Tag Archives: Coonskin cap

Baseball Caps: Durable Tool of Athletes and Douchebags

“Baseball caps MUST BE WORN BACKWARDS.”

~You, 1992, after seeing “3 Ninjas”

“Why is every douchebag in this bar wearing a backwards baseball cap?”

~You, last Saturday

America is all about putting shit on the tops of their head.  While the notions of hats date back to the 15th century, when French noblemen began putting cloth and feathers in a piece shaped to fit the top of their skulls in their generations old tradition of, “How ridiculous can we make ourselves look in oil paintings,” hats are an essential clothing item for most everyone in the world, be it practical like a ski-cap, or offensive to a lot of people to hear it described as a “hat” like those water jugs African villagers carry on their heads.

“Let’s call it ‘Tribal Chic’ and sell it to impressionable socialites!”

But of all the hats, can you think of one that is truly American?  Sure, we have hats such as the Top Hat, the Sombrero, the….beret.  But what is the most American hat?  The one hat out there that grabs you by the ears and screams, “LOOK AT ME!  I AM AMERICA!”

The Coonskin cap?  Oh…fuck, yeah that’s actually a really good one.  Like really good.  Goddamn it, no that’s not the one we’re writing about today, but we sort of wish we were.  We had forgotten about all the badass traits associated with the Coonskin cap.  Goddamn it.  That meets both the “fuck nature” quotient we try to cram into every AFFotD, plus it would let us go on just a crazy wild tangent about Davy “Kills With a Smile” Crockett.  Davy fucking Crockett! We could have told you how Davy Crockett’s Coonskin cap alone could have sex with more women than a 2008 Tiger Woods at a Club Promoter’s Convention.  We could have talked about how Coonskin cap gave Davy Crockett the power to use fucking alligators as jet skis.

Do you think this just fucking happens!?

Shit.  Anyway, no, we were not thinking about the Coonskin cap.  Dammit.  But, no, dig deep, really try to figure out what, as a hat, do you define as being…American?

OH SON OF A BITCH!  Goddamn it to hell!  FineYes.  A Cowboy hat is a fucking awesome America hat too.  Yes, it is a hat that basically reeks of sex-at-a-19th-century-brothel.  Yes, it is the hat best designed to cover a man’s junk.  Yes, it is a hat so associated with gunfights that even new cowboy hats reek of gunpowder and fear.  Yes, cowboy hats are so damn manly that if you have sex while wearing one, it’s technically considered a Devil’s Three-Way, no matter who’s wearing it.  Fine.  Fine.  Goddamn it.

Okay, one more time, what is the most American hat you can think of?

JUST FUCKING STOP OKAY!?  We’re talking about fucking baseball caps, alright?  THOSE are pretty damn American too, you assholes.  BASEBALL CAPS.  And besides, that last one is cheating because you can totally find a baseball cap that looks like an American flag.  So yeah, eat it.  You guys suck.

Anyway, before we fire our research guru who managed to totally ignore the above examples when we asked him, “What’s the most American hat you can think of?” let’s at least discuss the actually-pretty-fucking-American background of the baseball cap, or as it used to be known, the “Brooklyn Style” cap, which was invented here in America in 1860.  And for you Coonskin cap and Cowboy hat lobbyists, technically Coonskin caps were first created by Native Americans, and the style for a Cowboy hat first was invented by Mongolians.  So there.

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Davy, Davy Crockett, King of the Wild Frontier

“If they make some sort of cheesy Disney TV show about me, just make sure they point out all the Injuns I’ve killed.

~Davy Crockett

There are certain images and phrases that are ingrained in the mind of every American.  “I cannot tell a lie,” “Four score and seven years ago,” and, “Remember the Alamo,” are likely the three most instantly recognizable.  And of the iconic American images, there is Lincoln’s stove-top hat, Washington’s wig, and Davy Crockett’s coonskin cap.  For a man who only served briefly as a Congressman, and who eventually was struck down by Mexicans at the age of 50, it is Davy Crockett’s legend that lingers as strong in the minds of America as that of our greatest founding fathers.  And why is this?

