I am usually the "shoot your mouth off kind of gal." The only earthly object that can make me talk downright ugly, is the abuse and misuse of MY CONFEDERATE FLAG.
And so...ladies and gentlemen...I shall take myself off to bed and settle my nerves as I will endeavor to "splain" to you all tomorrow, as the rooster crows.... why I love My Confederate Flag.
The North, East and West are directions to help, as you travel. Surely, you have heard I am going OUT West, I am going UP Nawth, now East...it don't even matter. It just follows the pointing of a finger as we say, "over yonder." Well, East, only matters if you are West of the Big Chicken in Mary-etta, as my friend Lewis Grizzard already "splained." We use that as a point of reference DOWN South, just in case you need to get back on the road towards a real direction. Such as, "take a left at The Big Chicken." Did I tell you about my late night date with my friend, Lewis Grizzard. Well, I shall.
Good night, my friends. As I slip off to dreamland with my nightly sip of mucadine wine and the scent of sweet magnolia blooms.
(Oh well, a bottle of ripple and a scented candle is as close as I can get nowadays...but it is the thought that counts.)
Good morning to you fine looking Southern gentlemen and you pretty ladies. It seems that my big mouth may have bitten off more than I can chew in this lil' section here that they call bloggin. So I will send my submission right on to the editor of this fine Southern paper. Mr Walter Geiger and his pretty bride, Laura.
Word has it that Mr. Geiger may have lived up nawth at some point. If so, he is still a fine fella and has the respect of this here Ole Southern Belle. Just go and find yourself a paper, if you are interested in the real facts about MY CONFEDERATE FLAG. I went down to the wine cellar last night to fetch my bottle of muscadine wine, actually my third bottle...there was my Uncle Devereaux Tolley(pronounced "Dev-uh-roe" Tolley) leaning against the home brew churn. He "splained" it all from his diary just as I mailed it to Mr. Geiger.
The paper is probably still less than a buck....My cousin dated a boy named Buck once. Until my Uncle heard a song called "The Name Game" and run him off. All I heard him say was "The Buck Stops Here." Uncle Harry was his name.
(I really believe Uncle Devereaux had a drinking ailment...he is never around until after my third bottle of SWEET MUSCADINE WINE.)
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