Ja jah Larry Yarborough
With his spilly drank
Say:”Ima dance in the Raleigh
where my shit don’t stank”


Ima dance at the parties
and the legislature
Nobody nowhere will denature my nature.


I will let my mind wander
to the break of day
till they scrape my butt up
and cart me away


Back home PJ Gentry
in her leopard pants
will be frosting her tips
for her cooga dance.


Eena leopard print Babylon

Eena leopard print Babylon

By the lake Hyco.

In a Moebius strip of Republican mole rat arse chewing, Larry “Swamp Tater” Yarborough has had “The Committee To Elect Larry Yarborough” fund his latest jello wrestling match with the English language right there on page A9 of the Courier Times.

I don’t know about you, but when I hear “The Committee To Elect Larry Yarborough” I get a mental image of

a) The guys in the psych ward playing matchstick poker for cigarettes.
b) Larry Yarborough.

Once again, Larry’s selected target is the NAACP, or the president of its county chapter. This is consistent with the “post racialist” racism that knits together various elements of the current Republican party, those elements being the folks who pretty much own everything, and the people delusional enough to think they’ll be able to suck their own fortune out of that rich ass.

It’s frequently said of Larry that he must negotiate the thin line between ignorance and arrogance, and it’s a tough one to walk after half a dozen Coors. It gets even tougher for him when he’s got to nail a couple of sentences together, which is probably why he seemingly hearkens back to his fratboy days every time he’s compelled to make an utterance. Well, let’s see what he’s got, now that the “Committee to Elect Larry Yarborough” has slapped his torpid shagging corpus with the oar from a gator boat, or whatever the frats use down there in skeeter country.

While Mr. Lester’s editorial on Wednesday was mostly full of distorted Democratic talking points, he did bring up some issues that we need to work on together.

While Mr. Lester is black, and represents the interests of black people, the working poor, and people who have not inherited their money or married it, I will condescend to him in epic Tory fashion, because I am the product of a couple of centuries of inbreeding from the dank hell of Lousiana’s gulf coast, and I can not help my peckerwood self.

Public safety is the most important government role.

That bullshit about”protecting the weak from the strong” would never have flown during pledge week. I still have the cigarette burns on my ass to prove it.

I will work with both sides to support our sheriffs, deputies and police officers. I want to support and improve our courts. I believe we can work together to improve our schools.

I will support a jurisprudence system that incarcerates young black males for the same offences me and my sons and grandsons and Kyle Puryear will skate on forever and ever, amen. I will also do my Louisiana best to deny equal access to education to low income and black children

I wish that there was money available to do all that he wishes for but until the economy improves significantly we will just have to work hard with what we have.

We have done give all the money to the people what fucked up the economy, and we want a chance to give them some more of what little you have left. Because the economy works so much better when you shovel every dime to people who have never, and will never, have to spend a significant portion of that money to hire some hick flunky like me to whore for them.

That is just common sense.

The sense common to every aspiring crooked bastard who is virtually choking on his own arrogance.

That is why I am running to represent you in Raleigh.

That, and the abundant liquor that flows when the lobbyists show up for the big circle jerks.

Larry “Swamp Tater” Yarborough.
Paid for by the Committee to elect Larry Yarborough and the money left over from the Hyco Lake FREE GEORGE ZIMMERMAN fireworks, shag-a-thon and pig-pickin’.

We done got us a headquarters before the Republicans around here could wash the dookie out their morning shorts.

It’s a big ol’ thang what used to be a hair salon and tattoo parlor and when people come in they sit down and talk like it was the most natural electric blue walled place you would sit and talk about the drunks on the other side careening into political obscurity.

I’m not denying we have our drunks. I’m one of our drunks. It gives my life a particular shape. But I’m a social drunk, who believes that climbing into the driver’s seat of a car while drunk is a crime.

I would like the Democrats to have a permanent headquarters in Roxboro, but as it stands, we can’t really afford one. It would be nice to have a place where we could present slide presentations on the history of the labor movement in a place you didn’t have to rent, or a place where people could sign up to get their kid’s teeth fixed.

I dream.

The Republicans in this town closed ranks and denied us our first couple of picks for headquarters. The names and the motives bubbled up as they’re wont to do in a little town slightly beyond the reach of liberal prosperity and its concomitant symptoms of good food, music and fun. It was no surprise to those of us who’ve had to look into the dull eyes of Leigh Woodall at an early voting location, asking us where we’re from, who’s paying us, who’s giving us the endless salad bar at some place other than Dave Newell’s failed country club.

But nobody’s paying us anything except us. We get money for work sometimes. I know it’s a fucking miracle, but if you shift your ass you can shake some dollars out of the people who are naturally inclined to strangle you, and you can funnel those same dollars into defeating the people who seem to be committed, heart and soul, to restricting the flow of cash to a bunch of fuckers whose children spend their days driving speedboats into immovable objects under the supervision of the Duke University Athletics Department.

