JESUS VANS

For church retreats, the South does not lack for vehicles. They are everywhere. 

                            If this church van could tell stories, they might put you to sleep.

This church may suck and the pastor may be sort of a creep.

He was kicked out of Catholic school and then joined a Satanic cult, but his musical taste improved.

Tommy fell asleep again in the back.

That's just a nice shiny van. Jesus would definitely like that.

Only used for events of the utmost sadness.

Not an ice cream truck.

A truck with a message.

A color that is not divine.

Will the lord send an angel/mechanic to repair this Jesus bus? The answer is no.

This kind man of faith knocked on my door and removed a tree struck by lightning for a reasonable fee.

Contemplating his lordship.

No Hope

United against the devil, I guess, maybe.

The voices are telling me to do bad things.

Pray here truckerman.

GOVERNOR BRIAN KEMP'S ADDRESS ON THE REOPENING OF BUSINESS IN THE GREAT STATE OF GEORGIA

“Good afternoon everyone (spoken with a thick drawl), I am joined here today by Lieutenant Governor Jebediah Horseradish, Speaker Rikki Tikki Tavi, General Buford B. Bunsworth and you are all familiar with Doctor Mengele.

Last week, the White House issued guidelines for states to begin reopening and spreading the virus more rapidly. We appreciate their leadership and share in the president’s desire to get Americans back to work, no matter the cost in lives. Georgia is a prideful state. We believe in traditional values. Our peaches, peanuts and trap music are loved the world over. Given the favorable data, that nobody I like much or know very well has died from the virus, we will allow a random and odd selection of businesses to open this Friday, April 24.

First, I will begin with the hallowed American sport of bowling. Some of you may consider this a manner in which to escape the sadness of our dark times. You would be correct in assuming that I like to bowl with the family on Sunday afternoons and that I ain’t bad. Hell, I can bowl! We cannot let the terrorists win, so, by executive order, I am reopening the bowling alleys, and asking that you do not let your younger children run roughshod through the arcade with their fingers all covered in Cheetos powder and touching that one game I like where you shoot the deer, Big Buck whatever.

Now, as some of you may know, I have a tattoo of a not quite smiling Mike Pence on my ankle. My wife thinks it’s sexy and she’s not wrong. By executive order, I am reopening the body art studios.

Also, applying strict social distancing, I am allowing nail salon artists, massage therapists, cosmetologists, hair designers, barbers and human beatboxes to reopen their respective businesses and not request unemployment from the state anymore, please.

Now, I haven’t been to the gym in eight years, though I may still be paying for the membership because I could never figure out how to cancel the damn thing. By executive order, I am opening all the gyms, so Georgia, put down your salty snacks and your grilled meat sandwiches, and go into them places and sweat all over the person next to you while applying proper social distancing, as the president in his infinite wisdom has said you should do, though he wouldn’t ever do it and doesn’t give a toot if you do either and he stole all the toilet paper and kept it for himself. I also have three rooms in the governor’s mansion filled with toilet paper and I don’t even ever remember to use toilet paper. I don’t even know why I took it all, but it was kind of fun and cruel and I like that.

I remind you that gun stores, ammunition supermarts, old white men places of interest, Civil War memorials and gift shops, as well as golf courses remain open and in fact, never closed.

I just learned that the virus is spread from person to person, so I will be updating these executive orders after I forget to wash my hands.

Thank you, and God bless.”

ALTERNATE WIKIPEDIA BIOGRAPHY OF JAMES OGLETHORPE, THE FOUNDER OF THE COLONY OF GEORGIA

James Oglethorpe

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

James (Eazy-Duz-It) Oglethorpe (22 December 1696^[1] – 30 June 1785) was a British colonel of the highest rank, a wearer of smelly pantaloons and the governor, chief administrator and head yoga instructor of the colony of Georgia.

Biography

Early life

Born in Wigshire, the son of Sir Theophilus Oglethorpe of Tartsmith (1650-1702), and his wife, Lady Biggles Oglethorpe (1662-1732), baby James had a great fondness for snakes, which he collected in the family garden and named after famous deceased British generals such as Brigadier Peregrine Bertie, Third Duke of Ancaster and Kesteven, who after being misplaced under a living room couch went on to bite James’ dear Aunt Honeyburt Wogglesfurd. Entering Snigglesborough College in his fifteenth year, Oglethorpe was forced to leave to head the British Command at Cheetoesburg defeating the Austrians in 1724.

