I can say all this because I'm full of hate for people I don't care to understand.
I have a prehistoric rage in me against cowboys.  It is from when I was a punk rocker, most likely, back when I dyed my hair a bunch and got piercings and wrote songs about politics.  Maybe it is just that college professors and good country people are natural enemies.  So you can imagine my chagrin when my new downstairs neighbor turned out to be the kind of person who feels the need to own a "business casual" cowboy hat.

I am not talking about just some guy with a Garth Brooks CD.  I am talking about the kind of guy who thinks there are two categories of art: "oil paintings of horses" and "other."  I am talking about the kind of guy who has coffee mugs designated for dip spit.  Face looks like an old catcher's mitt from the sun.  Has a girlfriend that can't laugh without some hint of empyhzema peeking through the edges.  Pronounces swear words all wrong, like sheeeit and fhuck.  Gets his sunglasses from a truck stop checkout counter, they just scream "bass fisherman."

I watched him out the window for a bit as he was moving in, thinking what an outrage this was.  I mean, I live in the suburbs of the fourth largest city in America, I should not have to put up with this.  My neighbors should be fresh-faced college graduates who want to go downtown to see a poetry reading.  Instead, this asshole.

I got home at 3:45 today just as he was pulling up in his F-350.  He was drinking a bottle of Coors Light in a koozie and he kind of sneered at me when he walked by, like yeah, I'm drinking and driving, what?

Tell me I'm wrong.