Let me just say that I, personally, have looked into the eyes of Leigh Woodall. It was in the 2008 election, and it was finally dawning on Republicans that they’d fucked their last dog for a while.

Leigh must have started to equate the stream of black voters coming to the Person County Library to cast their vote with the demons who have been haunting his brain since the implementation of the Civil Rights Act of 1964. He walked up to me and gave me his best rendition of an old white guy trying to be frightening-

Where ya from, boy?

He needed work. A few more improv classes, a little less Sansabelt.

A soul would have helped.

In a way, it’s too bad many of these people will be dead within this decade. Oral histories will suffer the greatest loss.

One day, children will ask me “What was it like to grow up among so much stupid, so much hatred?” And I will be forced to disappoint them, saying “God is all in the forgetting, darling. May we all be forgotten.”

Between October 1966 and June 1969, 246,000 soldiers were recruited through Project 100,000, of which 41% were black, while blacks only made up about 11% of the population of the US.[56] Of the 27 million draft-age men between 1964 and 1973, 40% were drafted into military service, and only 10% were actually sent to Vietnam. This group was made up almost entirely of either work-class or rural youth. College students who did not avoid the draft were generally sent to non-combat and service roles or made officers, while high school drop-outs and the working class were sent into combat roles. Blacks often made up a disproportionate 25% or more of combat units, while constituting only 12% of the military.[54][58] (Wiki)

The chickens are older than us, and wiser to nature. But they’re also stupid. My dear friend Skinnerbox has gone to feed the Foxes.
I will miss her because when I was drunk or hungover and I stretched myself out on a blanket in the garden while my wife dug potatoes, Skinnerbox would visit me and ask me to comb the mites from her wattles.
I can’t describe the phenomenon of an intelligent chicken to a layman.
She was both aggressive and loving, in a sort of sine wave pattern you had to watch for, or she’d make you bleed.

When I was recovering from an arm injury, she’d jump in my lap and straddle that injured arm. ( It was warm. Still, you need a chicken.)

She likely went to feed the same fox that ate her mother lo these many years ago, or one of that fox’s kits.

I have been watching our most recently donated pet push his weight in grass ahead of him today, and it’s all thanks to my fucking “humanity”. I had a fond hope we were done with pigs, but this world offers only oddly familiar surprises, and if you have had pigs, it seems your ass must only suffer more.

It is because god is committed to fuck with his spawn we must contend with hogs and their enablers. You pork eaters started this shit and I blame you. If you’re going to eat these fuckers you really need to be more ravenous. Hike up your britches and comb the woods. Clear the American wilderness of these interlopers.

I’ll give you one reason to stop the proliferation of these creatures. It has nothing to do with me being a vegetarian who thinks the whole of humanity is a lost cause- one who would torch the lot, including vegetarians. It’s because when you are alone and enfeebled in he dark and cold of a Mid-Atlantic evening, they will rove from their home base and make you the template for their meal of something and goddamn acorns.

Ask some pathetic fucker from the Civil War who found himself wounded and being eaten by hogs at nightfall. He would ask you why he was fighting Yankees instead of hogs. He would look into the eyes of God as some feral hogs dragged his guts across the field at Shiloh and say “You’re in it for the pigs, you bastard!”

He’s almost there. Not cutting yet.


According to Pat McCrory, these are the pomes that clinched the lariat prize for the new cloudwatcher of North Carolina. Says McCrory, “Her pomes display a wealth of humanity that is only matched by her willingness to open her wallet. Sure, she talks about the scum in the cities and knocks ‘em down a peg or two, but in that respect, she’s giving a voice to my voiceless employers at Duke Energy, as well as the guys down at the Jiffy Lube.”

When words are horses, turned to glue.

FAME is a fickle food
Upon a shifting plate,
I owe my fame to Pat
Whose taste ain’t all that great.
I sprung to publish my own books
With precious, hoarded cash,
Sold a dozen to my relatives
Who threw them in the trash.
But I sent one to Pat
With my campaign donation
And now I am the lariat
And can has validation!

Because I could not stop for Apex

I like Fuquay-Varina
It’s smack in Carolina
A short drive from Raleigh
And Springs what’s made of Holly.
I don’t go to Durham
Cause people there is black.

Between the end of the Chatterly ban, and burning the Beatles’ LPs.

They fuck you up, the colleges.
They may not mean to, but they do.
They make you read humanities
And stuff by some old Jews.

But they were fucked by liberals
Who rarely watch football
And wouldn’t know a beer bong
From a three-way in the hall

They hand humanities on down
Those wads of books on every shelf
Some had itty bitty print
I did not read any myself.

