People think falsely that lovely Indiana and brave Illinois
(two adjacent states in the majestic midwestern zone of the USA
and whose names are derived from the Indian tribes
whose territories were plundered by th'invading colonists)
Are lands of plenty with waving wheatfields and hard-handed
Sons of the soil whose hearts of kindness are drowned
In golden showers of alcoholic moonshine stored up
In the memories of time from the good old Roaring Twenties,
When Al Capone and his midget spaghetti-chewing friends
Roared around in graceful Packards and funeral wagons,
With a tommy gun in their garlic-stained paws.
But that is not so, definitely not, absolutely.
My sad tale herein is one of a Grand Tour on the back of a haycart,
With my then beloved one (of the moment, for I am strangely fickle):
A fat but gentle giant of a lady with only the hint of facial stubble,
Whom I rescued from a neo-Baptist circus and sideshow in Nashville (Tennessee),
Since she was desperately in love and overpowering lust with me
(and also had the juiciest ass I had ever seen in my life hitherto).
Thus, rode we into Indianapolis one sunny summer evening
(with Giant Gertrude drooling happily in sexual contentment)
But were shocked to find a Pentacostal Revival meeting in full swing,
A huge horde of demented, mindless, masturbating humanity,
And (guess what) when they saw Gertie in her glorious nudity,
Strapped over the wooden crucifix she loved to hang onto for comfort,
(and singing "The Tennessee Waltz" in her unusual baritone voice),
They took offence at her praising a rival state so blatantly
And launched into an attack of a viciousness and inhumanity
I have not seen outside of the state of Kentucky on Derby Day
(when everyone wears those lovely green hats I do believe).
What was left of gorgeous Gertrude after those bible-thumping beasts
Had had their evil ways needed to be scooped carefully off the grimy walls
Of the mafioso sheriff's office with shovels and shoved into sacks
For conveyance to the coroner's office for a cursory check
Before consigning them to the local pet foods factory for re-cycling.
And for what? What joy did the reformist protestant horde derive
In depriving me of Gertie's stimulating company and intercourse?
What went on in their warped born-again, I ask the unhearing heavens?
I shall never ever comprehend the deafening shockwaves of their brain patterns,
But one thing I do fully and clearly comprehend, and that is this:
Dear God, another three US states have to be deleted from my future travel plans,
But who cares? Not I when there are so many places to buy a Super-size Big Mac
(I hear there's a nice nudist KKK gay club in Memphis I shall sadly have to skip).
Gold trophy winner
Honorable mention
Adding your comment:
it must be said that you are the unluckiest man I have ever met!