Founding of Georgia

In 1727 James Oglethorpe boarded a ship bound to the Americas with the hope of creating an agrarian colony based on the cultivation of yams, a root vegetable that he and he alone adored. (The other colonialists in his party preferred the rugged charms of the potato.) Various religious orders and cults that had been cast out of European society for insect worship and the like joined him in the colony staking out a piece of malarial swamp near the present day town of Butte. It was there that they first founded the colony of Georgia by building a short fence around a couple of shrubs that they named Nicholas and Bedford. The local native tribe, the Yacapaws, politely asked them to leave before being subdued with cold refreshments with artificial sweeteners. When draught arrived in the late 1730s, Oglethorpe abandoned his yams for renewed military duty.

Military command

In early 1740 during the War of Jenkins’ Ear fought between British Georgia and hillbilly Alabama, Oglethorpe was responsible for several successful raids on rural convenience stores capturing a large quantity of barbecue and honey mustard flavored potato chips. Oglethorpe showed poor military leadership, but he received little help from the couple of yahoos he knew as acquaintances in South Carolina or from his Indian allies, who ate some of his yams while he was gone, or from the Royal Navy, who could care less about the entire war, despite his best efforts to gain their support.

Return to Britain

After his exploits in Georgia, Oglethorpe returned to London in 1743 and rose steadily through the ranks of the British Army. He would never return to Georgia telling his friend Field Marshal Percivel Keith that he despised peanuts. There is some evidence that he returned to Europe under the pseudonym, Kid Frost, with the assistance of a barrister named Fieldly.

Death

Oglethorpe died in 1745 of yam poisoning. He was buried in the cemetery at Dorsal next to a poplar tree.

GEORGIA CIVIL WAR HISTORICAL MARKER REVISIONISM

All over the South, on godforsaken highways next to fields of weeds and in the middle of small-ish cities with almost no human beings, there are moldy historical markers recalling times when there was even less. Apparently, there are 2600 or so historical markers in Georgia, the third most of any state, with nearly a thousand related to the Civil War, many erected in the mid-‘50s and a few unabashedly glorifying the Confederacy. Because I have nothing better to do, I sometimes read them and I have discovered that they are poorly written, universally boring and often mention the obscurest historical events that could be of interest to only the most diehard Civil War scholars.

While I don’t have the money to erect my own (they are sturdy and metal), I have come up with some inaccurate Civil War events that could become historical markers of vaguely significant happenings that may not have occurred.

14^th Artillery Division Crosses Umpahpah Creek

Following the rout of the 18^th and 46^th regiments at Reynold’s Twig, Sargent Lucien Rathbone and the 14^th crossed Umpahpah creek, leaving their artillery on the other side and then forgetting about it for nearly three days hence. Near Zebulon, it was remarked that their load seemed lighter and their movements brisker, before Rathbone let loose with a remarkable stream of cuss words sending spittle flying in the direction of Private Garth Corbett, who wore an expression both sullen and reproachful.

Pickett’s Advance

On May 3, 1862, Colonel Aadieus Pickett was awakened at eighteen hundred hours with the need to relieve himself and in his half-sleep searching for a thicket, he came upon a division of Confederate soldiers sleeping and unbeknownst to all did a No. 2, where their campfire had once been, without awakening anyone, but on the way back to his camp, he unwittingly went in the opposite direction, collapsed into a narrow ravine and fell fast asleep three paces from a raccoon nest.

The Death of Gen. Braxton Theodore Parsnip

Maj. Gen. Braxton Theodore Parsnip, commanding a division of Confederate cavalry, who had retreated after the skirmish at Titsdale, in the early hours of Sunday, June 1, 1864, sat on a fallen log trimming his expansive accumulation of moustaches when a bullet fired from the Southeast felled him in one shot. It was near this spot that the noble and gallant Gen. Parsnip left this world and entered the kingdom of heaven with his whiskers untidy.

Turnball’s Brigade

In the waning daylight hours of Wednesday, April 14, 1863, Meriwether Turnball’s brigade moved three steps to the left and then forward beyond a fallen stump, where they were met by two squirrels. Outflanked to the east by Union General Barnard Hodgkins’ 13th regiment, they attempted to secure the railway spur near Fort Twizzler, but realized they had lost their map three months previous in the lower Carolina, so instead huddled among the few pine trees on the northernmost ridge and had discussions on the subjects of ladies and food.

