Condolences.
I wouldn't wish ANYTHING Mississippi even on a Gator, let alone the vaunted home of both Wendell and Berlin and countless other Ladners (not to mention Sauciers and other sundry Cajunass surnames), beloved long leaf pines, sweet tea, Love It or Leave It, mud flaps, crushed oytstershell driveways, only 69 miles (really) from the hallowed Rockpile, shopping centers with not one BUT TWO tattoo parlors and three fried oyster poyboy grasepits per anchorless shopping center (if you can't count on Gawdamned Ingles, Winn(fckin')Dixie, Korean IGAs, or Piggly WIGGLY for Chissakes, Damned REBEL flags, pickups with gun racks, trailer parks, the true plural of y'all ` it ain't youse guys or all y'all, Lupe, and now, Brett, Favre (remember the season opener in 1989? - Brett does), cold watermelon, 'Southen" (you'll learn), Phi Delts in retro Weejuns, money orders, over 300 Bubbas and a comparable number of lapsed debutantes, the Grisham novel about Greater H'Burg - a MUST read, interesting but always cordial, sort of, racial relations, Tallahasse with nowhere NEAR the humidity, a remarkable absence of top shelf Mercedes and not a single Ghibli in the county, mosquitos, two motels with ice machines, cesspools, double named rednecks, only miles to sunny downtown Gulport and a hop, skip and a jump to The Bo on Highway 90 (but close enough to 1-10), a home away from home for the renowned Litterial Green and several Barkums, the world's largest banana terminal conveniently ensconced close to world's largest MANMADE beach, etc.
But that's just a guess. I have a working knowledge of everywhere, everything and everybody, as you doubtless know after your attempt at luring me to an illicit (is there any other kind?) assignation at the TALLAHASSEE 'RAT mit der colour televisiones.
In Jameis Veritas.
