Godless, guns, & country folk
Where food stamp day is a holiday
Pictured: East of Billings, Montana
In a national news comment section in an article about the recent shifting of Montana politics to hard right, a reply with a lot of likes was the impressions of someone who’d recently been to Montana on vacation. They described the state as driving and along the highway and seeing rundown, dilapidated trailer parks and ugly houses, then just a down the highway a minute or two later you’d see million-dollar mansions.
And that constant disparity became a striking part of the picturesque scenery.
They writer went to say in America this wasn’t dissimilar to cities where you can do the same and be in a ghetto, but seeing that quick transition surrounded with a backdrop of the type of beautiful scenery Hollywood directors salivated over was striking.
And that constant disparity became a striking part of the picturesque scenery—houses on hilltops overlording the peasantry. One could see why Montana was always was ripe for the taking by rich, outside carpetbaggers who historically exploited not only the resources of the state which left seventeen federal Superfund Sites in the aftermath and counting. Exploitive culture vulture millionaire and billionaires turned much of the state into their low tax haven private hunting ranch by keeping the rabble of susceptible Evangelicals roused who in turn deemed themselves fighting a heroic, epic battle and struggle against degeneracy as they fed their conspiratorial driven social media timeline another fact checked meme. The fact they were factchecked only proved they were more right—the Bible being the only factchecking they needed, after all.
But the underside side of God and Guns country isn’t Bible thumping and MAGA flags, but where food stamp day is a holiday. Their political views are the government is full of self-righteous, power hungry, rich fucking assholes—some of them cunts, even. We don't want nothing to do with that.
Church is a forty-plus-year-old trailer house on a gravel road nestled in a nest of tall ass cottonwoods. Worship is raucous laughter surrounding a dingy kitchen table like the cloud of chain smoke. Breaking the bread that is barley; communion thirty pack ‘racks’ of the cheapest on sale beer. Tithes are pitch ins when BYOB runs low. Another bowl. Inha-a-ale…exh-a-a-ale.
For the pain. Not feeling it no more…
Brethren and Sistren congregants of these trailer house churches siblings’ anticapating and writing jailhouse letters like the Apostle Paul himself. Paying fucking bullshit fines to stay out themselves. Man-n-n, fuck those cops. We’ll burn that Pig Lives Matter flags around here. Hell yah. Seen what’s-his-face with the new truck wearing one of them pig lives matter hats? Nuh uh? Yah! I was like fuck out of here with that bitch ass snitch shit. Huh. He was like, well, my one uncle is a cop, and I was like, yah, so fucking what?
Forty-dollar prepaid phones. Nah, I ain’t got the tok tik and book face—you kids always staring at them damn phones. Nah, you're just a boomer. Always check the dollar store first for it. On Wednesday afternoons is best time to get a food box—that’s when the new shipment comes in. Gas station deli is delicacy. Where do you bank at? Green Dot—cuz I'mma degenerate! Hah!
That one who used to be cool, but got on meth again. Basically schizo now. They used to be harmless, but now you can’t even trust them no more—brain is too fucking fried. They don’t even have like…no conscious of who the fuck they rip-off no more. What can you do? They talk to walls.
Yah, just like standing there talking to the corner of that wall over there.
So, what’d the wall say?
Hah! I don’t know, but they were really into a back and forth. It was fucked up cuz they used to be so smart, you know?
Cheapest smokes ya got—few pleasures left, ya know?
They jacked the price up again, metalhead clerk says. Another tax on the poor!
Fuck, I know, ri-i-ight? Ready to start buying rollies.
Lady asks later, hey, your brother got any extra work?
Maybe a day later next week. Gotta go to the hot ass boondocks around Fort Smith again Monday to finish up pole barn there. Fucking hit like hunnert and five there the other day. Ground is hard as fuck, too. We go and jump in that freezing Yellowtail Damn water at lunch and after work. But yah, when we get back though, we’re starting a roof. You can help strip it and pick up for a day or two. I’ll talk to ‘em. Feast or famine and it's feast season now.
Cool. much appreciated. Felt bad cuz I had to hold off on my baby’s birthday party until food stamp day about two weeks later. Felt bad cuz my baby felt bad, ya know? But I said, look, baby, you know what? I’m trying. I really am trying. Inhale...exh-a-a-ale. Just, sometimes…fuck. Then that fucking rich bitch glaring at me in line for what, buying a fucking cake?! Like, what I ain’t allowed to have a cake for daughter’s birthday? Mind your own stupid business. Fuck, hate judgie-ass people like that. Think they're gonna cut me off food stamps, too. Hey, you got an extra smoke I can have before ya go? Thanks. You’re a lifesaver. Wish I had a bowl, though.
For the pain.