Day 122

Dear Diary,

All I gotta say is the revolution’s comin’ along just fine, muchas gracias to you very much, and thanks to my new Texas flag coat o’paint, I’m blendin’ in with the fray and gunfire and bombs and explosions, and unless you knows wot you’re lookin’ for, I looks as invisible as a turd in a pile o’pine cones. You’d never pick me out in a million years. I’m only hopin’ somebody wins this here raging dispute sooner rather than later, on account of I wants to get on with my life and settle down to being a community bus again. ‘Course, if’n the Texas touron side wins, I’ll hafta go through eternity dressed like a hillbilly bigot. I guess there could be worse things, although given that I’ve never lived a life o’ chili con carne and stock car racin’ and dancin’ the Texas Two Step, we’ll hafta wait and see. That bein’ said, however, I’m all for tryin anything and everything once or twice or until I gets it like it feels good. I’ll keep you posted.

I’ve gotta apologise to you for playin’ a nasty trick on you, Dear Diary, as well as to all you other folks out there wot might be reading this without payin’ me nothing. To be honest wot I did turned out to be funnier’n I thought it would be, but the credit for that’s gotta go to you and not me, and the reason for this is you fell for wot I wrote hook, line and sinker and didn’t even suspect I was a’pullin’ your leg. ‘Course, it also proves wot they say about being able to fool all of the people all of the time, which in your case makes you out to be about the dumbest dumbfucks I’ve ever met in my whole entire life, and you gotta remember I’ve been around since the fifties, and maybe even before that, dependin’ upon if’n you believe wot they’s wrote down on my title. But that’s another story for another day and one which was deadly serious and frightening at the time. As I recall, it had to do with spies and counter-spies and the bullet-proof iron curtain in the Hotel Grand Continental bathroom adjacent to room number 7026, and it also involved a miraculous escape across five countries and being hid under a haystack with a family of pigs and a secret agent for two years, six months and a day without a bath. Oh, yeh, it were also in black ‘n’ white, which is how murky ‘n’ shady evil spy and counter-spy doins’ was done back then. However, be that as it may, since we is now in the grip of a revolution and bloody insurrection and regime change here at the The Floatin’ Commode Happy Holiday Bible Camp Furnished Units ‘n’ Good Ol’ Boy Family Entertainment Country ‘n’ Western Theatre ‘n’ All You Can Eat Family-Style Fried Catfish Restaurant, the last thing you’ll be wantin’ to hear about is my past adventures, no matter how glamorous they was and no matter how many times Ol’ Miss Mata Hari slept on the very seat Missus Milly Da Fardle likes to occupy when she’s in residence. Plus the fact wot’s gotta be on your mind is you’re dyin’ to know how I fooled you into thinkin’ poor Ol’ Zombie Fartie’d got her head pulled off’n her body while she was bein’ strunged up by the victorious invading revolutionary army from The Republic of Texas, God Bless Amurka. First of all, wot you saw wasn’t wot you thought you’d saw. Her head didn’t go nowhere. In fact, I promise you free grits for breakfast every morning of your life for the next three hundert years that Zombie Fartie’s all in one piece and that’s not on account of she’s been stucked back together with super glue ‘n’ staples. Promise promise cross your heart and hope you’ll die. Again I’m sorrier’n a pineapple upside down cake wot’s been sat on by a fat lady that I fucked up your mind, but you know a mind is a terrible thing to waste and when I seen yours lyin’ around doin’ nothin’ and stuffin’ its face with three kinds of potatoes with potato salad on top, I said to myself, I said, “Fuck me quick and fuck me a second time as slow as molasses in January, if’n that’s not a mind wot’s gone to its wasteline, and fuck me if’n I doesn’t teach the dumbfuck wot lives with it a lesson he’ll never forget.” And yes I said “he” on account of I don’t know of no women who’re quite as high up on the chickenshit-o-meter as those wot wears their wangers hanging outta the front end. Some women come close, of course, but close ain’t no cigar. But I’m getting’ off’n the subject again, ain’t I?

As I said, only not using the same words, you rightly sawed Zombie Fartie get her head pulled off like a cork poppin’ out of a cheap bottle of wine. But you also sawed with you selfsame eyes me takin’ her outta my super heavy duty washing machine and stickin’ her in my deluxe MegaTurboBlaster Dry-o-Matic, and not only that but you bore witness to her goin’ round and round in the dryer and spittin’ out all sorts of vile and heathenish viper venom curses at me for wot I was doin’ to her. Now the question you gotta ask yourself is if’n you sawed her bein’ hunged up like a slab o’eat on a hook and losing her head, how could you’ve seed her in my dryer cursing me into Hell and The Fiery Furnace at one and the same time? And while I knowed you’re all trying to figure this out on your computers and putting to use all o’that physics you was too lazy to study in school, the answer is “None of the Above.” As I said before, wot you seen wasn’t wot you thought you’d sawed. Zombie Fartie may be a whole lot of woman when it comes to sharing wot she has with a whole lot of men, and she may have been passed around to all corners of the earth and back, but the fact remains she can’t be at two places at the same time.

About now I can feel you takin’ out your knives ‘n’ guns and cornering me in a blind alley unless I stops talkin’ like some idiot from down on the farm and comes straight to the point. Okay, you win. The simple truth is one Zombie Fartie was the real Zombie Fartie ‘n’ the other Zombie Fartie wasn’t, and the question I’ve got for you now is didn’t you see them big old empty cardboard boxes and who was it wot took out their contents? Were it me or were it someone else? While you’re cogitatin’ this over, I’m gonna put away my pencil and see how the revolution is coming along. As they says, so endeth the day and I hope you don’t forget to take your precautions in your wallet when you goes out tonight.