I’m here “behind the lines”, so to speak, in Northern Virginia. Down in my neck of the woods in Southside Virginia, we tend to think of NOVA as “Occupied Virginia”. Depending on what part of Virginia (and what part of the South) you are from, there tends to be an endless debate on what places are, what place were, and what places no longer are “the South”. Generally speaking I consider my native state to be very much “the South” but just not as “South” as my adopted state of Mississippi. But within my home state certain areas do seem to be culturally lost to “Sherman’s Suburban March”.

I blame Washington, DC. But then again it’s always safe to blame DC.

In Virginia, a good rule of thumb is that you’re in the South in any county or town where you can easily find sweet tea at a restaurant. So pretty much any place Fredericksburg south is pretty safe. Yet even above this line there remain some Southern enclaves that capture the spirit of old Northern Virginia: Old Town Alexandria, nearly all of Fauquier County, Manassas Battlefield, and the horse and wine country around Middleburg (where I’m standing in my cartoon).

I lived and worked in the history field in Northern Virginia for a few years, so I know some of these places and the still very-much-Virginian folks who live there. Nevertheless, there were times when I felt like a foreigner in my own native state. At times like this, I always remembered the local Civil War hero John Mosby…the “Gray Ghost”.

Who’s that you ask?…

Despite rumors to the contrary, there's still a few trees and actual Virginians in NOVA

John Singleton Mosby was not your typical Confederate hero. He didn’t believe in secession, reluctantly joined the cause (yet fought furiously when he did), was branded an outlaw, and later served the very enemy that once ordered him hanged. He was both hated and beloved by Northerners and Southerners at different points of his life. He was one of a kind.

Mosby was born in Powhatan County, VA about thirty miles west of Richmond. He was from a well-to-do family and had the connections to enter the University of Virginia. Mosby was short and scrawny and was the constant target of bullies. He never backed down from a fight even though he probably lost 99% of them. When one bully insulted his honor, the future Gray Ghost entered the South Will Blog Again hall of fame by challenging his tormentor to a duel. The bully showed up and decided to pummel the little man instead. Mosby did what anyone who’s read Andrew Jackson’s guest posts would do and shot his attacker with a pistol.

Mosby was arrested, tried, convicted, and jailed. He was also expelled from the University. He could have quit right there and ended up a vagrant or career criminal. Yet Mosby had an iron will and gift of charm, two traits that would serve him well as a partisan leader. He befriended the prosecutor that put him away and even borrowed his law books to study. Mosby’s sentence was commuted and he ended up passing the bar…a true “jailhouse lawyer”.

Mosby learned the law in jail. Insert lawyer joke here.

Mosby’s legal career was soon interrupted by war clouds. Unlike many gentlemen’s sons, Mosby vehemently opposed slavery and secession. He had an independent political streak that made him seem contrarian and even “pro-Yankee”. Nevertheless when Virginia seceded from the Union Mosby joined the army. He enlisted as a private.

He soon found his way as a junior officer and currier in the Confederate cavalry. Mosby’s pluck and initiative caught the attention of J.E.B. Stuart. While under Stuart’s command Mosby participated in the famed ride around George McClellan’s Army. Their mission was officially reconnaissance, but their real purpose was to have fun, embarrass Yankees, and get to wear cool capes and feathers in their hats. Mosby would thus learn a lot from Stuart.

Eventually Mosby ended up on detached duty and it was here where he began his partisan career. Much of Northern Virginia was occupied by Federal forces. Mosby’s job was to create a partisan ranger force to distract the Union Army, destroy their supplies, capture food, ammunition, and weapons for the Confederacy, and provide intelligence to the main army. Essentially Mosby’s job was to be a gigantic pain in the britches to the blue coats. And Mosby had plenty of practice at being a problem.

Mosby recruited his men from the local counties and from sympathizers in Maryland. The bulk of his men came from what even today is known as “horse country”. These Rangers could ride fast, shoot straight, strike quickly, and then disappear back into the countryside. They lived off the land and with the protection of the local populace. They were good at their job and quickly became a huge problem to the Union command. Various colonels and generals were sent into “Mosby’s Confederacy” to seek out and destroy the guerillas, and capture their leader. Some of them failed miserably.

Mosby would attack out of nowhere then melt into the countryside

The most humorous of these failures was a Vermonter named Edwin Stoughton. Stoughton was a young twenty-something West Point grad who had the reputation of being rather pompous and disliked. West Point grads being rather sparse in the large army, Stoughton was breveted up to a rank he normally wouldn’t have held for a couple of decades. According to later Union testimony his promotion was never officially approved. Some folks thought Stoughton underqualified apparently. (Don’t worry, he’ll prove why)

The young general swore to get Mosby and send retribution against the local populace. And he did so in that preening arrogant know-it-all way that folks in Vermont tend to swear such things. Rather than wait to be captured and hanged Mosby decided to bring the war to his enemy’s camp. In a scene right out of ACT II of Braveheart, Mosby and a few men road behind the Union lines to Fairfax Courthouse. They found the general’s headquarters and marched to his bedroom.

According to one account Mosby smacked the general on his backside rather rudely waking him up. The astonished general was asked if he knew Mosby. The general replied that he was looking for Mosby and asked “if you found the rascal”. Mosby replied that “it is I that have found you”. The general was hauled off a prisoner in his nightgown. It was quite and embarrassment and done in the theatrical way that made each and every Mosby attack spectacular.

Lincoln to his credit remarked that he was more distraught over the loss of a good horse than such a pompous fool like Stoughton. After a brief stint in prison, Stoughton returned home and left the army, no doubt a little humbler.

Some people just ask for it

Mosby’s men raided, and pillaged with great aplomb. Even though their attacks led to reprisals against the local population, most of the civilians loved and respected Mosby. He became a Robin Hood figure to the community. Unlike the partisan fighters in Missouri, Mosby stuck to military targets and generally treated his prisoners well. He even used his law degree to settle local disputes. A mere lieutenant colonel, Mosby was the highest ranking Confederate authority in the region. No other man with such a rank had so great a responsibility.

US Grant once ordered him hanged if captured. Yet Mosby was never captured despite a few close calls. He was even wounded a few times and had some narrow escaped from death. In the end he disbanded his men rather than surrender melting away in the same countryside that they first appeared out of. In the end his military achievements were a mere footnote to the bloody war. Yet  his dash that became legendary.

After the war Mosby became a controversial figure. He accepted Reconstruction and worked with the restored Federal government and the Republican party. He even served under the Grant Administration as an ambassador and became good friends with the man who once outlawed him.

Thus Mosby lost some of the hero-worship he achieved during the war. His legacy was considered “tarnished” and he did not receive the same degree of acclaim (such as statues and biographies) others of his generation received until much later into the twentieth century. Yet Mosby’s exploits on the battlefield would live on. While living in California later in life, Mosby was a frequent visitor to the Patton family. The Pattons were Virginia ex-pats who had served in the Confederate Army with distinction. Mosby doted on their young boy and bounced him on his knee telling the young man stories about his days as a daring partisan leader. The boy, George S. Patton would grow up and lead his own men into daring attacks against the German Army in World War II. George Patton was known for having a bit of theatrics himself.

Some kids really do listen to what you say

Mosby’s spirit lives on in others ways. There are historic and land conservation groups that use “Mosby’s Confederacy” as a boundary to preserve the scenic landscape and history that remains in Northern Virginia. His name and image appear on roadside markers, museums, antique stores, driving tours, and even a winery.

In rural Northern Virginia there still remains some wonderful small tight-knit rural communities. Many of the townspeople are descendents of the men the road with Mosby while others from the men who were sent to capture him. Today they live side by side in peace, “old guard” and “new guard” Virginian. Meanwhile the new “occupier” looms in the distance…the occupation of “progress”. As any Civil War buff can tell you, it’s disheartening to see historical landmarks bulldozed, battlefields paved, small towns become “McMansioned”, and little by little the landscape, culture, and population being subverted to generic suburbia.

Yet every so often as I drove past the stone walls, hills, and farmsteads that served as Mosby hideouts I could catch a glimpse of the legend. For whenever a true Virginian, whether he or she be 10th generation or 1st generation is under siege, the spirit of Mosby will be there. Save your state.

The Gray Ghost Signal: Saving Northern Virginia

- Southern Blogger

We’re here in Jackson Square, New Orleans. In my opinion it’s the most beautiful part of one of America’s most beautiful cities. New Orleans was a city that changed hands between the French and Spanish several times before finally becoming a part of the United States with the Louisiana Purchase. Yet it was nearly lost to the British twelve years later. The story of how a grudge helped save the city of New Orleans for the United States is a quite a tale from history. And who better to tell that story, legend, or cartooned anachronism better than our old friend Andrew Jackson.

You may remember President Jackson from an earlier piece I did called “How to Defend Your Honor“. It was quite fascinating to hear the intricate details on how to properly, professionally, and purposely kill your enemies. It remains one of the most popular pieces ever in the (short) history of The South Will Blog Again! As I promised a few months ago, we’d have Andrew Jackson back. So without further ado I present my old friend Old Hickory…

-Southern Blogger

Andrew Jackson: Even his statue looks like it would kill you.

Hello again gentle readers. It’s been a few months since I’ve last guest blogged for this site. Since then I’ve been told it’s grown quite a bit in popularity. No doubt I had a good deal to do with it. People are always looking for dueling advice on the World Wide Web, and what better place to get it than this site? In any case I’m glad to see that the increased site visitation has plumb improved the quality of the drawings. It used to be much cruder around here. Why I looked like a Tom Turkey trying to squeeze out golden Goose eggs in that there last post. Doubtless I am more properly drawn and attired for this piece.

And what a piece it is. I get to talk about my SECOND favorite topic (the first is smoking poltroons)…revenge. And not just revenge against one rascal but an entire nation of rascals…the British. Now Southern Blogger has told me that y’all and the British are friends now and have been for some time. I keep forgetting that’s the case now…partly because I forget lots of things besides my enemies list. Well, bygones be bygones let me tell you the story of why I hate them redcoats and then what I did about it…

This turned out to be a big mistake

I was born in the Waxhaws. Some folks think that’s in South Carolina and some folks say it’s in North Carolina. We were never really sure. If it was in South Carolina we weren’t like them pink Palmetto sissy britches on here last week. Nor like that rascal John C. Calhoun I nearly strung up for sassin’. No, we were pure backwoods. That might surprise you being that I’m quite proper and all. Or maybe not.

My people were from Ireland but were Scotch Presbyterians. You call them Scotch-Irish today…well and lots of other things. Folks never did like my people. Well, my daddy died before I was born and me and my siblings well we come up real hard and all. Mother did the best she could and we all helped around the homestead. I was apprenticed as a boy but never did take the the trades much. I wanted to see action. And we got plenty of it during the end of the Revolutionary War.

Things were rough in the Western Carolinas. We had lots of in-fighting and feuding between the true Patriot side and them knock kneed Tories. I could give you the details but you might as well watch Mel Gibson’s “The Patriot” for the real story. He’s real good at telling history just the way it was.

Back in 1781 we had a bunch of massacring going on. Killed of a bunch of my kin. Made me a real angry lad. To top it all off one of them finely dressed British officers came to our place. He was knocking things around and causing a scene. Maybe his powdered wig was on too tight. His soldiers were stealing our chickens and messing up the garden. Believe me when I say I told them what I thought. Then that officer got real smart and ordered me to shine his boots. He didn’t think much of me or knew I was already helping out the Patriot Cause. Well that being said I wasn’t no boot shiner. I didn’t take kindly to it at all. He took his sword and rose to strike me. I blocked him but he cut my left arm and face. He left a scar…and a very angry boy.

This Andrew Jackson piece seems a lot like Braveheart. Makes you wonder.

After that day I vowed revenge against the British Empire. Not just that one officer, or his regiment, nor even his king. No I swore revenge against the entire British Empire. I might be a loose cannon but I like to aim high. And I don’t need to remind y’all that I shoot straight…and to kill.