 

QUOTES FROM GEORGIA VOTERS WHO DON'T FEEL COMFORTABLE GLOATING IN PUBLIC

Though Donald Trump somehow won the presidential election, some of his supporters still feel iffy expressing their admiration for him or even mentioning in public that they voted for the man. Here are some quotes from Georgia Trump voters, who feel slightly oppressed by their own political sympathies or the possible condemnation of those who feel otherwise:

“I’m what you might call a moderate member of the KKK. I don’t go for hating everybody. I don’t put on the robes much, usually wear dark colors, jeans and what have you. Some of them other guys get kind of worked up about everything and they I guess, surprisingly, they didn’t like Trump. Some of them voted for Cruz in the primary, though, the name, you know, Cruz, doesn’t seem like your KKK type candidate. Honestly, it’s hard to find a white supremacist presidential candidate and the way I figure, Trump is as good as it’s ever going to get, so I voted for him. But I didn’t say nothin’ around the other guys, ‘cause some of them don’t think he’s hateful enough. He’s plenty hateful to me.”

Russ Stamford, Grand Dragon of the Forsyth County KKK

“My wife is a woman and while I was an enthusiastic supporter of President Trump, she seemed to think he was some sort of serial rapist because of all the news reports about all the women he raped. I don’t think that’s the greatest thing that he did there, but what’s more important, I believe, is protecting America from immigration. And, you know, my wife was always making these vomit faces while I was watching Fox News and she didn’t go to the rally in Macon with me, where there were about 8 billion people, all going apeshit. I remember telling my wife how incredible it was when I returned home that night, like when I saw the movie Forrest Gump, and she started making that face and the little noises cats make when they have fur stuck at the back of their throat.”

Ernest Foster, contractor and possessor of a fairly flappy moustache

“I am so happy that Hitlery Clinton was not elected because she would have turned America into a Muslim country, just like Obama tried, where the women all wear these black outfits like they’s evil balloons or something. I am not a fan of these elitists with their ideas and their big words and their smarty pants attitudes toward real people. I come from real people. My daddy worked hard as a stonemason before he dropped dead at age 16 and my mama raised me and my brothers to love America and salute the flag. Of course, I volunteered to get out the vote for Trump. I have been an avid supporter since Day 1. But a few months ago, at work, the one time I wore my “Making American Grapes Again” cap, this mean, angry black lady in the maintenance department was looking at me like I was some kinda mangy dog, like I was some less than human supporter of genuine, pure evil.”

Lillian Baxter Frost, Honda sales department, Zebulon, Georgia

“The thing I like about Trump, as opposed to all those Demoncrats, is that he doesn’t really give a dang. I feel like he’s sorta like me. Sometimes, I get some ideaer in my head and I don’t feel like holding back. I’ll just tell the first person I see what’s on mind. I’m a real personable, friendly kind of fellow, but sometimes the ideaer might be something like why don’t we send all the China people back to Japan or why don’t people learn to speak English good like me, if they want to live in this country and be free to, for instance, order the family sized deal of pizza and chicken wings for $12.99 and eat the whole dang thing themselves. If you go to Iraq, the chicken wings don’t come in fifteen flavors. There’s only like three and one might be black bean hummus or something. What I’m sayin’ is Trump seems like the kind of guy who will tell people what he thunk before he even really thunk it. He just pulls stuff out of everywhichwhere and I can respect that. He just makes it up as he goes along or it makes itself up. And I’m like that. I don’t feel so right, honestly, telling people that I like Trump, though, because I am afraid he might be the antichrist.”

Jackson Turley, long haul truck driver

THE NIGHT EVERY SINGLE PERSON IN ATLANTA ATTENDED A DEF LEPPARD CONCERT

On the evening of October 23, 1987, Def Leppard were headlining the Omni Coliseum in Atlanta, a concert that had sold out in a record 24 minutes, when tickets had become available three months prior. Def Leppard’s aptly named Hysteria Tour was widely anticipated and Atlantans far and wide descended on the arena that evening, hoping to score tickets, if they were not fortunate enough to possess them. It may be an urban legend or it may be concrete fact, but it is generally believed that every single person who lived within the city limits, even those in nursing homes and babies just born, made their way to the Omni Coliseum that night, some paying outrageous prices to scalpers, others huddling in the parking lot singing in unison the chorus to “Pour Some Sugar On Me.”