Because America loves a badass, especially one who does not fuck around.

Davy (Davyyy) Crockett was born on August 17, 1786 in Tennessee, having unfortunately missed out on his chance to kill Redcoats as a child by a few years.  David Crockett was named after his paternal grandfather, who was killed by Indians in 1777.  As soon as he was born, Davy Crockett crawled out of his parent’s home, wandered to a cliff, where he dropped a boulder on a passing Indian hunting party like a goddamn Looney Tunes gag.  Once the dust had settled, he giggled, “fuuuuck you.”  When Crockett was three years old, he fashioned a raccoon out of clay.  Satisfied with his craftsmanship, a Toddler Davy Crocket spit on his creation, as most frontiersmen spent most of their time either killing Indians or spitting on the ground.  When his saliva touched the sculpture, it sprang to life, becoming a flesh-and-blood raccoon.  An astonished Davy Crocket picked up the creature, momentarily in awe of what he created, before snapping its neck and making a hat out of it.  This is the reason why his coonskin cap gave Davy Crockett his powers.

When Crockett was in school at the age of 13, taking a break from killing Indians as a way to avenge his grandfather’s death, a child at his school embarrassed him on the first day, no doubt saying, “Davy Crockett?  Who’s that?”  Crockett proceeded to beat the shit out of the dude, and began skipping classes because he figured his teacher would give him a “whupping,” which of course would mean that Crockett would have to beat the shit out of his teacher as well.  When his father found out he was skipping classes, he was so enraged that Crockett had no choice but to run away from home, spending the next three years wandering through Tennessee, where he learned how to hunt and trap animals in between his impromptu Indian hunts.

When he returned at the age of 16, he saw his hometown was in shambled, suffering from an extreme case of Davy Crockett withdrawal.  Crockett’s father was so relieved that he only beat him lightly, using an open palm.  This was the most comforting display of father affection he had ever seen, and Crockett knew he was now a man.

In 1813, Crockett joined the Tennessee Militia, where he fought in the Creek War, a Civil War between rival Native American tribes.  Crockett was able to go about killing Indians, while also working with members of the Cherokee and Choctaw tribes as allies.  This gave him an inside knowledge of how Indians think, but also satiated his Indian revenge lust for some time.

After achieving the rank of Lieutenant Colonel, Crockett decided to pursue a career in politics.  When he lost his first run for Congress in 1824, an upset Davy Crockett decided to see how many bears he could kill in a year.  His number of 105 bear kills in a year was a world record, and would remain in the history books until the birth of C. Dale Petersen.

Davy Crocket was a man of principle.  Particular, the principle of, “Stay the fuck out of my way, or I will end you.”  Davy Crockett decided to take a break from his bear hunts to become a Congressman.  His main reason for doing so was so he could say shit in speeches like, “In one word I’m a screamer, and have got the roughest racking horse, the prettiest sister, the surest rifle and the ugliest dog in the district. I’m a leetle the savagest crittur you ever did see. My father can whip any man in Kentucky, and I can lick my father. I can outspeak any man on this floor, and give him two hours start. I can run faster, dive deeper, stay longer under, and come out drier, than any chap this side the big Swamp. I can outlook a panther and outstare a flash of lightning, tote a steamboat on my back and play at rough and tumble with a lion, and an occasional kick from a zebra.”  Seriously.

And zebras kick like a motherfucker

We at AFFotD have realized that we have yet to break the fourth wall in our customary fashion, so let’s take a moment here to say, haha, holy shit, can you believe that?  Davy Crockett is the kind of man who would break into song and dance if you ever caught him fucking your wife.  Davy Crockett doesn’t need an umbrella because rain is afraid to piss him off.  If you ever thought a negative thought about Davy Crockett, his ghost would appear and kick you right in the balls, and if you are a woman his ghost would pay for and supervise a lengthy sex change procedure just so he can show up again once the final surgery is completed to christen your new balls with a fresh kick to them.  If you ever asked Davy Crockett what time it is, he’d slap your face and then gallop away riding a puma.  Seriously, he started that speech by saying, “Who-Who-Whoop — Bow-Wow-Wow-Yough” which makes it seem less like he was giving a speech to Congress, and more like he was trying to get everyone to give him a beat for some sort of early-19th century precursor to freestyle rap.