In the meantime I got a lot of fighting experience in my time. I was an Indian fighter on the frontier as you might know but did my best fighting in politics. No, I’m not talking in a metaphor right now, I mean I actually did some great fighting. I got myself a law degree, made it into public office and one by one worked my way up the ladder into the new state of Tennessee.

Tennessee was my kind of place. You couldn’t get elected hog catcher in Tennessee unless you proved your manhood with a test of combat. Could be in war, could be the other kind. I had plenty of both under my belt so I rose kinda far. And well there were plenty of sniveling poltroons in my way I left dead behind me. I ain’t gonna apologize.

Well…it still took a lot of work to rise pretty far and we had lots of wars and raids along the frontier. Then the War of 1812 came along. Them British were taking our sailors and pressing them into their service, insulting our flag, and harassing us along the border. They were clearly behind all the frontier raids. I know. I could just smell it. Every time the hen starts to howl you know the red rooster is stealing the eggs. That’s a metaphor by the way.

I can’t say I was sorry to see the war come. I always liked a good fight. Especially against them British. I was sent to the West Florida region and you can say I picked a few scraps down there. I fought anywhere and everywhere I could and I didn’t mind who wanted to fight for me whether they be red men, white men or black men. Just as long as they weren’t red coats!

But I have no qualms in saying I was an ambitious man. Overall the war was going bad because of them snivelers and stockjobbers back in Washington and I needed to prove myself and single-handedly save the nation. Quite a task for a humble man like me.

Then came New Orleans.

Don't get in the way of a Andrew Jackson grudge

The British were sending some crack troops toward the Gulf of Mexico. They were fresh from whooping up on Bonaparte and no doubt they thought they were going to chase us like a pack of hounds going for a wounded duck hanging on a rabbit’s legs. They were aiming for New Orleans and with that the whole of the Mississippi River. America would then be cut in twain. Well I wasn’t going to let that happen. So I took my men and went to New Orleans to defend the city. I needed extra recruits. I didn’t care where they came for and I didn’t ask any persnickety questions. Questions as you know are for poltroons.

Now obviously some folks didn’t like the kind of people I had in my army. They also didn’t like the idea of how I was going to defend their city to the last. You got to keep in mind that a lot of French people were still in charge of New Orleans. I’m not saying they are a bunch of cheese eating surrender monkeys, but they were fond of cheese, had big ears, and well were fixin’ to surrender. A least I suspected some of them of it.

Now don’t get me wrong. I’m not some kind ignorant backwoods ogre. I cut quite a dashing figure in polite society. The ladies did love to dance a turn with me, but I was always partial to my Rachel. Well nevertheless the poltroonish behavior of some of the leading “men” did tweek my nerves. I’m not a man who likes being tweeked. I declared martial law. Some of them protested. One said he was a mayor, or a lawyer, or a judge or something. You’ll have to look it up in the history books. I paid him no mind. Any gentleman who had trouble sleeping  at night because of my battle plans…well I found them more suitable lodgings.

Stood beside our cotton bales and didn't say a thing...sounds like a good song.

The British landed in mid December. I had employed our navy and a local sailor of…let’s just say ‘fortune” to disrupt their plans. I also sent my men to attack and provoke the British just below the city. It was a gamble to attack a superior force. For all I knew they had some 25,000 men. I could only round up a few thousand. We slowed their attack and began to dig in. They could no longer take the city quickly and now had to run through us to get their prize. Well I wasn’t in the mood for gift giving…

So I lined up my men along a canal. We dug the canal ditch deeper and placed cotton bales, earth, planks and any kind of barrier we could up for protection. Like my men, it was a rag tag looking bunch…but quite fierce. The terrain in front of the ditch was swampy and descended on down to the river. Only a foolish blockhead would attack our force head on. And I knew them redcoats to have lots of blockheads as officers.

Well around the 8th of January they attacked us. They sent some of their best soldiers our way I have to say. Shame some their good soldiers had such cud peddlers to lead them. They hit us again and again, but my men and our breastworks held. Them redcoats poured what they could into us, but they got stuck in the swamps and couldn’t push past us. So they turned and skedaddled it back to their ships and away from New Orleans. Sounds like it’d make for a great song.

Even Joe Pesci didn't get THIS mad about shoe shinin'

New Orleans was saved. By me. Folks later told me that the peace treaty had already been signed. They claimed our battle didn’t really matter. Well you can believe that if you believe that the British Empire, or any empire or country in that situation would have ever given back New Orleans and with it the Mississippi River. Nope, we turned the polecats against the hounds and sent them dogs barking back across the Atlantic.

As for me? Well my enemies on THIS side of the ocean were downtrodden. Ole Andy here became the toast of the nation and it got me all the way to the White House. There I fought the Sally Britches-Bankers, the Tom Fool Eastern lawyers, the Poltoony Politicians, and every one of them backstabbing curs that ever said a bad word about me, my family, my men, my home of Tennessee, and my beloved Rachel. I beat them all down…

And I never did shine them boots.

-Andrew Jackson

]]> http://thesouthwillblogagain.com/2012/02/11/history-lesson-how-a-grudge-saved-new-orleans/feed/ 0 thesouthwillblogagain JaxSquare YoungHickory Pick a Fight SurrenderMonkeys JacksonsArmy Revenge http://thesouthwillblogagain.com/2012/02/04/history-lesson-the-founding-phratters/ http://thesouthwillblogagain.com/2012/02/04/history-lesson-the-founding-phratters/#comments Sat, 04 Feb 2012 04:12:28 +0000 thesouthwillblogagain http://thesouthwillblogagain.com/?p=448 ]]> Hey Y’all,

Or should I say “hear ye, hear ye, y’all”? I am here in the eighteenth century as promised to bring American history to life. As you know it is political season in our century right now. Many of the politicians and partisans on both sides like to claim (or even disclaim) the Founding Fathers. Whenever I hear people quote “the Founders” rather than specific historical figures I tend to chuckle. It’s as if we assume that all people, particularly politicians from different backgrounds and colonies all thought alike. We somehow assume that just because these men achieved great things that they were somehow “demi-gods” or “supermen” that bequeathed to us our great country.

Now I’m not saying the Founding Fathers weren’t great. On the contrary. That particular generation was blessed with a remarkable group of talented scholars, soldiers, lawyers, and other leaders that came together, declared independence, won a war, and put together the Constitution we still use today. At the same time, when one reads copies of these men’s letters, diaries, and journals, we see just how human they were. They had rivalries, factions, and petty jealousies like we have in politics today. And their regional, social, and class prejudices that they launched against one another sometimes makes for some funny reading. It’s as almost if they were like….

well….

rather than just tell you I thought I could use the power of my blog to travel back in time to 1776 and meet some of the Founding Fathers. Since this is the SOUTH Will Blog Again, I invited several members of the South Carolina delegation to show us around “campus”. They will take us through Independence Hall in Philadelphia and tell us their thoughts about the delegates from the various thirteen colonies. I suspect we might get a glimpse of what also made the South different than the north back then.

We will be touring with Mr. Edward Rutledge who is the gentlemen wearing the lime green outfit with gold palmettos on his pants, Mr. Arthur Middleton Jr, who’s wearing the cape and the garnet and black Gamecocks attire, and Mr. Thomas Heyward Jr, who is dressed in sky blue with the Palmetto golf visor. Without a doubt these men are South Carolinian to the core…

so without further ado…

-Southern blogger

(YOU MAY CLICK ON ANY PICTURE TO ENLARGE IT AND BETTER READ THE TEXT)

Charleston: Producing most of the South's Fops since 1689

Rutledge – Hello y’all. We were just at the house a bit pre-gaming it before we had to go to Congress. Southern Blogger said y’all were like from the future and stuff. Well, I guess we’re supposed to show you around and talk about the different colonies and their delegates and stuff. And like, how we’re important in history.

Middleton – Yeah Ned…I think it’ll be pretty cool. We can really show everyone our “phrattitude”. What’s that? You’ll see. Nobody and I mean nobody phrats harder than South Carolina.

Heyward – Well a few of the other colonies are pretty phrat. But we gotta warn everyone…once we meet some of the people from the Geed Northern Colonies, the phratmosphere is gonna go down to zero.

Rutledge – Well, they’ll see. Come along everybody. We’re gonna head down the street and check out Congress. I’ve already had some fresh pheasant and a couple bottles of madeira, so I’m pretty much good to go.

Middleton – Yeah me too, I just slammed a couple of drams of Triangular Trade Rum five minutes ago…I’m ready for some legislating! Who should we show them first?

Heyward – How about the other Southern Colonies? I know the Georgians and North Carolinians hang out on the side of the State House around now. Let’s check it out.

(head towards Independence Hall and turn to the right)

Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms: The Georgia Way to Found a Country

Rutledge – There’s some of them right there. They like to hang out at the side of the building. It gets pretty boring when everybody’s making laws and stuff. I know I have to leave the room sometimes when John Adams starts whining real loud. Man I hate that guy.

Heyward – There’s Button Gwinnett. He’s from Georgia. That guy’s pretty cool. He always carries around a loaded pistol. You never know when someone’s going to challenge your honor so you gotta be prepared. He told me he’s gonna go out in a blaze of glory. Fighting a revolution is no fun when you have to live long enough to make boring new laws.

Middleton – There’s my good friend Dr. Lyman Hall. That guy’s an animal man. He’s like a doctor but he didn’t even study. He told me he went to London to train and just copied of some majarajah from Punjab. You always see him dipping. Any doctor that dips and does cool experiments is pretty phrat.

Rutledge – Oh…haha there’s Joseph Hewes from North Carolina. Man that guy tries too hard. I mean I don’t know why the Georgians hang out with that guy. I think that camo Tri-corner hat is rather  homespun- looking don’t you think? What is he like a yeoman or something?

Heyward – No man, he’s okay…but yeah he kind of tries too hard to be down with the Southern Colonies…he’s originally from the North.

Rutledge – Oh…he must represent Charlotte then.

Middleton – Yeah…probably. Still these guys are pretty phrat…just not close as phrat to us.

Rutledge – Let’s see if we can catch the Virginians. Those guys have some major phrattitude.

(They leave the East Wing of the State House and move to the front entrance)

The Virginia Delegation: Giving the Carolinians a Run for their Money

Heyward – I see them right now. Those guys always stick together.

Middleton – Yeah I know. They kind of get on my nerves…they think they phrat so much harder than us…but man…I’ll tell you….WHOAH! Is that the new Chevy Tally-Ho Coach and Six?

Rutledge – Yeah, that it is. That is one phrattastic carriage. It uses up like two horses an hour. Costs more than the entire Colony of Rhode Island. Whose is it?

Heyward – Benjamin Harrison V. That guy is pretty phrat. He’s like a legacy in the Virginia House of Burgesses. His family has been in it for over 150 years so he doesn’t have to do anything. He just got elected here just for show. I don’t think he’s ever made a speech.

Middleton – Yeah but Richard Henry Lee has. That’s him standing next to Harrison. I like that guy. He’s pretty cool. Every time Adams starts running his mouth Lee cuts in and makes the same points. He’s a good speaker. He uses his hands and stuff. One of them’s messed up pretty bad so he keeps it in a glove. It annoys the crap out of James Wilson.That’s pretty funny. He’s a legacy too…his little brother is here now as well.

Rutledge – That him on the right?

Middleton – No man…That’s the new guy Jefferson. They didn’t send Patrick Henry this time because he got in trouble for locking his wife in the basement and he started a war with the royal governor without authorization.

Heyward – That’s a total phrat move! What’s the deal with this guy? He’s like reading…not phrat!

Rutledge – Yeah that’s kind of weird. If he’s the new guy they were talking about he’s also a Randolph…so he’s legacy. Apparently he’s got good taste in wine and gets lots of chiques so that’s pretty phrat I guess. The Virginians definitely phrat hard.

Middleton – Yeah…but not as hard as us.

Heyward – No way! I agree. Hey…we better check out the Middle Colonies before we go inside. You see all kinds of weird back there. Follow us.

