The Poisoned Ink Well

Sunday, November 23, 2003


My friend rides a bus to and from work. She has a job as a waitress at a well-known eating establishment in Baton Rouge (not Hooters, the favored Republican restaurant of the bayou state.) She lives in one of the roughest parts of the city, but doesn’t complain much, and smiles at the change that jingles in her pocket and pays her bus fare every night after serving up coffee to academics, drunken high school students, and the tourist who wander in looking for authentic Louisiana cuisine.

She works with a bunch of college students who have never had to make their own way in life, twenty years younger, and they sneer at her because she needs to leave work 5 minutes early each night to catch the nine o’clock bus and not be stuck waiting for the ten thirty bus which is the next one on the route. She transfers and it probably takes her an hour and a half to arrive at her home in the Chemical Corridor of the city.

The ten thirty ride is scary for a middle aged woman at that time of night, and not safe, and to get to the earlier bus all she needs is that extra five minutes. They don’t like to punch in early; those Old Navy, Gap clad children of suburbia, working only to have extra peanuts to throw at the lecturers in the large damp auditoriums at LSU. They love to give her a hard time, driving by her in the rain, and late at night unwilling to stretch their imaginations, or to reach that point in themselves to find any empathy for someone who has seen every thing that life will never offer.

I don’t remember us being like that and I wonder if this is reflective of the way life has changed, or is it because in Baton Rouge, a Republican strong hold of the religious right, they sometimes refer to the city buses as welfare transportation and argue in letters to the editor that they shouldn’t have buses at all.

Wednesday, November 05, 2003

*Reposted from an earlier dated with additions.*

REDNECK FREE ZONE (Warning this blog has been chemically treated)

Here, I am again in Arkansas and the rednecks hate me, as usual. They come after me with pit bulls, kids, and boyfriends with rebel flags on the front of their pick up trucks. They breed and breed, so I am always out numbered. They don’t attend school or have any goals other than how to produce the next batch of Meth and who sell it to, so they have lots of time on their hands. The police look the other way and I can’t even get into my drive because someone is letting their dogs run loose on my property.

I’m declaring my blog a REDNECK FREE ZONE. No rednecks are allowed anywhere on this page.

WARNING: if you tote a rebel flag, if you married your cousin, live in the south, and have bunches of kids, if you have a pit bull without a collar or a leash,

This blog has been chemically treated against all forms of rednecks and within 20 seconds your hard drive will self destruct, your sperm count will fall, and your children will marry outside of your immediate family, and will begin to seek higher education ( higher than 6th grade). Your dog will die. Your meth lab will spontaneously combust. A democrat will be elected governor of your state. The tax on beer will be placed at 50% and snuff and dip will be declared illegal and hunting season will be cancelled until further notice.

Monday, November 03, 2003


If I could take all of these upcoming holidays that are on my calendar and ball them into a great big wad and throw them all into the trash then I know I’d be happier.

Maybe we'll not pretend this year and my son and I can sit on the couch and watch a marathon of Steven King movies day and eat popcorn, candy and nachos. And then do the same thing for Christmas. BAH Humbug