ladycaviar

The last time I was in Arkansas, it was a 107 degree summer, and I had an unscheduled and expensive layover because the tires had melted off the rims on the car. I had hoped to give Arkansas a second chance to prove its worth. Hmm. not so much. I thought I hated Kansas, but Kansas at least has sunflowers. It seems the extra "Ar" is for "aaaaaaarrrrrrr"gh.

Outside of Little Rock, Arkansas is a bizarre mix of sin and salvation. Desperate liquor stores (“Last liquor on interstate! Next five counties dry!”) hawk their wares interspersed with billboarded churches – and not staid puritan churches, either. Nope, the gospel-yelling frying-pan upside-the-head kanging faith-healing kind, right next to the biker bar/gentlemen’s clubs and brimstone spewing barbecue pits. There were dirt racing speedways that looked like Jim Bob and Billy Bob had constructed them by getting liquored up and goin’ down to the construction macheens, racing’ around, gettin’ dizzy ‘til they done fell off, and wandering over either to a bar or the revival tents. Didn’t matter which – either way, they’d wake up with the mother of all headaches, praying to the Lord Almighty that they’d walk again…

Hope, AR, the birthplace of Bill Clinton, is the biggest joke ever. It consists entirely of migrant worker barracks and a chicken farm. There isn't even any music on the radio to kill yourself by. I bet the whole "Man from Hope" campaign had them rolling in the aisles when Clinton ran for President.

Mr. Z has walked on the keyboard, insisting that I pay attention to him and not the vile computer. His mad seduction skillz extend to gay men as well, entrancing them as he shows them the Rich Corinthian Leather of his metaphorical Chrysler LeBaron. I’m not surprised. I’ve always imagined him as the cat equivalent of an old-school “confirmed bachelor” (you know, the kind that prefers musical theater), complaining that the children are touching his antiques and actually walking on his prized Aubussons. ("Doris! Do something! Make them stop! Mao! Mao!")

I better curl up with my ancient eunuch companion and keep him warm before he flicks the g key off the keyboard again and sends weird emails god-knows-where.