(Head through the courtyard towards the rear of the State House)

Careful: You See All Kinds of Weird in the Middle Colonies

Rutledge – ‘Zounds! What’s all this?

Heyward – Yeah you must not come back here much. It’s the Middle Colonies…but some of them look like they’ve already declared their G– D— Independence! Haha.

Middleton – Total Geedfest. Well some of them are okay. There’s Charles Carroll and Caesar Rodney now. The Maryland and Delaware guys are always playing lacrosse.

Rutledge – What’s that?

Middleton – It’s some Iroqouis game they brought back with them from the Albany Conference. I think six schools belong to the Albany Conference now. Mostly the Maryland and Delaware guys play it. I guess it’s pretty phrat.

Rutledge – No…that stuff is “Brough” not “Phrat”. Playing golf and watching phootball is phratty. It’s okay…I mean they’re kind of like us in some ways. They definitely can throw a good party but they let in some Geed elements.

Heyward – That’s all some colonies let in. Check this out…those are those Signsters and Hippe-sters. Sherman and Witherspoon!

Middleton – Haha! What’s Roger Sherman wearing? Is that an ironic Hessian mustache and hat? What’s it say?

Heyward – “Don’t Mess with Hesse”. I don’t get it. That’s so macaroni!

Rutledge – And Witherspoon’s that Princeton guy. He’s into obscure symphonies. He’s always talking about these new composers I’ve never heard of like Mozart. Not classical baroque like us! Grateful Bach and Widespread Pachelbel!

Middleton – Yeah…those guys suck but they normally keep to themselves. Check out those guidos off the boat from the Papal States!

Rutledge – Man…all the delegates from Philadelphia and New York are like that. Check out Philip Livingstone.What’s he wearing? Pre-ripped breeches? How’d he get so big?

Heyward – He gets illegal prescriptions from GNC Apothecary. Benjamin Rush gives them to him. I think he’s a doctor.

Rutledge – Oh yeah…that guy’s a Townie…check it out…he’s wearing his hat backwards…and his stockings are wool not Siamese Silk like mine. GEED!

Middleton – What a waste of a phratty name like “Rush”!

Rutledge – Art…How many times do I have to tell you? “Rush” isn’t a phratty name at all! It’s like saying you’re never getting a bid. Now “Abraham Active”…THAT’S a Phratty name.

Heyward – I agree…man…let’s go inside…these guys are creeping me out.

(They head inside to the House chamber where the Continental Congress meets)

John Hancock: Bright Spot in Mass

Rutledge – Here are those guys from Massachusetts. They’re always in here. Don’t they have anything better to do than found a new nation?

Heyward – Really. I know. That guy Sam Adams is lame. He’s wearing wool hand me down stockings, and a fishmonger’s waistcoat. Total GDI. He doesn’t even ride a horse. He walks. Ha Ha!

Middleton – Looks like he’s throwing down North End gang signs. What a Geed. There’s John over on the other side.

Rutledge – Yeah I totally hate that guy. He’s always getting up in my face about independence. Man I hate independents. Who wants to be independent? Plus I hear his wife totally tells him what to do.

Heyward – Not Phrat. Yeah but at least they’ve got John Hancock with them. That guy’s one Phratty New Englander. He totally inherited his uncles whaling, textile, and wine merchant firm, and he smuggles all his supplies and doesn’t pay any taxes.

Middleton – What’s his company called?

Heyward – Vineyard Vines. He also has an insurance company named after him.

Rutlege – D— that’s phratty as ph—!

Middleton – Let’s check out the back room.

(walk past the president’s desk to the rear cloakroom)

Franklin and the Hippie Delegation: Lot's of Chemistry Going on

Middleton – Man, there’s a lot of smoke in there. I think I’m getting a contact high.

Rutledge – Yeah this is where Ben Franklin hangs out. There’s Josiah Bartlett and Stephen Hopkins. They’re all from New England and met in the Green Mountains during the 1760s.

Heyward – Yeah I can see they’ve declared a lot of Independents in here. (Cough Cough). Still…Franklin’s a cool guy…we sometimes buy our “Poor Richard’s” from him.

Rutledge – Yeah…these guys are pretty old and harmless. I agree…Franklin is like the mack of London and Paris too.

Middleton – Pretty cool for an old guy.

Rutledge – Without a doubt. Well I guess that’s pretty much it. I’m kind of losing my old buzz now and this new one will wear off pretty soon. I guess we’ve got to leave you now and show up for Congress.

Middleton – Yeah….I totally hate “nationals”.

Heyward – You said it!

- THE END

Welcome to this press conference. I’m here today to discuss my plans for this website for the upcoming year. As you may know, I recently got back from a strange fictitious trip to Michigan, and lived to post about it. Some of you were doubtless wondering what that was all about and why I failed to post about the LSU-Alabama National Championship game (for the 12th time this year).

Well today I will explain some of the things we’ll be doing on TSWBA, our upcoming posts, cartoons, and satires, and I’ll open the floor up to any questions or suggestions you may have. This will be an open forum and will in no way be an attempt by me to satire and lampoon my own website and audience. I wouldn’t dream of doing such a thing.

But first, I’d like to welcome all of you here today. I see some of my regular readers in the crowd, the sorority pageant girls, the frat boys who got here searching for politically incorrect pictures, the SEC trash talkers of which I see plenty of Alabama and LSU types, the disgruntled Colonel Reb supporters (I’m with you brothers and sisters), the classic country music fans, James Brown aficionados, Paula Dean supporters, Jim Bowie is the Chuck Norris meme spoofers, those linked to me via Facebook, transplanted Southerners pining for Dixie, protesters from the state of Michigan, and of course last but not least, the people who stumbled onto this site by accident.

Welcome all of you.

I have exciting plans for all of you

I started this site about six months ago as a way to blog, educate others about, and lampoon the culture of the South I love. I had very little prior blogging experience, but I had (literally) a notebook full of funny ideas and plenty of time on my hands. I thought up the name The South Will Blog Again!, purchased a WordPress domain name and a custom font, and launched in August. I had a lot of help from my friend the Budget Blonde, and some Facebook forwarding help from my friends Jaci, Chris, and Ray in particular. There were other forwarders out there along the way including other blogs and web sites. Many of those people I will never meet. But I thank you all.

Originally I was going to do a standard blog site, using hot linked pictures and adding a few paragraphs about them. But then I got to thinking. Lots of people do that. Those pictures wouldn’t be mine. And those pictures could disappear. Then I remembered how much I use to like to draw on MS Paint. Years ago when I first started my career as a museum educator I used to draw history cartoons on the computer for my children’s programs, worksheets, and fliers. It took a lot of practice, but it was fun, and quite popular. Then I stopped doing them for a while. This site gave me the chance to start drawing again, but on a variety of topics. If you look back to my first barbecue piece, it took a few weeks of trial and error to get the hang of it again and to make the images stand out. I’ve tried switching to better programs, but have kept Paint due to its ease of use and simple “cartoony” style images.

After deciding on that, I began to think about writing stories and long satires rather than simple short sentences and paragraphs. This kind of went against the grain of what most (non-political) websites do, but  I had faith that my readers would be the sort that liked to hear a good yarn. The world moves too darn fast, and the internet is part of the reason. Why not use the internet to preserve some of our Southern culture by spinning tall tales and not taking life so seriously?

So after exhausting much of my early notebook of ideas as well as some requests and topical pieces, we are now averaging about 300-400 views per week. I thank you for that. Hopefully we can continue to grow. Before I tell you some of my ideas and plans for this year are there any questions? If you have a question please step up to the microphone and tell us your name and then state your peace..ah yes you sir, please go ahead.

Some people were apparently offended by my Michigan parody

“Yes…hi…my name is Bob Richie. Um…I’m what you call a bit of an entertainer/producer/artist…yeah…so are you finally done making fun of Michigan? That was kind of harsh man…I mean I’m not from up there or anything…I’m from down here…good ole Southern Rocker…but you know some of them are down with the South too! Seems like you’re trying to alienate them.”

Hmmm…well thanks for the suggestion Kid Rock. I’m sorry you were so offended by my Michigan piece. For those of you that were confused, I did in fact parody Michigan because of a bet I lost to a Wolverine grad. I had to praise Yankees, liberalism, Michigan culture, and the Big Ten for three days. It was a bit disturbing. So when that was over, I had been in a blogger’s block so I decided to turn that experience into a story. I had been holding onto a Wizard of Oz parody idea for some time and this seemed to fit perfectly. Any time Southern Blogger heads up to the North it’s like going into another dimension.

Now with that being said…the good news Kid Rock is that Michigan is off the hook. And no, Michigan didn’t really get it that bad because I kind of like Michigan people. If you want to see bad…well..

I might at a later point parody other Northern locales I’ve been too. I have a major ax to grind against the city of Boston, and neighboring Cambridge, based on a nine-day work trip I had there in 2006. That would certainly make good TSWBA fodder and will make the Michigan jokes seem quite tame. I also feel that the West Coast has gotten off too lightly. So Michigan…all’s well and all in good fun. We got rid of Michael Moore for you and I raise you a can of Vernor’s.

Oh…I’m also planning to use the concept of movie parodies again. Plenty of things could work such as the Lord of the Rings, the Godfather, Gone with the Wind, Gettysburg,  or Braveheart…we’ll just have to see if the mood hits me. Those parodies and drawings take three times the work, so I wouldn’t expect another one for a while.

Next question….yes you ma’am…

A lot of people seem to want more pageant humor

“Hello my name is Kayleigh Ann Duprise, Miss South Will Blog Again 2012. And besides reading Southern blogs my passion is giving internet access to the hungry children of Togo. My sisters and I LOVE your blog…well we’ve only read one of the posts…but your pageant post was amazing! You should do more like that! And oh..oh! Fashion tips…like how to match your tiara with you Fall collection!”

Thanks for the advice and compliments Kayleigh, and for well improving my ratings. Um..well first of all I have to admit that the pageant post would not have been possible without my friend Budget Blonde who supplied me with the stories. There’s no way in the world I would have known about butt spray for example. Due to my lack of pageant experience and female anatomy I’m not sure how much more of those types of posts I could do…but I am up for allowing more guest blogging in the future. In fact until the SEC championship game knocked it off, that post was my most popular single day, and week, in this blog’s brief history. So I’m sure we can work something out you and your sisters, including your “sisters” in cyberspace, would like.

Oh speaking of the SEC…I see we have what appears to be an LSU fan in pimp attire…yes sir…

This man looks awfully familiar....

“Yes, hey man…my name is Bobby KR Rich…I’m a big fan…I’m also a huge fan of the pimpingest team in the universe the LSU Tigers! Are you going to do more SEC football posts? You don’t seem to have done enough of them. I search for cartoons bashing my rival schools all the time. We need all the cartoon help we can get if we are going to beat Bama this year. Oh..and are you going to call those Bama fans out for what they did to that LSU guy? You know, on Bourbon Street the other day? Isn’t that stereotypical!”

“THEY STARTED IT! THEY BE ALL JEALOUS AND STUFF OF ALL OUR CHAMPIONSHIP TROPHIES AND SUCH. I OUGHT TO POISON ALL OF THEM…WHY…THEY STARTED IT!!!”

Calm down Harvey Updyke! You’ll get your turn….(sigh)…

Look I know it’s you Kid Rock. I know you made a costume change five minutes ago, and now are embracing SEC football in order to seem more Southern, more country, and to branch off into hard rocking rap-Zydeco….(sigh)…and you and Harvey both please stop saying “we” you guys are tools, you fight too much, and you didn’t go to those schools.

If I’ve tried to do anything on my site, it’s to tell my own SEC stories and observations of other students and fans. I have never had problems as an Ole Miss grad getting along with students and alumni of any of the other schools. In fact I count many of them as close friends. We all share the same culture and stories. And we all share the same dismissive attitude towards Yankee football.

