Wednesday, May 12, 2010

The Lincoln is weird. I do not like the Lincoln.

I likes sweet pertaters. I had me a hankerin' fer sweet pertaters when I gots off the Greyhound bus in this place called the Lincoln in this other place called Nebrasky, but it might be the other way around because this place is funny, because I ain't seen nothin' likes it before.

I never been out of Pumpkin Center before but I tol' Mama that they was a big world out there and I wanted to see it and I was 34 years old -- because Papa said I was bornded when Jerrald Forde was president and that was 1976 and Miss Hilda at the center said that was 34 years ago, and that's how old I am. That is old enough to go see the world, and I had some money saved up from delivering the Hammond Daily Star, so I tol' Mama I was going to see the world and maybe I would go to Omaha where Jerrald Forde was bornded, and that's in Nebrasky, too, you know, or maybe in Lincoln, because I sometimes get things backwards and get confuseded, so I packed my bag and rode my bicycle to Hammond and I got on the Greyhound that the man said would go to Nebrasky where Jerrald Forde was bornded.

THE BUS got to Lincoln today, and people said Lincoln was real close to Nebrasky, and you can walk to Omaha from there to see where Jerrald Forde was bornded. Anyways, I decided I would stay in the Lincoln for a while because it is interesting, and the people are real different here, and I ain't never seen nothing likes that before. They talk funny and everything, and they seem to be a lot more white but people looked at me funny and somebody with long hair and glasses like my grammaw and a little sack on his back -- or maybe it was a she because I get confuseded -- cussed me when I axed them where was all the nigras and did they know where I could get me some sweet pertaters.

Then a passed by this building that was way taller than anything in Pumpkin Center, and it might be as tall as the state capitol in Baton Rouge but I don't know because I ain't never been there, but I asked somebody and they said it was the state capitol and I said no it ain't because this ain't Baton Rouge, and they said yes it was, too, because this was Lincoln and it was the capitol building of Nebrasky. And then I said I thought it lookded likes a big dick, and they got all flustered and walked off, and I axed them what's the matter, ain't they seen a big dick before and they said they was going to call the police and I got scared and runded away. I sure wish I had me some sweet pertaters.

I kept walking but I would hide when I saw a police car because I didn't want to get throwded in jail, because Mama always said that was where they kept the nigras and the justice of the peace always said you didn't want to mess with them people. But I kept gettin' hungrier and hungrier, and I really wished I had me some sweet pertaters, and I forgot where the bus station was exactly but it was gettin' dark and I saw this building called the Chamber of Commercial, that's what the man I axed to read the sign told me it was, and it sounded like a fancy eatin' place Daddy told me about once that he went to in Baton Rouge, so I went in because I figgerd that if anyplace in the Lincoln had sweet pertaters, maybe this would be the place and I still had $3 left not counting my bus ticket and a savings bond I got for delivering the Hammond Daily Star to people in Pumpkin Center, and that ought to be enough to get me a nice mess of sweet pertaters. And maybe a RC Cola, too.

And I was right that it was a fancy eatin' place because they was all these people in there dressed all fancy and they was all eatin' them fancy little sammiches and them little weenies with toothpicks through 'em and they was drinkin fancy wine but they was all watchin' the TV but they wadn't no football game on, it was the news show and they was showin' numbers all across the bottom of the TV and some people was even lookin' at these little computer books on tables, and I axed where the waiter was and where was all the nigras but them people just looked at me funney like they just pooted in their pants a little bit and they walked away from me, but they ought not a did that because I didn't poot in my pants or nothin' and I tried to tell 'em that but then somebody said can't somebody do somethin' about the homeless people comin' in there, and I said I didn't see no nigras, what the hell was they talkin' about?

I think these people in the Lincoln are a little bit odd ducks and I for the life of me don't know how Jerrald Forde come from such a weirdo place because my Daddy said he was the last normal president we ever had except for President Raygun, because Bill Klinton would screw everything that wore a skirt and Bamack Obamer was a damn communiss Muslin. But it's true, these peoples in the Lincoln and I guess in Nebrasky too is all weirdos because they act likes they ain't seen no normal Americans before like we have in Louisiana.

I even seen the mayor of the Lincoln in the Chamber of Commercial restaurant place and he was the weirdest of all them weirdos because I think he was one a them hermorphadites what was dressed just like a damn woman, and his wife was dressed like a g**damn truck driver, that's what daddy woulda said about her back home, that she was dressed like a g**damn truck driver, only she looked like even more a he-she that the mayor did in his dress and long hair and lipstick, only a opposite he-she, maybe it is that the mayor Chris Biteler is a she-he and his wife is a he-she, I don't know, because I think that all the people in the Lincoln is a bunch of damn oddballs.

This is a picshure of Biteler the mayor.

This is a picshure of Mrs. Biteler his he-she wife.

They was happy about a arena passing but I said it didn't look like no ESPN was on the TV, and they all looked at me like I was stupid or somethin'. I never did get my sweet pertaters and I think I messed up coming to this Nebrasky place where all the peoples is freaks and he-shes and she-hes, and I can't understand where they hiding all their nigras, I guess it ain't no wonder a body can't get no damn sweet pertaters here.

I want to go home to Pumpkin Center people are not weirdos there and I ain't never seed no he-shes and she-hes there. I will go back there as soon as I can find the Greyhound station, I do not like Jerrald Forde no more, and I miss home. The Lincoln can go to hell.

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