Here is an oral history of that historic night:

“I had a dietary food allergy to walnuts, yet I had eaten a whole bag of them that day and was really sick. I had forgotten that my girlfriend, Connie, had bought tickets to the Def Leppard concert that night. I liked country music, but I really wanted to see Def Leppard because I heard the drummer only had one arm. He had been in a tractor accident or something. I was feeling terrible, but I went and picked her up. Our seats were so far back that the band looked like baby fleas. But the music was pretty good. I couldn’t see the drummer’s arm. Connie and I broke up when she started dating the singer of this local band, Blonz. I thought they was queers with their long curly hair, tight jeans and pouty mouths, but I guess not.”

Jackson Curtis, age 57

“I was sick with the flu, didn’t want go to no concert. My son want to go, didn’t have no driver’s license. I drive him there, sit around, lot of white folk, lot of black folk, too many people. It was crazy. The music was loud and shitty. The music in the ‘80s was loud and shitty. I didn’t have no fun. My boy, I lost him a few times out dere in dat parking lot with all dem people all crazy. It was just another dumb thang he did.”

Lester A. Cole, age 67

“I believe my son, Harry, was dealing illegal substances at the time. Eight years ago, they finally released him from Dooly State Prison. We was going through old photographs and there was one of us together at the Def Leppard concert. He was wearing that expensive T-shirt that he bought in the parking lot. I don’t thank it was a real T-shirt, like from the band and all, because the lettering was already fading when he bought it. He was smiling with that cute, flappity moustache he used to have. I don’t think we ever did see the concert that night and I still have no idea what Def Leppard is or why he brought his momma.”

Sandy Adcock, age 91, believed to be the oldest living attendee

SEA ISLAND GEORGIA RESORT ACTIVITY AND RECREATION SCHEDULE

8:45 am Introductory religious hate speech and cake making with Pastor Wendell “Chip” Slattery

9:30 am Carlotta Ramona’s Grace of God Zumba fitness class

10:15 am Glad-handing and back slapping with the Good Ol’ Boy Jessup Brothers

11 am Slave cabin tiny tykes ballet

11:15 am Camp Cloister Fox hunting

12 pm Kayak shore lunch of marigold peas

2:30 pm Rainbow Island racist yoga

2:40 pm Exploitation of slavery legacy and touristical profiteering for plantation owner grandchildren group discussion in a golf cart

3:30 pm Fish dissection and dock fishing in a golf cart

3:45 pm Beach Club Theater Presents “The Birth of a Nation” PG 154 min.

4:45 pm Jackson “Skip to My Lou” Reynolds’ Ladies golf fundamentals and white power clinic

5:30 pm Plus-sized pilates

6-9 pm Live at the Colonial Lounge: Bare bottom bluegrass with the Stinky Toe Boys

MOLASSES

Now that we've lived here for this long, we might as well make our own molasses. We have no choice.

CHURCH BILLBOARD QUOTES HITLER ON THE IMPORTANCE OF EDUCATING KIDS

As for who to quote on a billboard about educating kids, Hitler was a very bad choice. Herbert Hoover is also someone you don't want to be quoting, but Hitler was well, really not a good choice.

http://gawker.com/church-billboard-quotes-hitler-on-the-importance-of-edu-1585505325?fb_action_ids=10152284315486551&fb_action_types=og.likes

PARTIES

Georgia, you are a bore a lot of the time, and a dependable bore at that. However, you are, for the most part, well mannered. And there, you have something over snotty Angelenos, I guess. People in L.A. can be jerkamabobs. Let’s not pretend otherwise.

For example, throwing a party in Atlanta, where I live, and throwing one in Los Angeles, where I’m from, is an entirely different experience in almost every conceivable way. I have only been to a handful of children’s parties in L.A., where I have only thrown adult parties in the somewhat distant past. Here, in Hotlanta, I have only thrown birthday parties for my daughter. But I’m pretty sure the differences in party behavior still apply. If I’m wrong, please correct me.

If you throw a kid’s party here, people will arrive at either the exact hour of the party or maybe a half hour late. If they plan to come any later, they will email you ahead of time to make sure that’s OK. Nobody in Los Angeles would ever do that. Almost everyone that says they are coming will show up at the appointed hour. One or two might not make it. They will likely email apologetically and explain that they or their child has the stomach flu. And they really will have the stomach flu. If say, the party starts at 3 pm, the party will begin winding down around 4 with people starting to leave and thanking you profusely for inviting them and by 5 pm, all will have left. The same amount of people who said they were coming on the Evite will have shown, off maybe by two at most.

