I have met HickBoy. I visited his lean-to shack deep in the heart of a cypress swamp. I had to hire a local swamp guide to take me to his hideaway (he calls it the Hickodrome), and I had to be blindfolded for the last 5 miles. Upon arrival, Hickboy tried to be nice by feeding me week old squirrel pie and moonshine, but when I refused, he threw it on me and called me a damned Yankee carpetbagger. He then tried to make me dance using his shotgun and pellets. Then, just as he was loading real ammo into his rifle, the Feds started a raid of his compound. In spite of unleashing the hounds on me, I got out intact with the Fed's help and a helicopter.
Hickboy remains on the run today, somewhere in the heart of the Smoky Mountains. He is a legend to the hillbillies there, who regale his exploits in song and dance.
I'm sure there are other stories of Hickboy experiences. Don't let this Southern yahoo get under your skin...you will end up with hives. I don't know how the lovely Manly Bannisters does it. Must be her Irish siren song...