Straight out of the bastard heart of too hot, too stupid Louisiana, comes the fart-echo of segregationist rhetoric we’ve come to expect from its meandering weedy son, Swamp Tater Yarborough.

He’s taken to the pages of The Roxboro Ragpicker’s Griftsheet Courier Times again to recommence his war against the NAACP, or as it will be referred to in the history books, every third issue of the paper until he got his ass whupped in the general election.

Supplementing his strategy of reaching back to the good old days of the Night Riders and “the canker suppuration of defeat*”, Swamp Tater does his best Nathan Bedford Forrest+ Ayn Rand= Ronald Reagan wowing the dead Nazis at Bitburg Cemetery.

He’s at least discovered the virtue of brevity, if not of intellect, so as cross burnings go, it’s not much more of a flame than your average drinky Hyco Lake barbecue. It’s an earnest effort to combine equal parts greed and racism and transmute shit into gold, but it fails because it’s a Republican talking about money, and the last time we let Republicans handle the money, we had to kiss four to six trillion dollars’ ass goodbye.

So go ahead, Tater, tell us why you think we can’t have nice things. Show us those tits!

‘More and better jobs come with more and better businesses’

To the editor:

In the Wednesday, July 2 edition, the NAACP advocated that if the tax cut on the “wealthy” were repealed then there would be plenty of money for social welfare programs.

We’ll try and decipher this Louisianglish for you as painlessly as possible, even though it’s a little hard to get past “advocated that…” It comes from the Cajun “Avoir votre avocat parler à la mienne. Je dois lui payer le cul trop autant qu’il est.”

Or roughly

“I’m paying my lawyer out the ass to sit on his all day. You might as well have yours call mine.”

The tax cut for the “wealthy” is actually a tax cut on businesses and made North Carolina competitive with Virginia and South Carolina in taxing businesses.

The tax cut on Art Pope was actually a tax cut on Family Dollar, which is why Family Dollar is being sold for pennies on the dollar to whatever schmuck wants to own a few dozen warehouses full of cheap Chinese shit. Note the phrase “Competitive with Virginia and South Carolina” What’s this? The Winston Cup of cousinfucking?

North Carolina had some of the highest taxes on businesses in the south.

North Carolina also had one of the highest unemployment rates in the whole nation.

Since the tax cut on businesses, North Carolina’s unemployment rate dropped at one of the fastest rates in the nation and North Carolina is a top-five business location.

The Bush recession, instigated partly by tax cuts on the wealthiest Americans, partly because a disastrous pair of wars, a lack of a regulated banking and housing sector, and Bush’s “Super Deal!” of “innovative financial instruments” was a real kick in the balls, alright. Obama’s dug us out despite all that, in the face of slobbering Neoconfederate teamonkey opposition. Take your “stupid hat” off.

North Carolina will be a top 5 business location until the Republicans finish dismantling the State University system that Democrats built.

While the tax cut is not the only thing that the Republicans have done to help businesses, it is a very important part of the economic improvement.

I’ll just let David Stockman, the director of the Reagan Administration’s Office of Management and Budget discuss the effect of your beloved trickle down bullshit:

IF there were such a thing as Chapter 11 for politicians, the Republican push to extend the unaffordable Bush tax cuts would amount to a bankruptcy filing. The nation’s public debt — if honestly reckoned to include municipal bonds and the $7 trillion of new deficits baked into the cake through 2015 — will soon reach $18 trillion. That’s a Greece-scale 120 percent of gross domestic product, and fairly screams out for austerity and sacrifice. It is therefore unseemly for the Senate minority leader, Mitch McConnell, to insist that the nation’s wealthiest taxpayers be spared even a three-percentage-point rate increase.

More fundamentally, Mr. McConnell’s stand puts the lie to the Republican pretense that its new monetarist and supply-side doctrines are rooted in its traditional financial philosophy. Republicans used to believe that prosperity depended upon the regular balancing of accounts — in government, in international trade, on the ledgers of central banks and in the financial affairs of private households and businesses, too. But the new catechism, as practiced by Republican policymakers for decades now, has amounted to little more than money printing and deficit finance — vulgar Keynesianism robed in the ideological vestments of the prosperous classes.

What Stockman is saying, is he, too, has finally realized the only way Republicans know how to get money is to be born into it, steal it or marry it, or some combination of the three.

We all want to help people who are suffering through hard times and I believe that the best way to help the most of them is with more and better jobs.

You don’t help people suffering through hard times with racist political posturing, or by handing public monies to your relatives, or going on a bender and driving anything, real or metaphorical, into a ditch.

More and better jobs come with more and better businesses.

Which the Democrats have brought, and always will. A vote for a Republican is a vote for widespread poverty. Always has been.


New Orleans, LA

*William Faulkner, on why the Gulf states inherently suck ass.


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