But nevertheless, I’m aware that my site traffic is due largely to SEC trash talk. If I lampoon LSU and Bama “sidewalk alums” the most, it’s because the “pimp fans” and “tree poisoner” types are the most obnoxious, most obvious, and easiest fans to bust on. If other teams start winning more their fans will become worse, and y’all will be off the hook.

While I’ll likely wait until late summer to do another SEC football post, I’ll probably do a post or two with some Ole Miss stories that should relate to graduates of any of those schools. I also plan to cover Southern minor league baseball culture this spring (think Bull Durham), and doubtless will NEED to bust on that Carpetbagger Duke basketball program. I’d also like to cover my take on the Masters, the Kentucky Derby, and other Southern sporting events.

Okay well besides what I’ve already mentioned I will tell you a few other plans I have…

Fratting Fathers, my next blog piece

If you don’t recall, I am a historian by training, education, profession, and well personal interest. I love history, I love satire, and I really love combining the two. So far I’ve done two history pieces, my Andrew Jackson tips on dueling “guest blog” and my Robert E Lee tips for winning a battle. As of yet, I haven’t done the 18th century. And that happens to be my favorite time period.

Since politics has been in the news lately, a lot of people like to argue over, harken to, and quote the Founding Fathers. Everybody (except far left loons and arch Tories) loves the Founders and I’m no exception. They were great. But I find it amusing that many people quote them as if they all agreed with one another, and all were of the same mind and background. I’ve studied these men and their writings for years. Many of them hated each other. Most of them were from upper class backgrounds. They also had strong regional differences. Well…albeit deliberately anachronistic, I thought it would be funny to re-imagine the Founders as Frat Boys. There’s a lot of talk online about the differences in fraternities in the North and South. This talk and these differences among today’s young and privileged seems a lot like the sniveling some of the Founders made against one another. So for my next blog piece I’m going to give the Fathers of our country the proper TSWBA treatment. It should be a good one.

So I hope I can make y’all laugh, and learn at the same time, without always having to come back to SEC football…

anything else? Yes…

Some people only come here for one thing

“YEAH…OKAY SO WHEN YOU GONNA DO THAT POST ABOUT HOW LSU AND AUBURN HAVE DONE BEEN CHEATIN’?”

(Sigh)

For the past two posts I have been telling you about my strange trip to Michigan. I’d been serenaded by bizarre Little Ten Kins, killed a Loony Leftist with a flying Winnebago, and was traveling with Julep the Dog through the middle of the Mitten…I mean Michigan…to find some Wizard to get me back home. Along the way I picked up THE Bob Seger, a talking anthropomorphic Vernor’s Ginger Ale can, and Ndamukong Suh, the Penalized Lion. There was lots of mirth and singing….and I mean LOTS. As weird as things had been up to that point, they were about to get weirder. Our merry band was about to meet the full wrath of Michael Moore, the Loony Leftist of the East. He was out for revenge, just as he had promised.

Michael Moore is vile creature, sloppy and slothful in appearance. But he is also very cunning and subtle. When he first began to cast a spell on me I had no idea it was him at work. We got out of Detroit unscathed thanks to help from the Penalized Lion. Suh is very popular in those parts and we received safe passage, even though we were in the heart of Michael Moore Country. We headed north and several hours later we neared the small village of Frankenmuth. Frankenmuth has a reputation for causing travelers to run astray and Tim Allen, the Good Toolman of the North had warned me to avoid it. I had fully intended to do so. The problem was as we neared the town and passed several billboards, Bob Seger and the Vernor’s Can began to get agitated. They kept begging and begging and begging to stop at Bonner’s CHRISTmas Wonderland, a popular Christmas themed, year round store and tourist extravaganza. Both Suh and I voted against it. I vetoed it because the Toolman had warned me against stopping there and I wasn’t much for tourist traps. Suh argued against it because he said it was the “honkiest place in the universe”. With all due respect to Polkatoon, North Dakota, I’d have to agree.

Yet Seger and the Vernor Can kept agitating for us to stop. It had a strange pull over them. So I relented. It turned out to be several large warehouse size buildings with alumnium siding full of countless Christmas shops. There were Nativity stores, Santa Stores, ornament stores, Santa ornament stores, Christmas light stores, plastic reindeer stores, novelty stocking stores, and twelve snack bars each corresponding to one of the 12 days of Christmas from the song. It was the most Midwestern thing I had ever seen in my life. Suh immediately fell asleep in the parking lot. Julep laid down soon after. I stared at the place for awhile but began to tire myself. The last I remember was Seger and the Vernor Can going from store to store giggling and skipping, happy as can be.

The Strange spell of Bonner's CHRISTmas Wonderland

It was almost the end of us. For Michael Moore had cast a spell on us to stop there. In fact he owns the place. At first glance, the CHRISTmas Wonderland appears to be rather conservative leaning. It’s pro religious and pro capitalist…on the surface. In reality, the money you spend there goes to fund Michael Moore’s production company and other sundry schemes. He uses it to bankrupt conservative Midwesterners. In fact, it has led to much of the decline in Michigan and neighboring states’ GNP. On Southerners and other non-natives, it has the opposite affect. The boredom lulls one into a deep sleep that can last up to 100 years. In fact Rip Van Winkle was a real life Dutchman who fell asleep in such as way at Bonner’s Albany location. Thankfully we survived. I was roused by the Vernor Can after he had blown through all his money. He was shaking me to try to jiggle loose change from my pants. I was awoken, and realized what was going on. We got out of there as soon as we could and before Bob Seger could stage the free Christmas music concert he was promising patrons.

After we got back to our senses we got back on the road and headed west to the capital city of the Wizard of Mich, which happened to be the capital city of Michigan; Lansing. As we journeyed on we began to see Lansing appear on the horizon. From afar you could definitely see it was clearly the capital of the Mitten. It appeared like a giant gleaming version of Grand Rapids. It had everything Grand Rapids had to offer only larger and more grandiose. Lansing contained a huge 4,000 square foot Dominoes Pizza, as well as a 45 story Little Caesar’s and a 67 story Hungry Howie’s. They were monstrous. To top that, there were equally large Applebees and Chili’s locations, billed as the largest in Michigan, as well as the world’s biggest Arnie’s, a favorite local chain among the natives. But the greatest indicator of it’s “Michiganess” was the 16 separate Meijer grocery store locations that leaped from the Lansing streets to touch the sky. My companions were in ecstasy. I felt it to be the scariest looking city I had ever seen, and I had just left Detroit. But journey on we had to, for in the rear corner booth of that Arnie’s led to the lair of the Wizard of Mich.

Lansing, The Most Michigan Place on Earth

We got to Lansing and soon stood in front of the world’s largest Arnies. A greeter met us near the door. We asked to see the Wizard of Mich. “I’m sorry…” the greeter said, “he’s not here…he…he never eats here…this restaurant is closed…GOODBYE!”. “But you were just going to sit us for lunch!” I protested. Apparently word got out that some travelers were looking for the Wizard of Mich and were bringing trouble with them. As powerful as the Wizard of Mich was people feared Michael Moore the Loony Leftist of the East. The Arnies Corporation and the other chain restaurants would not want Michael Moore making a documentary about them. He was liable to put anything in his movie, including having Arnie’s cooks “hand out machine guns to children under 12″, or be using “toxic waste for their chicken pot pies”.

Finally Bob Seger stepped in. He said “tell the Motor City Madman his old friend Bob Seger is here to see him and has those silver bullets he is looking for”. The Wizard of Mich was known as quite a hunter. The greeter headed to the back of the restaurant and disappeared for a few moments. Then she returned. “The Wizard of Mich will see you now. Open the door to the right of the last booth and go down the hallway.”

We did what we were instructed. The great hallway was lined in camoflauge netting. There were various pictures of the Wizard of Mich hunting and with his trophy kills. The netting, the pictures, and the various head trophies of game struck home the point that the Wizard of Mich was trigger happy and likely to shoot you. I was a bit nervous….the man in the pictures seemed familiar to me….

“I AM THE GREAT NUGE…THE ALL POWERFUL AND ALMIGHTY WIZARD OF MICH!!! WHO IS IT THAT DARES DISTURB ME…BOB SEGER AND WHO ELSE?” The booming voice was loud, accusative, and angry. I looked down the hall and arsing from a flaming bowl, wedged between two elephant tusks was the image of none other than Michigan hard rocker and gun nut Ted Nugent, a man with over 13 kills, and that just in his VH1 Reality shows. But yeah, he definitely knew Bob Seger. That man opens a lot of doors around there. “SPEAK YOU PIECES OF FILTH…WHO GOES THERE?”. Finally I spoke for the group. “I am Southern Blogger. I come from a far away land, one where we like hunting too like you oh great and mighty Nuge!” “YOU ARE SOUTHERN THEN!?? THEN WHAT’S WITH THE STRANGE ATTIRE FROM A LIBERAL NORTHERN SCHOOL?” “A disguise oh mighty one” I said. “We are here to ask you humbly of some favors…” “FAVORS?!!! WHAT FAVORS SHOULD I GRANT YOU?!!” The Great Nuge seemed angry at our impudence. Seger told him about his need for soul, the Vernor Can his desire for caffeine, and Suh his wanting to be able to make tackles again. I also mentioned how I was trapped up there and wanted to return South but had killed the Loony Leftist of the West and had thus angered Michael Moore…”

The Great and Mighty Ted Nugent, the Wizard of Mich

“YES…IT WAS YOU WHO KILLED THE SNIDE LEFTIST OF THE WEST! I HAVE HEARD TIDINGS OF YOUR DOINGS”. This had impressed the Great Nuge who enjoyed hearing about the grisly demise of one of his enemies. “YOU HAVE DONE A GREAT THING SOUTHERN BLOGGER! YOU HAVE KILLED THE LOONY LEFTIST WHO WAS ABOUT TO REQUIRE ALL HUNTING BOWS TO FIRE NERF ARROWS. FOR THIS DEED I SHALL GRANT THEE AND THY FRIENDS WISHES BUT FIRST…” I knew there would be a catch. The Great Nuge continued to bellow. “YOU MUST FIRST BRING ME THE MEGAPHONE OF MICHAEL MOORE, THE LOONY LEFTIST OF THE EAST. DESTROY THE FOUL BEAST, BRING ME HIS OBNOXIOUS MEGAPHONE, AND YOU SHALL HAVE WHAT YOU DESIRE. NOW LEAVE MY PRESENCE AND DO NOT RETURN WITHOUT DOING THESE THINGS!” And with that, the Great Nuge disappeared.

We had come all this way to the city of Lansing and had met the Wizard of Mich. He was willing to grant all of our requests but we had to leave and perform a dangerous feat. We had to destroy Michael Moore. And to do so we had to leave the relatively safe confines of Lansing and head east to the home of the Loony Leftist of the East; Flint. As desolate and dangerous as Detroit was, it was nothing compared to the utter despair and agony of Flint.

We were more than a bit afraid as we headed back out on the road. We entered the dark and twisted Forest of GreenPeace which was anything but “peaceful”. There were briers and brambles and thorns and broken logs. Here no one was allowed to cut back any vegetation or harm anything from a tree. We tread as carefully as we could. We could hear whispers and voices boding us ill and wishing us to fail. It was if the trees, or whomever was inhabiting them were shouting negative slogans at us in the call and response manner of the #Occupy protesters.

Then from out of nowhere we were attacked from the sky. We were so busy listening to the voices and trampling lightly on the ground that we failed to see the Flying Moore Minions from the sky. They were smug, ironic, angry, leftist Hipsters with wings. Although skinny and weak vegans one on one, we were no match against hundreds of them. They swooped down and took Julep and me prisoner. The others they knocked to the ground and left.

Captured by Flying Hipsters...can it get any worse?

They took me prisoner because I had the magic yellow sneakers that Michael Moore had wanted. That, and he blamed me for killing the Loony Leftist of the West. He took the dog to use as leverage against me. He knew I wasn’t a Seger, ginger ale, or Detroit Lions fan, so he left my companions alone. We were brought to the Moore compound and locked away in a dungeon to await our trial by documentary. It was a frightening experience.