So apparently Crockett has the prettiest sister, the meanest father, and can take an occasional kick from a fucking zebra.  It’s like a game, “Which of these crazy things has Davy Crockett actually said?”  You can play at home!

A. “I’m taller than a spruce, smell lovelier than an evergreen, and if I pop you in the mouth well that’s just me being polite by not knockin’ the ugly mess right off yer shoulders.”

B. “Pop, pop, pop!  Bom, bom, bom! Throughout the day.  No time for memorandums now.  Go ahead!  Liberty and independence forever!”

C. “Well, I got my cap and my rifle, and I can end you with either iffn’ I set my mind to it.”

D. “I find my dogs had a two-year-old bear down, a-wooling away on him; so I just took out my big butcher, and went up and slap’d it into him, and killed him without shooting.”

E. “Fellas, I’ve gone dancin’ with a bear and I’ve gone trappin’ for a woman, and ain’t either’s as easy as you’d be think’n.”

F.      “I told the people of my district that I would serve them as faithfully as I have done; but if not…you may all go to hell and I’ll go to Texas.”

If you guessed, “Well clearly he actually said B, D, and F, but you guys did a good job with A, C, and E, because those pretty much sound like something Crockett would say,” then you would be correct.  And by the way, B happens to be the last thing written down in his journal during the battle of the Alamo.  Fuckin’ A.

During his time in Congress, Crockett became political enemies with Andrew Jackson, refusing to be his “lap dog.”  Andrew Jackson has killed for less, but he was also smart enough to know that it’s not a good idea to get in a duel with a man who was able to shoot a bullet at an ax from 40 yards away and split the fucking bullet in half.  He primarily opposed Jackson on the Indian Relocation Act, probably because they’d be a lot tougher to chase down if they were moved West.  This opposition cost him a chance at reelection, to which he told everyone, “Well, fuck off, then,” (Quote F) and went off to Mexico, having grown tired of killing Indians and Bears, and wanting to upgrade to Mexicans.

Davy (Davyyyy) Crockett (King of the Wild Frontier) went down to the Alamo, bringing with him some dozens of armed Americans, including legendary pioneer Jim Bowie, the creator of the Bowie knife, as well as the inventor of the popular singer David Bowie.  In February of 1836, Crockett and his entourage arrived at the Alamo, where the garrisoned men were surprised to see an entire Mexican Army awaiting them.  While everyone thought to themselves, “shit shit shit shit shit shit shiiiiit,” Crockett and Bowie just smiled and prepared for the bloodbath.

The rest of the story is engrained in American History, the inevitable defeat against impossible odds of the Alamo.  After battle the Mexican siege for two weeks, the Mexican army broke through the walls on March 6th, killing every member of the Alamo Mission, though the overmatched members of the Alamo killed between 400 and 600 of the Mexican troops assaulting them, accounting for over one third of the attacking force.  There are two accounts of Davy Crockett’s final moments, both of which highlight the “Don’t fuck with me, assholes” spirit of David Crockett.  One account, from a former American Slave who worked as a cook for one of the Mexican officers, describes that David Crockett was found dead in the barracks, surrounded by, “No less than sixteen Mexican corpses,” with his knife buried in one of them.  This would not be surprising, since at the age of 50 Crockett would not be able to kill quite as many Mexicans as in his youth, but it’s still an impressive effort.

The second tale of his demise speculates that Crockett was captured, with an enraged Santa Anna demanding he be executed.  While this is often used to show Santa Anna as a ruthless military leader without honor, it does capture Crockett’s final words as, “I’m warning you boys, I’m a screamer.”  Either way, it can be decided that Davy Crockett left this world the same way he entered it- with a big “Fuck you” to a large group of minorities.

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