Though, I have done no research, I think this formula may not just apply to Atlanta or the South, but to most of America, or at least, all the places where strangers say hi to you when you pass them in the street, either out of friendliness or nervousness.

Not the case in L.A., though. If you have a party for adults that starts at say, 8 pm, you shouldn’t expect anyone until 9:25 or so. But people will really start ringing the doorbell ten or twenty minutes later and pop in at any old time throughout the night. Someone will show up at 11:45. You can expect maybe a half or a third of the folks who responded uproariously to the Evite to not show up at all.

Then there’s the person who shows up and leaves after ten minutes. You will not witness them skedaddling stealthily out the door. You’ll just wonder where they are. It could even be a pretty good friend. They will have gone off to something more fun, no doubt. I’ve done it. There might actually be something more fun to do in L.A., not so in Atlanta, no way, no how.

JON STEWART LAYS INTO GEORGIA'S SNOWPOCALYPSE

I recommend you watch the first video.

http://www.mediaite.com/tv/jon-stewart-lays-into-georgias-snowpocalypse-the-weather-channel-is-located-in-atlanta/

NO HEALTHCARE FOR POOR SOUTHERNERS

This New York Times story explains how Republican governors, mostly in the South, have excluded their states from Medicade expansion, leaving the very poor and predominantly Black population of the South still with no healthcare.

http://www.nytimes.com/2013/10/04/opinion/a-population-betrayed.html?hp

A SHORT HISTORY OF INCREDIBLY LAME EVENTS IN ATLANTA

Since moving to Atlanta, I have frequently been afforded the opportunity to attend a variety of events that go well beyond the norm of lameness and breathtaking melancholia. It’s now that when I choose to attend anything that I arrive with such low expectations as to rarely be disappointed.

Earlier this year, my family and I went to a neighborhood puppet show at a church that was very well attended. Now, I know one shouldn’t have any expectations of a puppet show for kids. I mean, it’s clearly not for adults and it should stink. Still, I found myself aghast at the older puppeteer shaking his thrift store puppets about, inviting kids up onstage and then forgetting what it was that he wanted them to do. He seemed to have arrived possibly inebriated from a nearby bar and was making everything up on the spot. Had he just handed these puppets to any random four year olds, the kids would have surely come up with something more coherent and entertaining. At least, it was only about fifteen minutes long.

Being a parent provides one with all sorts of fish out of water experiences, where one is adrift in a sea of uncomfortableness marked by balloons, cake and banal conversation. It was there that my wife and I found ourselves at a birthday party in a music school vexed that there was no safe haven for adults. Along with the kids, all parents were expected to saunter around barefoot and dance whimsically to kiddy music. If you were to refuse, you would be the only one standing and scowling amidst the revelry. There was a cat puppet, name of Mrs. Squiggles, who the children were encouraged to pet. The cake arrived, the music stopped, we managed to live another day.

Adult parties can be just as insidious, especially if the occasion is a jewelry party. Yes, I went to one. Perhaps you have never heard of or pondered such a thing. A jewelry party is where someone who makes handmade jewelry displays their wares and ladies (I was the only guy there, except for a three year old) drink wine, buy jewelry and do lady stuff. If that sounds like your idea of fun, take a hard look in the mirror. Why did I agree to go to this party? I don’t remember. There isn’t so much to do here in Atlanta. Still, one should be able to live their lives, even here, free of jewelry parties.

At one point, when I was stressed out, I thought a meditation session might help. I convinced my wife to  go and we got a babysitter, though I was embarrassed to tell the babysitter where we were going. In Atlanta’s scruffy alterna-neighborhood, Little Five Points, in the back of some building, in a tiny carpeted room with no windows, an uninspired man lead us and a couple of other desperate folks in a meditation session that would make the Dalai Lama want to self-immolate in protest. I remember that someone was doing something very noisy in the office below us and that we somehow escaped before the session was through. Getting out of there did relax me some.

On another occasion, I accompanied my wife to a downtown hotel for a meet and greet at a gender studies conference. Now, I’m aware that that doesn’t sound like an event that portends liveliness. I wasn’t expecting a DJ or strippers. But this event was a real stinko: ladies, a couple of male professors sitting around conference tables, no cheap wine, no cocktail weenies, only popcorn to nibble on and such palpable gloom and conversational bewilderment that time stood still and farted. Even the jewelry party had decent appetizers.

