What is Tarkington?
1.
A small, disgustingly hick community about 45 minutes north of Houston. Tarkington High School hasn't seen a football victory in at least a decade. If you want to fit like a glove into this place you must drive a lifted truck that's been suped up by Performance Deisel, have had a least one child before graduating (or not graduating) high school, and be related (by blood or marriage) to 94% of the population. Your mom must drive a school bus, be a school teacher, or be a lunch lady. Your highest ambition must be to own a bigger truck that gets less gas mileage than that of your current (which you really can't afford, so good thing they offer second chance credit), become a welder or just live in your parents' house until they croak (with your two or three girlfriends, wife, and all your kids). Your dream wedding would be held at your fiancee's parents' house, behind their new double wide trailer that they are more proud of than their fourth oldest child who was their first to make it past 9th grade. If you were born and raised here, so were your parents and their parents, and quite possibly, their parents. If you're an import, you'll shortly become an export. If you're black, don't even think about it (bad news bears). Also, everyone is homophobic, until you get past high school. Then children and parent alike will come out of the closet. You must sport camo either on a trucker hat, or a big 'ole decal down the side of your truck (probably Mossy Oak brand). If you've ever been pulled over for under age drinking and/or driving, then you know that there's nothing to worry about. The old constable will just tell ya to go on home (you're probably related...they like to keep it in the family...and family don't send family to jail). Bored? Head on over to the Cleveland Wal Mart. All your buddies will be there, too! Don't forget to put on your good jeans and the t-shirt with the fewest amount of holes; you need to look good for this fancy upscale place. But do not wash your feet and be sure to wear raggedy assed flip flops (or no footwear at all). Don't forget to stop by El Burrito. It's fine dining. Until last year, you had to cross the county line to purchase your beer and spirits, but now that's been lifted, head on over to Pappa Ro's and get schwasty wasty and drive home under aged and inebriated...with your baby under one arm, and your other holding a cigarette.
If you ever get stuck in this place...well, goodbye reality for you, and hello neighbor for life.
"Man, I wish my mom would stop having sex with my best friend. She took him out for a nice dinner at El Burrito, followed by drinks at Pappa Ro's and a stroll through Wal Mart. It's bad enough she's dating someone her son's age, but he's also her first cousin! But damn if he ain't got the biggest, most redneck truck in Tarkington! They're probably gettin' married soon, seein' as she's already had two of his kids! But then again, so has that middle school girl. Let's go steal some beer and throw rocks at cop cars. While we're at it...let's shoot something and blow the rest up."
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