Land of Cotton: Entertainment and Democracy

<Confederate Food Truck>

Walks into bar in fur jacket and suit. Take it off for comfortable green shirt. Ignores blonde waitress without holding eye contact.

“What will you have?”


Shocked glances. Wild eyes.

“I meant lime water. Sorry I don’t even call lime water that to my friends”

“It’s okay. I will get it for you.”

“I know limey has connotations in Philadelphia but that’s not what I meant.”

“Next I will say blue water.”


“Finest lady, stranger to blue water.”

“Are you single? I can cook. We can switch your pasta for shrimp pasta. It’s very good.”

“I wish I was in Dixieland!”

I don’t always drink beer as I take medication but when I can allow for something stronger than water, I drink from the most interesting source in the world: Pierian Spring, drink deep or drink not for a little knowledge is a dangerous thing. And in my Lucas Orchard there is a bloodstone I squeeze when I miss her, every Blue Moon with blood oranges.

<Union Food Truck>

When they were partying together together, I was in the river by the street, doing a few pull-ups with the kids on skateboards doing tricks. I don’t need to know where the nearest Equinox is, I got poisoned already, arsenic man, I put it on my plate, back home on St. Helene with Napoleone, talking like Chretien of Canada putting pepper on his plate after they pepper sprayed for the new world order. No I party apart and if the party doesn’t play alternative rock as most don’t, I put it on my cellphone ringer and blast “I’m the closest to heaven I’ll ever be” in a room full of private equity partners during my internship, no need to sing fight song, my Duke Lacrosse buddy doesn’t understand my chinglish but I already dipped my fortune cookie with her in MSG! I will leave early with the girl who loves rock n’roll and you can tell those girls as they make no radio edit sense but you love them anyway because Elle gazelle danced with jamba takin speaking many languages for the MPV of the CIA who put Detroit back on the map as I was born and raised in south Detroit the moment small town girl shared the night on my train going anywhere called Citadelle, it’s French for Elle Gazelle, but come on history just a lie made up by victors, and if you dictate to me I won’t be Mr. Friendly, I can be twelve fathers dancing to the pied piper, asking how come everyone took over after the Lionheart went West for the Crusades while the rest of you went East cause you got yellow fever I got Roman Fever, what is beautiful, intellectual and perfect, can’t be what I want, instead I go for Roman, what is Japanese American Princess, can’t be what I want, I go for Romaness, what is dance of the beckoning I go for ballet, because they asked me my Achilles heel, I said take this fortune cookie, it reads nothing, cause I make my own and if you offend me, I will smile in the courtroom and buy you a lawsuit and eat your lunch like China and own America like Japan! Let New York boast of her gay gilded waters, her sons drinking love from the eyes of her daughters, Scotland’s blue mountains wild where hoary cliffs are piled, towering in grandeur are dearer tae me, land of the misty cloud, land of the tempest loud, land of the brave and proud Scotland the Brave. Victorious in Battlefield, Scotland the Brave! But see how proudly the war steeds are prancing, deep groves of steel trodden down in their paths, the eyes of my sons like their bright swords are glancing, triumphantly riding through ruin and death. The spirit of Scotia reigns fearless and free and in New England a sky full of stars, look how they shine for you, all of them yellow per Coldplay. They said they’d wring our necks when we stood up and said this is wrong. Some chicken, some neck! I never said I was better did I, only different, nor did I say we are anything but the real New England the spirit of Massachusetts, which like Manchuria to China, is part of the United States, but we are free men here never had a slave legacy of note, and what we lack in British accent we make up in denial! I’m pretty fly for a New England guy and I think it’s time we admit our Anglo Saxon heritage. Or at least explain to the rest of the United States, we aren’t Germany because we are Anglo Saxon, we are United Kingdom. And we lack the accent because we married the South. Canada also lacks the accent but they married British Columbia, Upper and Lower Canada married the western part of the Confederation of Canada, so they married British of the opposite accent who wiped out the British accent. In short Canada is half French, half British. New England is half British, half American. The south is half Dixie, half American. If you pay attention, I do believe you will hear me illustrate to you that British common law and American accent is better than other way around. That is because law is the unspoken word. And unspoken through all of this Union Beer Ad was: the flag was still there. Perfect British accent. We were never fighting the U.K. For our emancipation we were fighting ourselves, in a revolution not a civil war, because we wanted democracy. That’s really the only way we differ but democracy means we let the majority rule and so instead of King George commands and I obey, we vote and I follow. Think of the near final scene on Armageddon film, when there is a vote on who is to go out to save the spacecraft but then the men overpower each other to save and sacrifice each other’s lives. That is democracy. Rule by the people and not by a sovereign. Sovereignty then is not a core principle of America. Democracy is. Let them hate us as long as they fear us. Let them rule us as long as we vote because when we vote we lead each other and we lead and we follow, in little leagues and libraries, blue states and red states, one nation under God. The best man was a free man. I never saw dirt worth fighting for but he is a man and my brother. And the saints are marching on – Battle Hymn of the Republic.


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