But large events in Atlanta that have been planned and executed annually by eager volunteers can be just as shitty and dreary as private parties or events for preschoolers. Many of the city’s large public spectacles and street fairs center around beer and to a lesser extent, fried, greasy food that goes well with beer. While these events may sometimes claim to be about art or music, it is the beer line that always appears to exceed the amount of folks in front of the stage or the tiny proportion of people interested in cat watercolors. I’m not sure which of Atlanta’s many street and park festivals is the most insipid. I have been to the Summer Shade Festival in Grant Park on an extremely humid day when the $8 falafel was disgusting, the beer lines snaked on to eternity and the bands seem to wilt in front of the eight people in folding chairs. The music stage is set up next to the street I live on and I am always amazed as I drive by at the paucity of music fans for free music even when it’s a band I have sort of heard of. This festival has actually gotten a little better now that I have a kid. There is a good amount of kid activities, so I would likely go again, as if I had a choice. That’s not the case with the much larger and more drunken SweetWater Fest in Candler Park, more of a social festival for 20 to 40 somethings with body odor and blues rock. Much worse, though, are the festivals held in Piedmont Park (Dogwood and I think another one) that primarily feature crafts and homemade, commercial, often quirky art for sale. Almost every single public festival in Atlanta includes these same artistically rendered photos of pets and painted spoons for sale, though these festivals feature them as the main attraction.

One of the worst events that I ever went to that sticks out in my mind like a cousin’s funeral is the Marietta Holiday Tour of Homes. We had been to the Grant Park Tour of Homes, which had included the Burns Mansion, a stupendously decorated Victorian, and so, for some reason, decided to go to this event despite my abhorrence of anything holiday related. The event was coordinated by a large smattering of silver-haired ladies in Christmas sweaters. I had never seen so many people wearing Christmas sweaters in one place at a time. You see one Christmas sweater somewhere, you giggle. You see one somewhere else, you stare a bit. But this was a premeditated Christmas sweater wearing event. The houses we toured were all ghastly old mansions furnished in the 1980s with beige, flowery pomposity and for this event strewn with CVS plastic Santas and dusty Christmas chachkas smelling of cat pee.

Not everything I have been to in Atlanta sucked this bad. But who knows what I have willfully forgotten, which events will resurface in a nightmare where I am being chased by bearded guys on bicycles bearing funnel cakes, their wives selling homemade soap.

CRAIGSLIST POST: MUSKRATS FOR TRAPPING (DAWSONVILLE)

What a deal! Free muskrats, if you can cetch 'em.

http://atlanta.craigslist.org/nat/zip/3732386311.html

"There are a herd of muskrats eating the water plants on my pond. If you come trap them, you can keep them...please email me for details and direction..."

GEORGIA TEENS FIGHT FOR RACIALLY INTEGRATED PROM

There's backwards, but then there's the ass backwards corners of this great state.

http://jezebel.com/5993590/georgia-teens-fight-for-racially-integrated-prom-because-its-2013-for-chrissakes

YO BOULEVARD

  
Yo Boulevard, I done see you skulkin’ along in yo’ baggy pants and den up in duh Triple Food Store. Grocer done say, “You’s gos to buy three bag o’ potato chip o’ three can of Mountain Dew, not just one each.” Triple food, yo!

  
Also, see yo azz down at Boulevard Lotto & Groceries. Why yo’ azz always down deh messin’ wit’ dat Lotto? You ain’t ever gonna get lucky wif dat. You ain’t got no lucky charmz. Ain’t really much mo’ places to go on Boulevard other dan Triple Food Store and Boulevard Lotto, so done always see you sad azz walksin up and down duh street. Why don’t you find yoself a porch to stand on?

 

Is deh really fine wine for sale inside the Texaco station? Seem to me, no.

Yo Boulevard, a lot of you iz hood, that stretch just above Sweet Auburn to Ponce de Leon in the Old Fourth Ward, that straight up hood. Not hood like partz of South Atlanta that’s just so po’ with crumbling shacks and signs for hair salons that ain’t existed fo’ decades, but it still hood sittin’ der in the middle of town with dem baggy pants.

Itz good someone tryin’ do something about it. Help out po’ kids growin’ up there. Councilman Kwanza Hall tryin’ make the place mo’ livable. Still, them signs up and down the street easy to make fun of. How about someone open a sto’ that sell somethin’ other than Lotto and beer? People live here, don’t they?