You Can't Embarass A Shagger


The friendly loons over at Fark are having a good snicker over lawmakers in my home state of North Carolina looking to create a "shagging" vanity plate. Shag, in Carolina beachspeak, refers to a slow dance particularly beloved by the golfing set now entering their golden years. This group may or may not be aware of the Austin Powers' popularized use of "shag," but trust me, they would not care.

For evidence, check out this recent shag event announcement:


I mean, these people call each other "cooter" and do not bat an eye.

Now the truly obscene thing is that money raised by the sale of NC license plates would evidently be routed by the state to a foundation headquartered in South Carolina. What's up with that? Sounds like somebody is swinging a big hairy driver around.

NEXT: Court to Taxpayers: Go Ahead, Ignore the IRS

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    Not only are they promoting shagging, they are subsidizing shagging among the young. Shame on them.

    And wasn’t Harry Driver a famous porn actor back in the 70’s.

  2. “North Carolina is for shaggers.”

  3. Doesn’t shagging also mean ‘chasing the balls?’

  4. The Daily Show did a report on a guy who wanted to have a cooter festival.

    I’m referring to turtles. What did you think I was referring to?

  5. This is probably coming from the same generation who liked doing “The Messaround”. Sickos.

  6. Thoreau, you put me in mind of the following Kids In The Hall monologue:

    Bruce: I’m a bikini inspector. It’s not a joke, I inspect bikinis. It’s my job. You know, I see a lot of guys on the beach wearin’ “Bikini Inspector” t-shirts. But they’re not real bikini inspectors, they just wish they were, for some weird reason. I don’t know why anyone would pretend to be a bikini inspector. It’s a menial job. You gotta take a bus there every day. There’s an hour right there. You work in a dank factory, you gotta inspect four or five thousand units, your eyes start to go buggy and squinty. Shift work too, ya know? And for that you make, well, let’s just say the amount of money I make is my own business. Although I do make somewhere around $8.67 an hour. Bikini inspector.
    The only job worse than that is the job I had in Collingwood, Ontario. Workin’ in the woods. I was on the beaver patrol. Rotten job, mud in your boots, trapsin’ through the underbrush lookin’ for beaver dams that are cloggin’ up the irrigation system. One beaver even bit my thumb. But it’s all part for the course on the beaver patrol. You know, I’d go out after work, beaver bites all over my thumbs, go to a bar for a quick drink, and I’d see guys there wearin’ t-shirts that said my job on them. But not like other rotten jobs, like “Fry cook” or “Night security guard at an out of the way mall.” So, I’d be sittin’ there, tryin’ to find pride in my work, wearin’ my beaver patrol t-shirt, and the women stare at ya. Well, I’m sorry ma’am, if I’m not a doctor,but thems the breaks. One woman even bit my thumb.

    But I’m gettin’ out of here. Tryin’ to get on as a “Muff Diver.” Read it on a t-shirt. I don’t know what it is, but, that job can’t be much worse than what I’m doin’ now, eh? Eh? Yeah….

  7. E. Steven,

    Bruce McCulloch is comedic genius. That was a great post in lieu of no Friday Fun link on H&R.

  8. E. Steven, I second Smacky’s comments; I loved that. I miss The Kids in the Hall.

    I think I’ll print out that monologue and read it as part of my St. Patrick’s Day celebration.

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