When I make my triumphant return to America, I really want to make more redneck friends. The hope is that one of my new compadres will own a paintball gun.
Being in Paris, surrounded by old-country styles, I really want to get a big fur coat. However, unable to live with myself wearing a dead animal, even if it's second-hand, I would need some level of redemption. I would need one of my redneck friends to shoot me with red paint so that I could pretend I had been hazed by animal rights activists.
Then when I go to shows, drunk assholes will yell, "Hey, you got something on your coat!"
And I'll whip around, examine the stain and groan, "Fucking PETA."