My story began 35 years ago in backwoods and backwaters of Booger Bottom, Georgia. No crowds, strip malls or concrete jungles there. Just a heck of a lot of places for a young kid to get dirty, get into trouble and grow up country – the kind of place where a boy can be a boy and not worry one bit about the fast pace of city life. Man, we need more places like that these days, huh?
Like the old saying goes, I’m Southern by birth and redneck by the grace of God. If I ever get a tattoo, that’s definitely what it’ll say. I’m country through and through. I dig twangy music and old school Southern rock. I like my steaks southern fried, my hashbrowns scattered, smothered ‘n covered and my tea sweet and stout. Real stout – the kind you can dang near cut with a knife – just like my Grand Mamma used to make. I’m a guitar pickin’, blue jeans wearin’, backstrap grillin’ good ol’ boy who was born to hunt. If it gobbles, quacks, bugles or grunts, chances are I’ve chased it more than a time or two. Droppin’ the hammer and closin’ the coffin on anything with antlers, feathers or fur just never gets old. I bet you know exactly what I’m talkin’ about.