Michael Moore lived in a billion dollar mansion on the outskirts of Flint. He hid his opulent mansion and his billionaire lifestyle behind the ruins of an abandoned factory. Only the factory was from the set of the movie “Roger and Me” and in fact never really existed. Of all the make believe I had seen in Michigan, Michael Moore took the cake.

My companions found their way to the mansion and hatched a plan to infiltrate it. They decided to disguise themselves in ironic costumes in an attempt to look like one of Moore’s Hipster Minions, or at the very least, one of his supporters. Suh donned tight jeans, Chucks, an ironic t-shirt that read “I’m bringing sexy Bach”, and an XFL football helmet. The Vernor Can donned the markings of a can of Pabst Blue Ribbon, the Hipster’s favorite beer. It was decided that Seger go as himself, since any Hipster that “liked” Bob Seger and donned his clothes and facial hair would be ironic enough.

Bob Seger doesn't need a costume to be ironic

The ruse worked and my companions were able to sneak into the compound and passed as Hipsters. Seger passed with flying colors, Suh seemed a little suspicious looking like a football player until he said he was an “ironic ultimate Frisbee player”, while the Vernor Can had a close call as someone tried to drink him. They raced down below and found Julep and me. We were being interrogated.

Michael Moore had taken out his camera and began asking questions. It didn’t matter what questions he asked or what I answered, he was going to arrange the footage and my dialogue to fit whatever he wanted me to say. His main purpose in filming was to pester and anger me into a reaction, something I must admit he was easily able to do. With each insult I gave him, with each time I yelled at him, with each time I threatened to punch him, Moore laughed and grew stronger. He truly was all powerful.

My friends barged in the room and demanded our release. Moore merely laughed at them and turned the camera towards them. He took credit for eliminating the formula that made Vernor’s great and that he had falsely claimed it was a cancer agent. He told Seger that he had sabotauged his carreer by claiming “old time rock and roll” was racist and should be replaced with Rap-Metal. He told Suh, the Penalized Lion that he had installed Roger Goodell as commissioner and in fact Roger Goodell was his friend from the film “Roger and Me”. He then said he was going to destroy America by exposing it and suing it to death. All the evidence he needed was in a cabinet labeled “projects”.

Suh then became very angry and lunged at Moore. But Moore laughed and began filming him. “Replay…Replay….REPLAY!!! HA HA I gave the NFL replay….I am who is responsible for your fines…I am  going to RUN YOU OUT OF THE LEAGUE…..you and all defensive players….football will then be so boring the NFL will go bankrupt…and with it all the corporate sponsors…dead gone…then everyone will be forced to watch MY MOVIES instead as they will be the only thing left on TV…the AV club will finally beat you football jocks you…”

I could stand it no longer. I reached into the cabinet and got a cup labeled “Kill Starbucks project”. I hurled it in Michael Moore’s face. “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!?” he screamed. “THAT ISN’T FAIR TRADE BEAN COFFEE….THAT’S COFFEE MADE WITH BOTTLED WATER…THAT COFFEE MADE A PROFIT LAST YEAR…I CAN’T TAKE IT….AHHHHH I’M MELTING…I’M MELTING…I’M MEEEEELLLLLTTTTIIINNNG!!! AHHHH!”. And with that, Michael Moore, the terror of America, the man who killed Michigan, the Loony Lefist of the East had melted into a giant puddle and then went down the drain. The world was free.

I am a Hero!

We raced outside and the sky became clear. Hipsters had begun changing their clothes to normal attire. They soon realized the spell that they were under and that they weren’t being “ironic” but merely pretentious, spoiled, thrift-store, wannabee, clowns. The forest began to clear, the birds were singing, as the curse that had plagued that state for so long was finally gone. We happily headed back to Lansing to see the Wizard of Mich.

We headed back to the world’s largest Arnies. The word had spread throughout town and we were greeted as conquering heroes. We stepped inside the restaurant before we’d have to hear another lip dub. We raced down the hallway and laid Michael Moore’s megaphone at the foot of the flaming bowl. The Great Nuge then appeared.

“YOU HAVE DONE A GREAT THING KILLING THE LOONY LEFTIST OF THE EAST BUT I…I CANNOT HELP YOU…BECAUSE…UM…BECAUSE…UMMMM…WELL BECAUSE YOU KILLED HIM WITH COFFEE AND NOT A BOW AND ARROW…SO IT WASN’T VERY SPORTING AND SO DOESN’T COUNT…GOOD BYE!”. We were all very angry. What a rip off? The Great Nuge wasn’t living up to his promise. It was as if he was a big giant phony. We were perplexed at what to do next. Then Julep raced to the right, past the flaming bowl and behind the curtain. We followed her and then pulled the curtain back. There was a man working the controls and speaking into a microphone….it was…it was KID ROCK!!!

Pay no attention to that poseur behind the curtain!

Kid Rock began frantically working the controls. “Pay no attention to that poseur behind the curtain!” he exclaimed trying to get us to believe that the Great Nuge, the Wizard of Mich was not a giant phony. But alas, it was all for nothing. The Nuge was really Kid Rock. In fact lots of things in Michigan were really controlled by Kid Rock, including Hungry Howies, Arnies, and lip dubbing. No matter what type of business, what type of hobby, what type of music genre, Kid Rock was in charge. I will admit he was quite the entrepeneur.

But that wasn’t going to get me home, nor was it going to bring back Seger’s career, Vernor’s caffeine, or Suh’s ability to tackle. It seemed so utterly hopeless. Until…Tim Allen appeared. The Good Tool Man of the North came down and asked us what was the matter. We explained what had happened. He admitted that he knew the Wizard of Mich was Kid Rock all along. In fact all Michiganders knew this and had granted him dictatorial powers long ago. The Tool Man explained that he knew I wouldn’t agree to kill Michael Moore unless they created this whole story involving the Great Nuge. They needed a Southerner…an outsider to free them from the scourge of the Loony Leftist. Locals were too under his spell. As much as they hated Moore, no Michigander can openly criticize anyone else from Michigan. It is in their charter. This was how Moore exploited and controlled the state. Kid Rock apologized to me and to my companions and said he wouldn’t be able to help us but I was welcome to stay in Michigan.

It was then and only then that I began to cry. I was to be stuck there forever in a land run by Kid Rock. The Tool Man told me to calm down and that he had the answer for all of us. He told Bob Seger that he didn’t have any soul, but that you didn’t need soul in a state who’s musical giants were the aforementioned Mr. Rock and his right hand man Uncle Kracker. Seger then realized he could be back on the charts in no time. The Tool Man then reminded the Vernor Can that he didn’t need caffeine because he never had any caffeine to begin with. Michael Moore simply had made the “changing formula” story up to get people to stop drinking Vernors. The Tool Man promised that Kid Rock and him would work to remove the mandatory recycling laws that were killing Vernor’s relatives. He then told Suh that with Michael Moore gone, Roger Goodell would soon be out of a job. Kid Rock would perform concerts at Ford Field bringing more mulleted fans to the stadium to chant, cheer, denounce, bully, and threaten their way into getting the NFL rules changed. Who knows?…the Lions might even win the Super Bowl.

As for Julep and me he told us we could go home any time we wished. We always had that power. He told me to click the yellow sneakers three times and say “there’s no blog like my own…there’s no blog like my own…there’s no blog like my own…” and that since this was my own blog, I could have just drawn myself out of this story any time I wanted to.

“Oh” I said. “Right.”

I could have drawn myself out at any moment...now I remember!

THE END

Musical Theater: We do it all on this blog

So there I was in Michigan. I had made it to my destination, but the place turned out to be much weirder than I expected. I wanted to go back home to the South, but I was stuck. This being Michigan, the last tire store had moved out-of-town. Little people dressed up as football players were singing and dancing. The Wolverine one began punching the Buckeye one. The Spartan then began to punch the Wolverine. Yet it was all in jest, so they claimed. I was being told to go on a silly journey through the “mitten” to find some Wizard, and I was being told this by Tim Allen who was dressed in fairy wings. “Clearly I must be dreaming” I thought. But then again it was the North, and it was Tim Allen; and we know Tim Allen never turns down a role. On top of it all Michael $#@%ing Moore was on my case about killing the environment and voting Republican. You know, all in all the kind of stuff that happens every time I go up North.

So the adventure began, just me and Julep the dog at first. More on that later. My RV tire being busted and no replacement in site, and being creeped out by the Little Ten Kins, I decided to follow the flat and straight road across the state. As long as I stayed out of Detroit, what was the worst that could happen?

Singing…that was worse. Or rather lip synching to singing. As Julep and I began to walk down the road we heard a song. I could have sworn it was to the tune of Don McLean’s “American Pie”. Yet the Little Ten Kins were not singing the song. No, they were marching behind us, some waving, some dancing, some playing the guitar and doing other mundane things. And as I said they were lip synching. It was being filmed too for Little You Tube. Apparently word got out that I thought their town sucked for having nothing but chain restaurants and not one auto parts store. So they decided to make a”lip dub” video as both a farewell to me and a self-affirmation of their town’s greatness.  So yeah, we couldn’t wait to leave Grand Rapids.

The weird thing was the song they were lip syncing to was about me and my journey. How they recorded it and then choreographed a lip dub to it in such a short time was beyond me. But it was the Midwest and it appeared they had done these sorts of things before.

The words went:

The Day the Documentarian Dies

So bye-bye magic heroes from the sky

Flew your trailer thru the “tornader”

And the Leftist did die.

And Little Ten Kins were eating chicken pot pie,

Singing “this is the day the documentarian dies”

“this is the day the documentarian dies”.

And “so long” we say, so sad you gotta go,

But you’ve got to follow that flat and straight road,

From Grand Rapids to the Center of the Mitt.

And when you beat the Leftist of East,

That fat filmmaker, that ugly liberal beast,

You will get your wish….from the Wizard of Mich.

So farewell ye go ye Southerners of lore,

And go slay the Dragon Michael Moore,

And you will be back to your Dixie home on high…

The day the documentarian dies.

So bye-bye magic heroes from the sky

Flew your trailer thru the “tornader”

And the Leftist did die.

And Little Ten Kins were eating chicken pot pie,

“this is the day the documentarian dies”

“this is the day the documentarian dies”.

Choreography: It's replaced manufacturing as the number one employer in Grand Rapids

I have to admit, it was a catchy little tune, and anything that speaks of the demise of Michael Moore is a hit with me. “But wait” I thought “how was I supposed to take down Michael Moore?” and furthermore “who was this Wizard of Mich?”. I thought about it more and more as Julep and I began walking east. Out of the blue and without warning I broke out into a ditty. It went something like this…

The Wizard of Mich

Oh I’m off to see the Wizard the Wonderful Wizard of Mich,

Whoever he is, I’m sure he is, the only one that can grant my wish,

This trip is more than I bargained for, it’s too cold here, it’s quite a bore,

The frost , the frost, the frost, the frost, the frost the frost,

All because of a bet I lost!

Oh I’m off to see the Wizard, the Wonderful Wizard of Mich.

Clearly Michigan was having an effect on me. Maybe it was the winged helmet. I didn’t know. What I did know was my quickest chance to get back home was to find this Wizard and get the Winnebago fixed. I was simply told to follow the road east but I still wanted to know where I was. I looked down on my mitten and guessing that I was 14 stitches southeast of Grand Rapids I must be getting close to Battle Creek.

