Ironic Fucker's Hat

Random Memorandum™ to redneck celebrity calling card, the Ironic Trucker Hat: Forgive the belated nature of my correspondence. I had hoped your fashionista cred would be short-lived, but apparently you’re here for the duration. Let me start this sit-down by saying that the company you keep — the hipster dipshits and greaseball douchebagalos — do not impress me. The “bros and hos” in your “posse” are about as likeable — and random — as the dogshite droppings out 'round the trailer park. Furthermore, your pithy, filthy slogans — “Free mustache rides” and “Spank my monkey” — may strike a chord with carnival ride operators, but not decent citizenry at large. Having said that, Ironic Trucker Hat, I must admit to being admiring of your roots. Your beginnings as a promotional head-covering of tractor-pullers and long-haulers is a point of pride. Many a seed n' feed company spread the word about their operations by assigning their branding marks to the cushioned foam above your bill. Your breathable mesh backing provided welcome relief from the heat, whilst protecting the craniums of hard-working Joes — and Jethros — from the elements. 'Twas honourable work. One can't blame your forefathers for butt-wipes like Kid Rock, Anthony Kiedis and Asstain Kutcher. If you could see your way to disassociate from the aforementioned butt-wipery, I'll stand corrected. Until then, Ironic Trucker Hat, bugger off. P.S. Tell your mates — the ironic T-shirts, motor chopper belt buckles and confederate flagkerchiefs — to sod off, as well. Yours Truly, Constable Dooley.