the highway.

From Buck on the Oil Rig

Some hillbilly sister-fucker…

Lem done ate his fried chicken and sides. He don’t eat Muslim food, and the curries give his belly the bumptions. He do stick to American food.

Lem don’t eat Muslim food, and the curries give his belly the bumptions. He do stick to American food.
But Buck was still filling his barrel with curry goat and Cuban picadeeyo. Buck ain’t reckon that that rice don’t go with the sauce cuz he ain’t read the placards labeling each thang. “I’s gonna be fartin’ up a storm tonight-“
“Don’chu eat that curry!” Lem said.
“You might wanna get ya nose removed b’fore lights-out, Lemmy.”
“Don’chu call me Lemmy! That’s — you’s bein’ drogatory, Buckums, that’s — that’s prolly racist, and I won’t take it from some hillbilly sister-fucker-“
“I don’t got a sister, Lem.”
“-who look like a cartoon basset hound-“

“Fuck you, Lem, you look like a hobo. I think you tried-a redd up my windshield fer a dollah back in Abilene-“
“Hurry up and eat, whiteboy!” Lem wanna drink, he wanna get back to the dead-end and drink. He thinked Buck ain’t know t’was why Lem got hurry in his bones, but Buck knewed. Buck may be a hillbilly, but he know which way was up.
“Stop talkin’ to me then!” Buck said. He shoved another fullawful fulla pepper slaw in his mouth. “I is eatin’ e’ery single one these fullawfuls, old head!”

From Buck on the Oil Rig

You don’t know nuttin’ ’bout whiteboy dick

One day soon all the whiteboys gonna get replaced by a broken dildo plugged in to a bossy computer, and the world gonna rejoice.

“I done say it b’fore, Lem, you don’t know nuttin’ ’bout whiteboy dick.” Buck screwed up his eyes down at his dick in Lem’s hand. It was limpening cuzza Lem’s sandpapery skin. “Ya old-man meat discomfit me — why’s it look like a burnt hot dog? Sheeit, looks like a hot dog made wit’ too much skin, then lit on fire, then locked in a dehydratuh fer a decade.”
“Yo’ dick is uglier than mine, hillbilly. Axe any female in the world, they’ll tell you. It’s impossible to orgasm wit’ a white cock. Women need nigga meat.” Lem got both hands on Buck’s dick now, sorta rubbing it but more petting it like a disliked cat. “One day soon all the whiteboys gonna get replaced by a broken dildo plugged in to a bossy computer, and the world gonna rejoice.”
Buck scoffed. “World got no use fer homeboys already, Lem. Somebody done invent rhyming diction’ries and robots that can shoot each othuh.” His laughter made his cockfat jiggle limp as a dead eel in Lem’s hand.

From Buck on the Oil Rig