I walked through the nearly empty streets of the town and approached a city park. Sitting alone on a bench I saw a scruffy looking Baby Boomer. He was dressed in a 1990s business suit jacket with a t-shirt underneath. Garish, I know. He was also wearing black motorcycle boots and black jeans. He looked like an over-the-hill rocker who would play the county fair or local Holiday Inn back home. Just as I began to smirk at the idea, I had a suspicion that my little joke was all too real. As I walked closer to the figure I began to make out who it was…I thought…”Oh no it’s…

“Bob Seger’s the name!” said the man on the bench. “Looks like you and your dog there are heading against the wind.” “Yes, I guess we are” I said as I began to walk briskly away. I was followed. “Looks like you two are trying to turn the page” he said. “Yes Mr. Seger” I said…”we are, but do you have to speak in your lyrics?” “I don’t know what you mean” he said. “No, life’s been tough for me ever since people stopped taking my old records off the shelf, but thanks for asking”. I didn’t ask. He continued. “Yep, you’re right. I did out sell the Beatles in Michigan. I was big”.  ”Okay…nice talking to you” I said but before I could continue. “Yep, one day you’re big and then the night moves and you’re at the bottom. Maybe my old friend the Wizard of Mich could help.”

“You know the Wizard?” I said. “Know him? Well me and the Motor City Madman go way back. I could take you to him if you’d like.” “That’s okay” I said “I’ll just be going about my way…”

“Yep” said Seger…”I could make it big again for the fans…for people like you, if I only had some soul”….

I was dreading what was coming next and then he broke out into song…

If I Only had Some Soul

(Seger)

It would greatly please myself

My records taken off the shelf

And they played some rock n roll.

From Philly down to Frisco,

I’d shut down every disco,

If I only had some soul.

I’d open up for Kiss,

Sing songs that can’t miss,

And every show I stole.

(Me)

Well your songs would still be campy,

Because you’re a no talent Grampy,

And you don’t got any soul.

(Seger)

Oh I could top the records,

My career’d be on the mend,

I wouldn’t look so foolish,

Spittin’ against the wind.

I’d be jazzy like Sonny Rollins,

A ladies man like Phil Collins,

And I’d finally get off the dole.

Life’d be real breezy,

if I learned to not be cheesy,

If I only had some soul.

Bob Seger: As cool as the other side of a Member's Only Jacket

“All right, you can come along” I said.

So now we had another on our journey. As much as I hate Bob Seger’s music I guessed it wasn’t too bad if he tagged along. For one thing, he appeared to know the Wizard. He called him the “Motor City Madman”. Did he mean….? And anyway if we had to do battle with Michael Moore I could always use Seger as a human shield. They might badger and annoy each other to death.

So we trudged along further east. The buildings became drab and utilitarian, similar to Grand Rapids but with academic buildings rather than chain restaurants. It looked like something out of a post apocalyptic sci-fi movie or 1970s Eastern Europe. There were protest signs, Obama 2012 posters, post-modern art, and petition drives. Several people yelled out “cool outfit”. I thought they were making fun of me…but then again…I realized it was the Midwest where everything is accepted. After the tenth compliment it dawned on me where I was. It was the home of the University of Michigan…Ann Arbor. We had to be careful because this was clearly Michael Moore territory.

As we walked through campus we thought we saw a gang of #Occupy Hipsters. These were known to be Moore’s Minions. Perhaps he was looking for us. We all decided to duck into a building. Well Julep and I did. Seger was busy trying to put up flyers announcing his 1987 World Tour. We pulled him inside.

It was dark and spooky in there. We were surrounded by recycling posters. There were “Celebrate Earth Day, Every Day” signs, and bags and bags of crushed aluminum cans. It was the campus recycling center. It was something I’ve heard about but never seen in any of the Southern campuses I’ve been to. Just as I began to plan for our next move I heard a crash. I thought the Hipsters had found us and we were about to be flash mobbed…

“AHHHH DON’T DDDDDD-DON’T RECYCLE ME…PLEASE!!!!” cried the voice. “I wouldn’t think of doing something like THAT” I replied. I looked up and saw what appeared to be a giant anthropomorphic can of Vernor’s Ginger Ale, a local swill. I would have asked how a giant soda can come to life but it was Michigan. Strange things had been happening the entire time so far, so what was one more bizarre thing?

“Are you guys going to rescue me?” he asked. “I’ve been trying to avoid detection. The Hipsters have begun a drive to collect every can on campus. They are fining any student who fails to recycle with an ‘Earth Killer’ ticket. If they catch me, I’m doomed.” I was a little taken aback by the fact that people who claimed to care so much for all of the Earth’s creatures would want to kill such a nice talking can. I wondered if Michael Moore was behind this. I was beginning to wonder if he was behind all of this.

The can continued. “My name is Vernor. I’m the oldest pop around. I have been brewed in Michigan for over a century. But now I’m considered old-fashioned. I’m losing popularity to the other brands, especially the “socially conscious” companies like Coke. They’ve changed my formula and took away my caffeine. They’ve ruined my taste and so people have stopped drinking me. Soon, me and my family will be nothing but cans…used cans to be recycled”.

“Let me guess, Michael Moore?” I said. “Yes” said Vernor…”If I saw him, I’d fight him…but I’m an old can and I need more energy. If only I had caffeine”…

“Don’t start I said…..”

If I Only had Caffeine

(Vernors)

Well I’m quite the ginger ale,

The first one ever on sale,

A fact that should be seen.

They would print it on my can,

Next to “greatest pop in the land”,

If I only had caffeine.

I’d knock out Canada Dry,

Schweppes and Seagrams’s would cry,

They’d say “this beverage’s mean!”

(Me)

Well you sing a lot of ballyhoo,

Outside of here, they haven’t heard of you,

Because you haven’t got caffeine.

(Vernors)

Oh I would beat out Coke and Pepsi,

Coffee and Red Bull too.

I tell you it’s no joke,

I’d be peppier than Mountain Dew.

My commercials would be trendy,

They’d be serving me at Wendy’s,

I’d be drunk by king and queen.

No one would “out-ran” me,

life would be quite uncanny,

if I only had caffeine.

Needless to say I was getting tired of people breaking out into song. But he hated Michael Moore and activism so he couldn’t have been too bad. So he explained more of his story and I invited him to come along with us to see the Wizard of Mich. Seger asked him if he personally knew “New Coke”. I was beginning to wonder if Seger also thought Reagan was still president. I guess in that case it isn’t too bad to be Bob Seger.

Remember Kids, Recycling Kills

So now we were four. I was beginning to remember an old children’s movie I had seen and thought that this whole thing seemed eerily similar. I knew Midwesterners loved their musicals but this was getting ridiculous.

The other thing it was getting was more barren and desolate. As we marched further east we were heading deeper and deeper into the Realm of the Loony Liberal of the East, Michael Moore. The activist posters of the Midwest turned into graffiti. Academic buildings turned into empty houses. I even saw a mouse mug a squirrel. Yep we were in Detroit.

If I remembered right I landed some time during the weekend. For an abandoned city there seemed to be a lot of hustle and bustle. I heard the sounds of cheering and then booing which got louder as we got closer to town. All of us were scared and grasped arms and chanted “Lions, and Tigers, and Red Wings, oh my, Lions, and Tigers, and Red Wings”. Then a Lion jumped out in front of us!

“ROOOOOOOAAAAAARRRRRRRR!!!!!” he said “I WILL CRUSH YOU….I WILL KICK YOU IN THE FACE….ROOOOOOOAAAAR”. He made a threatening gesture and then Julep ran up and bit him. He sat down and cried.

“I’m sorry” he sobbed. “I didn’t mean it….I never do. I can’t help it.” It was Ndamukong Suh of the Detroit Lions, the most penalized player in the league. He had just gotten kicked out of the NFL game for making a tackle. I know…a tackle. Clearly I was sympathetic.

He then told me that recently the league had been fining players for making tackles and stopping the other team from scoring. There was a new NFL rule that players could only two-hand touch. An offensive player could yell “BASE” at any time and be allowed unfettered access to the endzone. It was all done to make the game “fair”. Could this also be the work of Michael Moore?

Suh the Penalized Lion then began to say how he wished he didn’t have so many penalties, that he’d be allowed to play ferocious on the field. Then he wouldn’t have to go around scaring people outside the stadium. He looked at me and paused. Then I sighed and said “go ahead…”

If it Wasn’t for Penalties

(Suh)

I’d kick butt at Training Camp,

And end up Super Bowl Champ,

QB’s would pay dental fees.

Sunday Night Football’d de-lay,

‘cause they’d be showing my replay,

If it wasn’t for penalties.

I’d be better than Singleterry,

Butkus, and William Perry,

Yes, I’d be greater than all of these.

(Me)

But these are Bears you all are citin’

That’s the team you’re always fightin’

When you’re getting penalties.

(Suh)

I tell you I’d be on all the commercials,

They’d say “this guy is real swell”

I’d be a hero to all the children,

If it wasn’t for Roger Goodell.

Like lightning I’d be striking,

Cause terror to every Viking,

I’d make offenses freeze.

I’d send home Packers cryin’,

I’d be the pride of these Lions,

if it wasn’t for penalties.

When he finished I told him to come along. He was a big guy and clearly would be able to take out any Hipster Minions that dared cross our paths.

It's hard being a Penalized Lion

So with that, we became a singing quintet. We were off to see the Wizard of Mich whoever he was, all five of us: A displaced Southern blogger, an intrepid dog, a forgotten rocker, an anthropomorphic can, and a would-be NFL star. It was already the journey of a lifetime, albeit an annoying theatrical one, but this being the North, I knew more strange things were bound to happen.

Was Michael Moore really this all-powerful? What did he mean when he was “going to get me”? Why were people so afraid of him? I always thought he was an annoying yet harmless loser. Were we in trouble? Had Michael Moore really destroyed this once proud state? Would I ever get home? Would Bob Seger find his Old Time Rock n Roll again? Would Vernor’s make a comeback? Would we ever see defense played in the NFL again? Could the Wizard of Mich help us?…………

Danger Lurks

You might have wondered where I’ve been the past four weeks. Doubtless many of you thought I had forgotten about this blog and was never to come back to it. But that is not so. In fact, I’ve just returned from a very strange trip (an entirely LEGAL “strange trip”). It was time on The South Will Blog Again to begin to investigate that strange land we call “The North”.

Although Strange Looking, it is their National Costume

To begin to investigate the North we must realize that there are several “Norths” just like there are several “Souths”. I can tell you first-hand that the Mississippi Delta is a different South than the Virginia Tidewater. Memphis has a certain flair for a Southern city, but it’s much different from Charleston and New Orleans. Texans are a different breed from Alabamians, Kentuckians from Georgians and so on. There are even states within states. That’s why there are really three Tennessees, and over six different Carolinas. In one state, Florida, you have to drive north to get to the “South”. Then there’s Atlanta…

Likewise the Midwest is different from the Northeast. Wisconsin is full of people wearing novelty foam cheese headgear not Jersey Shore cast members (or cast-offs). Folks in Indianapolis are a whole lot friendlier than Boston, while Chicago is much more sophisticated than Providence. Some Yankees drive real fast and cut you off, while others smile and wave you through. Parts of the North are like Canada, others are stereotypical Yankee to the core, while a few places might just pass for Dixie.

So due to my curious ways, I’ve decided to begin some investigative reports on TSWBA in 2012 to find out what makes “us” so much different from “them”. For my first investigative piece I chose the state of Michigan. But because this website and its author are now world-famous after 5,000 site hits in the year 2011, I had to go incognito…

Since we all know I would not willingly travel to the North on vacation I needed some guise or ruse from which to make this trip. I found the answer during bowl season. All Southerners (except for the ridiculously militant) have several Yankee transplants as friends. Since we know they’re going to come down here anyway it behooves us to show them around and perhaps convert a few of them to our ways. In fact I’ve known more than a few good “naturalized” Southerners. In any case one of my good friends is such a transplant and a Michigan grad to boot. There was my answer. I would make a bet this bowl season betting against Michigan and for my graduate school Virginia Tech. Since we all know Virginia Tech goofs up every big game they are ever in, this became my solution. I announced that if Virginia Tech lost the game I would “become” a Michigan fan “to the fullest”, complete with authentic costume, dialect, and beliefs, and make a pilgrimage to Big Ten Country. Despite the inferior nature of Michigan being a typical Northern football team, Virginia Tech came through blowing the game for me with ridiculous play calling. You should know I have operatives working for me.

