Somewhere Down South… or Something
Dear Coonskin Cappers,
Have you ever heard that old yarn My boys like to tell about the prodigal son? It’s a heart-warming tale of a child who sows his wild oats by joining a rock band and doing a lot of drugs and just generally having a good time. Well, They usually leave out the interesting bits, but that’s the subtext. Anyway, once his albums quit selling and he can’t pay for his smack habit anymore, he comes crying home to daddy. Daddy welcomes him home with open arms and throws a big party with chicks and guns and fire trucks, hookers and drugs and booze. It sounds wonderful, doesn’t it? Just like every day of My vacation.
However, there is a sinister ending to the story. You see, Daddy has two sons and the other one stayed home and worked his fingers to the bone in the family shit-eating business and never so much as started a garage band, much less poked groupies and mainlined win directly into his aorta. So, although the boys seldom get around to mentioning the final act of the story, it’s a good one and I think you should hear it.
25“Meanwhile, the older son was in the poop field. When he came near the house, he heard rock music and dancing. 26So he called one of the servants and asked him what was going on. 27‘Your brother has come,’ he replied, ‘and your father has killed the fattened calf because he has him back safe and sound.’ 28“The older brother became angry and refused to go in. So his father went out and pleaded with him. 29But he answered his father, ‘Look! All these years I’ve been eating shit for you and never disobeyed your orders. Yet you never gave me a hooker or even a young goat so I could celebrate with my friends. 30But when this son of yours who has squandered your property with prostitutes and crack comes home, you kill the fattened calf for him!’
31” ‘My son,’ the father said, ‘you are always with me, and don’t have the balls or imagination to even try making it on your own. 32But we had to celebrate and be glad, because this brother of yours had a life and now he’s crawling back; he was lost and is found.’
33But the older son was exceedingly wroth and said unto himself, ‘Right, that tears it.’ And he took up his shit-spoon and attacked his brother saying, ‘How do you like me now,’ and ‘eat shit and die, motherfucker,’ and other such things while gouging out his brother’s spleen, kidneys and eyeballs.”
It’s a good story, isn’t it? I bothered to tell it to you because it reminds me of you. You and Florida. You see, you are the prodigal son. You’ve made it illegal for me to take credit for smiting all of those terrorists that have been just itching to wipe you out since 9/11… or something like that. Florida is the older brother. They know on which side their bread is buttered. They stayed faithful and ate My shit.
Now, since I’m very, very busy relaxing in a bungalow on a Malaysian beach and drinking rum punch after rum punch after rum punch, I probably can’t be bothered to stop Florida from pouring over the border with murder in their eyes and grapefruit spoons clutched in their Me-fearing hands.
Do you understand where I’m coming from, Kentucky? it’s time for Me to help those who help themselves. And by that I mean, get with the program or wake up with a dirty piece of cutlery shoved up your left nostril.
Gotta run. It’s Happy Hour again.
Wish You Were Here,