Frank Beamer and his "Can't Miss" Acme Playbook by Coach Wile E. Coyote

With that out of the way I began to plan for my trip. I had researched Michigan in the past so I was pretty secure in my ability to mimic accents, folkways, and the various Michigander tics. I even have an operative based in Grand Rapids “Agent Rothstine” that fed me regular info. The costume was also quite simple. As we all know, people in the Midwest love a good costume. They don’t need much of an excuse really, just any opportunity to wear novelty attire and headgear will do. I came up with a foolproof costume. Using rolled up khakis, long navy socks, a navy sweatshirt, some yellow sticker felt for a number, and a Michigan winged helmet winter cap, I became a 1940s Wolverine football player. Now I could walk into any public place, at any time of the year in Michigan and blend in.

The transportation was a more difficult hurdle, but that was solved when I was able to rent the “Wal-Mart Wolverine 2000″ a fully customized Maize and Blue Winnebago complete with a unique Winged Helmet design. With this vehicle no Midwesterner would think me out-of-place.

Michigan: They have a Map for that!

The most difficult assignment was finding out how to get there. Michigan maps are very strange. They do not use typical paper, nor surveyed cartography, nor satellite imagery. No, folks in Michigan like to show where they are going, where they’ve been, or how to get somewhere by using their hands. Apparently Michigan looks like two mittens or gloves if you were to make a hand gesture that looks like waving “hello” and calling a timeout at the same time. (This was famously shown by the basketball player Chris Weber on national TV years ago). But that wasn’t really going to help me since I needed my hands to drive, so my operative sent me a map made out of an oven mit and a pot holder. I’ve been told it’s the most accurate map of Michigan available. So I took my doggy niece Julep with me, and headed northwest over the mountains and towards the square states and was on my way…

I got lost near one of the rectangular states. I believe it was South Nebransasowa. The weather quickly turned nasty. The sky blackened and the wind whipped around in circular directions. It appeared to be a giant midwestern twister. I tried to outrun it like I saw in the movies, but I was in a Winnebago after all. Alas the twister picked us up. I hit my head and blacked out…

Those Stinkin' South Nebransasowa Tornadoes!

When I awoke I had a massive headache. Luckily the pooch and I were all right. Amazingly the Wal-Mart Wolverine 2000 was not seemingly damaged at all (or so I thought). Clearly this vehicle had magical powers to survive the trek through Midwest. But where the heck was I?

I opened the door of the Wolverine, stepped outside and looked around. The sky was a very dull gray. The land was perfectly flat. While there were occasional trees the area around me was largely built up with what looked like massive suburban sprawl. Every building appeared to be some sort of mid-market chain restaurant. I saw four Applebees, three Chilis, one Bennigans, one TGI Friday’s, six Hungry Howies, a Little Caesars that was next to a Dominoes Pizza, and seven Bob Evans franchises. Whoever these people were they sure had an appetite for appetizers.

It was eerily quiet as I continued to get my bearings. Wherever this place was it seemed devoid of people. It’s as if whoever once lived here had moved some place else. Just as I began to wonder why I heard noises…

From behind the alleys, and dumpsters, around lamp posts and corner booths came a few intrepid little people. Each of them looked the same but had on slightly different attire. As they slowly inched closer they appeared to be football players. They were much smaller than the football players I was used to in the SEC, and they moved much slower too. But as they came closer I could make out the uniforms they wore. Penn State, Illinois, Michigan State, Iowa…..”a ha” I realized…”I’ve landed in Little Ten Country”…which I guessed was not far off from my intended destination. I was truly fortunate…

But as I moved closer to attempt to talk with these little people, they were taken aback. Even though I was dressed in similar clothing  as them they sensed something was amiss. I tried to break the ice and said “Hey, how’s it going?” But they looked quizzingly at me as if they didn’t quite understand what I said. One of them in green, I believe it was the one called Spartan said “that’s a strange accent you have there for one dressed this way, you betcha”. I explained to them that they had “accents too”. At this they all let out a chirping little giggle. The one dressed like me called Wolverine spoke and said “we have no accents!”…only it sounded like “Wii hee-ah-ve NOH Eee-Ahh-cintz!” spoken real fast…

There was much confusion, until the one little guy covered in tattoos spoke up pointing to the Winnebago. His name was Buckeye. “This strange person has killed the Loony Leftist of the West!” Others crept out in amazement. Several began to clap and sing and call out for joy. I then looked under the rear wheel of the Winnebago and saw that I had run over someone. I was shocked and dismayed, but more so that I had damaged the vehicle than by hitting something. It looked more like a cow than a person, and it was wearing these ugly yellow sneakers.

I was wondering what I was going to do to get home when a winged creature appeared out of the sky. He looked like a cross between a fairy godmother and an unemployed sitcom star…like one who would take any role offered to him. I had seen that face before but couldn’t quite make out who it was…He flew closer to me and I could see he was carrying some sort of wrench in place of a magic wand. The Little Ten-Kins knew who he was and were happy to see him.

CLICK ON IMAGE TO ENLARGE

Little-Ten-Kin Land is a strange place indeed!

The man then flew down and said ‘Don’t be startled…I am Tim Allen the Good Tool Man of the North! You have done a wonderful thing!” He then explained to me that the tornado that had picked up the Winnebago had landed on the body of the Loony Leftist of the West. This Leftist was a loud fat obnoxious creature that terrorized the little people of Little-Ten-Kin. They were not allowed to have real restaurants because of strange labor laws. They were not allowed to have good football programs because of a strange desire to have good academics. Butter, salt, spices, and other tasty things were banned (although I later found out the Little-Ten-Kins never liked those things anyway). This Loony Leftist had pretty much destroyed their culture, ruined jobs, and caused many of the people to move to other lands…

It was at that point when I realized which of the Little-Ten-Kin states I was in…but the Tool Man spoke before I could say it. “Yes exalted one, you are in Michigan”. To confirm this he arranged his hands and showed me on his “map”. At that point I looked around this bizarre place and decided I wanted to leave. But the Winnebago’s tire was destroyed and the last tire store and tire plant had moved from the area six years ago. To find a replacement, I would have to walk across the state to see the “Wizard of Mich”.

At that moment a loud noise interrupted the scene. A loud, beastly, foul creature then stood in front of me. He was carrying a bull horn and dressed like a cross between a protester slacker and Jaba the Hut. I had seen this creature before. It was Michael Moore, the Loony Leftist of the East!

Michael Moore: The Loony Leftist of the East!

He looked at the feet of the creature I hit. Apparently it was his brother. “YOU’LL PAY FOR THIS!!” He yelled from his megaphone. “YOU’RE FROM A RED STATE AREN’T YOU?!”…he looked me up and down, sniffed and then yelled “FROM THE SOUTH TOO!!! OH YOU VOTED FOR GEORGE W BUSH, YOU RACIST, SEXIST, BIGOTED, HOMOPHOBIC, WAR MONGERING, GAS GUZZLER YOU!!! I’LL MAKE YOU PAY FOR THIS! I’LL FILM A DOCUMENTARY ABOUT YOU AND FOLLOW YOU AROUND YELLING IN YOUR FACE!

I was extremely annoyed at this disgusting fiend. But then when he saw the Tool Man he shrieked and stopped yelling in his megaphone. Apparently this goon has no power over the Tool Man. He then shrugged and said “I’LL JUST BE TAKING MY YELLOW SNEAKERS THEN!” But he couldn’t because as he reached for them he was shocked. I looked down and saw them on my feet. They were hideous…not the kind of shoes a Southern Blogger would wear. But they wouldn’t come off.

The foul Loon left the area and the Little-Ten-Kins began singing “Sing Song the Loon is Gone, the Evil Loon, the Lefty Loon, Sing Song the Lefty Loon is Gone”. I was then told by the Tool Man that these ugly sneakers would help me for walking on my journey. I sighed as I had no choice and began to follow the “Flat and Straight Road” east  to the home of the Wizard of Mich. The Little-Ten-Kins began signing again…something about following the road again, but it sounded an awful lot like a cross between bad musical theater and Journey. I resigned myself that this would be a long trip.

END OF PART ONE

Bet you didn't know I was a 1940s football legend

Hey y’all,

Well old times here are not forgotten and neither is this blog. I’ve been away for the past few weeks job searching, running errands, and getting ready for Christmas. I hadn’t had much time to properly cartoon and I figured y’all wouldn’t want to read an article sans cartoons. In any case, I’m sorry it took so long, but I think I might have come up with a good post here.

My last post, which was three weeks ago, was on Southern pageant culture. Our guest blogger, the Budget Blonde did an excellent job with her stories. We smashed the record for most hits in a day the day it was posted. It also generated a lot of discussion. It’s interesting to me that the most popular posts and search engine results for this blog have been for subjects such as beauty queens, football trash talking, and believe it or not Preston Brooks. Despite our other talents in music, cuisine, and literature, it means Southerners are very passionate about beauty and violence. If I were some Yankee I might act appalled and try to psycho-analyze this, but nah…that sounds about right to me.

Instead, I’ve decided to do a final college football post for the season. Now friends, this is not simply just a crass attempt to get more site hits, but rather my last chance to cartoon my favorite subject for the year. With all the bowl games on television, including such gems as the Maalox Bowl, and the Famous Kansas Whole Grain Wheat Bowl, I’m reminded of one thing…our people totally and utterly dominate the sport…that is when you get to the real games.

The rest of the country knows it too. See, I’ve been reading some college football message boards and sport news comments  lately. Yankees, well many of them, are really mad that two Southern schools, in the same conference, in the same division, are playing for the national championship game (I guess they couldn’t find a patsy this year). And of course, with that, we have to get all the usual snide remarks and put downs about our people. Which of course brings out my inner Preston Brooks, and thus…

Well, rather than argue on the useless forum of message boards, I decided to retaliate the best way I know how. After all, the cartoon, is mightier than the message board. So without further ado I bring y’all and Inside look at why we love (and dominate) college football.

- Southern Blogger

In the Beginning…

When Alabama won the 1935 Rose Bowl, it gave pride to the entire region

It used to not be that way. Strange as it seems now, there was once a time when the South wasn’t very good at football. Football began as a northeastern sport, a blue-blood rugby-style game, that came out of the prep schools and colleges of the Northeast. Remember folks, the Ivy League was first a sports conference before it became an academic cachet.  Consider how many teams copied the Bulldogs and Tigers names from Yale and Princeton. It was a rough and tumble sport for rich kids to prove their manhood, similar culturally to lacrosse today. Think of the schools that are good at lacrosse today, and you have the schools that dominated football 100 years ago.

Football, because of its speed and violence was an immediate hit. And it became popular in Dixie eventually as well. Yet the best coaches and players in the South came from north of the Mason-Dixon line. It was still a Yankee game. Even as the sport became more democratic and public schools and Catholic schools became dominant, the game’s elite teams were largely the teams that comprise the modern Big Ten.

Things started to change in the 1920s and 1930s. A new generation of Southern born players and coaches emerged. The Southeastern Conference was formed. Schools like Alabama went out west to the Rose Bowl and won. Georgia Tech and Duke (when it was a Southern school) became gridiron  powerhouses.  Southern players such as Don Hutson and Charley Trippi became household names. Throughout the Great Depression and leading up to World War Two, the South’s great college teams gave hope and voice to a beaten down people. Regional rivalries were put aside as Southerners united to cheer on Georgia, Auburn, or Alabama whenever they played Michigan, Nebraska, or Notre Dame. Southern pride put on pads and a leather helmet. Following World War Two the game became increasingly more Southern.

Passionate about the things we love…

In Alabama people take their religion seriously, the Saturday kind too.

Well that’s how this whole obsession began. And obsession is the word. If you have ever spent any time in the South, particularly the Deep South in the Fall, all of the talk is about college football, well regional college football. Preachers in Alabama will ask God to bless the Tigers or Crimson Tide (depending on their faith) at the end of services. Ladies at the beauty parlor (and we still call them beauty parlors) discuss the merits of Mississippi State’s latest recruiting class or Georgia’s running game. A neighborhood kid getting recruited to Florida is more important than being elected president.

And when you come down for a visit, you better be prepared to talk shop. My college roommate at Ole Miss remarked about how he once tried to bring up a non-SEC school at the barber shop. The barbers were talking about high school teams, then Ole Miss, then the other conference teams when he brought up Michigan State (where his father went to school). Michigan State of the Big Ten…”the Big What son?” was the reply.

Point being, we don’t really care so much about other schools and conferences. Doubtless you’d have to be a real ignoramus not to acknowledge the traditions and talents of say USC , Nebraska, or Ohio State. I’m sure those gentlemen knew of those programs. Only down there there is an attitude of “we don’t care how you do it up North”. I think with older generations especially, it comes from a time when the rest of the country put the South down, even in things like football. For decades the national title votes, Heisman votes, and marquee bowl games went to Midwestern and West Coast schools, at the expense of good Southern teams, which makes it all the more ironic when those folks up there complain about SEC dominance today.

We also stick together. During bowl season, and even at times during non-conference regular games, you will hear a chant from students and fans of SEC teams. Much like the Olympic “U-S-A, U-S-A” chant, you will hear an “S-E-C, S-E-C” chant at the end of a game the conference wins. And back at home we are all chanting this whatever our school affiliation. As an Ole Miss grad, I may hate LSU and Mississippi State, but I darn sure will cheer for them against anyone else. Conference pride, regional pride matters. We are all from the same family, even if some of the schools are our “misguided cousins”. Blood is thicker than alma mater. To my knowledge other conferences just don’t do that. Would an Ohio State grad root for Michigan? Does USC pull for UCLA in their game? Not really. “Big-Ten, Big-Ten” is not a chant. It’s not even the right number of schools. And I thought they were supposed to be better at math than us.

This is hypothetical since no one from Ole Miss would ever hang out with this guy

It’s all about family…

In the South our college teams are beloved members of our extended family. They are in our thoughts and prayers always, and we support them win or lose. We are even quite irrational in defense of them. Our college teams and our alma maters are things that our passed down from generation to generation. That same sharecropping family in Alabama that listened to Dixie Howell lead the Crimson Tide to victory in 1935 might later have sent two generations of students to the University. Like our football programs, our schools and our region have improved dramatically over the past few decades. No longer a rural poor backwater, the South now boasts top universities, economic and population growth, cultured urban centers, and our share of success stories off the field.

From farm-house to frat house in three generations

The South has risen again. It hasn’t risen again in secession or Civil War, but rather risen from defeat and Depression to become a powerful and integral part of the United States culturally, politically, and economically. We’ve come a long way as a people, yet in our football pride and power, we still assert the things that made us who we were and are…our sense of military prowess and pride. We get hit, and hit ‘em back harder and rise gain.

We will join the rest of you come Olympics time and say “U-S-A, U-S-A” but right now it’s bowl season…

S-E-C, S-E-C

- Southern Blogger

Our family photo album

It’s been a few weeks since I’ve made my last post. Thankfully due to lots of people using Google for SEC trash talk, my site stats have done pretty well from people stumbling here while this blog has been on auto-pilot. Y’all will have to forgive me. I have spent the last two weeks on some paid writing projects, both the editing and writing kind, and I interviewed for a job in North Carolina. So, now that I have had a few days to catch up, I got my cartoons done and I finally get to publish a post contributed by my friend and special guest.

My friend Cat, who’s also known as the Budget Blonde, got me into blogging a few months ago. She was nice enough to let me contribute a guest post on her site a few weeks ago. In return, I asked for her assistance in writing the post on Southern Pageants, which was the contest winner, during the poll I had to pick the next South Will Blog Again topic. My experience with pageants has been quite limited so I needed someone who’s been immersed (she’s been a pageant winner) in that culture to report on things that I could then in turn satirize and cartoon. And now here we are

I look pretty good in a (cartoon) tux

As I said earlier, my experience with pageants has been rather limited. I did however have the good fortune to attend the Univeristy of Mississippi. Ole Miss has produced three Miss America winners, and countless Miss Mississippis. If you spend five minutes on campus and look around you can see why. In any event, when I was an undergrad, a Miss Mississippi from the year before lived in my apartment complex. It’s the kind of thing that you hear about and make a point of not forgetting. After hours of daydreaming about my first encounter one day I ran into her at the mailboxes….literally. I remembered she chuckled and smiled and said something charming in that wonderful accent, and 20 year old me, just stammered and said something stupid.

I’ve told this story a lot and can just hear my friend Cat reminding me that she’s heard me tell it about a million times. But since most of you are strangers  in cyberspace,  you get to hear all my “old” stories quite “new”. It’s one of the beauties of having a blog. Well, Cat and I are good friends from graduate school, and her husband and I are also good friends that share SEC war (football) stories despite his having attended LSU. They live overseas now, so this guest post, was sort of done “interview” style over Skype, Facebook, and email. I hope y’all enjoy!

-Southern Blogger

Some people have heard all these stories before

What is something about pageants that someone from the outside would never know?

“With recent shows like Toddlers & Tiaras, pageant girls are getting a bad rap. I loved competing in pageants for several years growing up. It actually requires quite rigorous preparation, from reading the news every morning to practicing interview questions and talent performances every day. Still, there have been some really funny moments I’ve experienced in pageants. I’ll never forget the first time I learned about butt spray. You have to have it. Otherwise, your bathing suit will ride up and your rear end is visible to hundreds of people. Ironically, football players use a similar product to make winning catches. See, pageants can be a lot like football “

Butt-Spray...what can't it do?

Do you have a funny story from your pageant days that you would like to share?

“One of my fondest memories was travelling to Washington, D.C. with several other pageant queens. All of us wore our crowns and sashes to the airport, representing our communities. Looking back, this scene must have been absolutely hilarious. We got to the security point and the first pageant queen just froze. All of us had about a hundred bobby pins and a bottle of hairspray in our hair keeping our crowns on. I think the first queen must have batted her eyelashes because all of us got to keep our crowns on as we walked through security, and sure enough, the metal detectors went off every time. Well all made it in one piece, crowns on our heads. I’m sure each of us had a raging headache after an entire plane ride to D.C. with crowns on, but a pageant girl never complains. My mom always said you have to suffer to be beautiful. “

Miss Crawfish Festival...standing up against TSA tyranny since 2007

Is there a lot of griping and backstabbing between the girls backstage?

“The vast majority of pageant girls and pageant moms were great fun to hang out with. We road tripped all over the state and I am still friends with many of them to this day. Of course there is always one, or in this case a mother/daughter combo that makes things difficult and isn’t very nice. Once, the girl offered to “loan me her brain” for an interview. But her mom takes the cake. The most bizarre thing her mom did was buy a convertible (for the use in Mardi Gras parades of course) and put signs on the car “Miss Teen So & So” to use every single day. So, when most of us rented a car for parades and put our magnetic signs on the car for just that, this girl rode around in a convertible all the time with stickers on the car of her title. Every day that convertible would pull into school and I just shook my head in amazement, hoping no one thought all pageant girls were that way!”

In every sub-culture, there's always a few nuts

I’ve noticed on Facebook that you treat pageants like your husband and I treat college football. What are your traditions?

Yeah, I like to watch Miss America on tv and text and call my mom, grandma, cousin, and pageant friends with comments. Last year I wasn’t too thrilled with my mom because she fell asleep on me, scratch that from the record. lol

This is some people's idea of the Super Bowl

Thanks Cat,

Unfortunately pageants do get a bad rap these days. While its doubtless that beauty is (and should) be part of the competition, the girls that compete and who are successful also show an inner beauty. If there is one thing I’ve noticed about Southern pageant girls; it’s that they grow up to be successful Southern women. And there’s nothing wrong with a lady that can run a family, manage a career, achieve an education, and still know how to put on the charm, with that “magnolia” in her voice. That’s what makes Southern women special…and why they should always win any contest hands down. Of course, I could be a bit biased…

-Southern Blogger

It’s been a record breaking week for me at The South Will Blog Again. Thanks to your wonderful support, my two SEC Halloween costume posts have broken my all-time weekly site stats with three days to spare!

I don't do it for the love of the game, just site stats

There’s just something about those SEC posts which brings out some of my better cartoons I think. Well we all know there’s a lot of good material. I also get a lot of search engine traffic whenever there’s a big game. Usually people searching for trash talking or fans looking for cartoons making fun of the other team. Well, I tend to be an equal opportunity satirist, so if you’ve come in because of that, welcome! Have a look around. There’s several posts and cartoons making fun of whatever team’s fans you’re looking for.

I’d also like to welcome the good people who follow Budget Blonde. I made a guest post there this week which you can read here. For all my new “Budget Buddies”, I don’t really have any decorating tips for you, unless you want to print these cartoons out and frame them. But I think that’d look quite nice.

So regular readers, football fans, and Budget Blondies, I have a special treat for you: a very Southern, and very topical, Alabama-LSU preview. I will make fun of both schools (while very aware they are both infinitely better at football than mine), prognosticate the game, and satirize the whole experience of what is clearly the National Championship, Part One.

-Southern Blogger

Did you know that King Henry VIII was an LSU fan, while John Candy went to Bama? (not really)

I know a lot of people say they wish they were at this game, and I am no exception. However I have a real desire to observe the tailgaiting outside the stadium because it would provide for some very entertaining material for this blog. In what I’ll call the ultimate showdown of the Sidewalk Alums, or the “Concrete Bowl” if you will, you’ll have the infamous “Pimp Tailgate” of LSU facing off against the “Houndstooth Patrol” of Rammer Jammer Bammer. Imagine the obnoxious element of Mardi Gras crashing the party of the drunk element of the county fair. Should be amazing. Fights, fake fights, and drunken missed haymaker fights, are sure to ensue, and I won’t be there to see it! I’ve experienced both fan bases first hand. Although both bring the numbers and the rowdiness, I’m going to give Bama the home field advantage here. They will be able to “unleash the Houndstooth” and call infinite numbers of fans from across the state as reinforcements.

Alabama will win the “fight” and will also win the first half. It’s going to be a defensive struggle to say the least. More than likely LSU will manage a couple of field goals, after getting stopped in the Red Zone a few times, while Alabama will muscle themselves in for one rushing touchdown.

Millions of these guys really exist

There are people reading this  who will either completely agree or completely disagree with this satirical post right now. I’m going to envision them as “The Guys in Official Coach’s Polos”. I would much prefer to hear two guys like this call the game than Brent and Herbie. Could you imagine it? Every play would cause our “announcers” to have tantrums, meltdowns, loud cheering, singing, referee denouncing, accusations of cheating, inventive cursing, and all manner of 4th grade humor. I’m telling you: ratings through the roof.

In any event whether up at halftime or down at halftime, Alabama’s head coach Nick Saban will have the same demeanor. Annoyed, and ready to explode at his players.

Nick Saban: always ready with a smile

In the second half I envision a much more offensive game. Both teams have a tendency to start out strong in the second half. Alabama will manage another touchdown and a field goal giving them a 17-6 lead. But in the 4th quarter I see LSU managing a passing touchdown with one of their seven (is it now?) quarterbacks, whichever one is not suspended. Then near the end of the game they will force a fumble for a defensive touchdown, winning the game 20-17.

I can't believe this satire is so unrealistic!

The official LSU Coach’s Polo Guy will agree with my drawing, while the Alabama one will accuse me of drawing for Auburn. Oh well. In any event, the State of Louisiana will burn down in celebration, while half the population of Alabama will jump off of tall buildings.

And at the end of the telecast Erin Andrews (see, I know how to draw ratings) will interview LSU coach Les Miles on “how he did it?” He will of course have no idea (he never does), but the little blade of grass will.

One of my favorite parts of any game, and no not Les eating grass

But the real winner will of course be my site stats.

-Southern Blogger

EDIT: When I wrote this, the College Gameday telecast and the late start tricked me into thinking this would be on ABC and not CBS. Oh well, I’d rather draw Erin Andrews than Verne Lundquist for the record.