You see a while back, the boy got some fool notion in his head and stoled a stone statuette Bobby Lee from out front the court house with the intent and purpose of settin' him free. Well, not only did it cost me a gallon of store-boughten whusky to get the best lawyer in town, Plessy Fergusun, to spring 'em but it seems he done got to talkin' w/ some radical, liberals from Warshington D.C. in jail for showin' up late to church and they put some danged ridiculous ideas into head about freedom of the speech and what not. Now the boy think he can say any high-fallutin' thing he pleases. He walk up to me yesterday and says, "Yoop, yoop, pooper scoop!" and just leave at that. He says to Dixie Peters, "Skippity lamda do da!" and run off chasin' rabbits again. Just about every word out the boy's mouth at this point is gull-danged, jibbering hogwarsh. I ask him the meaning of all this and he say, "Don't violate my first amendment rights!" Now I don't know what no dang amendment is or what kind of liberal evil is behind it but I say the boy ain't got no rights to be talkin' all funny like he some sort of innillectual from the North.
Anyways, I keep a gentleman's home here on my estate, Rabies Acres, and so naturally I don't allow no liberalism, philanthropy or any other of that Northern nonesuch to go on and so I had to set about punishin' the boy to get him to at least stop lippin' on that cornswaggle he been on about. I lashed him to an old cart wheel I had out by the swamp and he just keep blatherin' on like, "Wick, wack, gunnysack!" and "Flim, flam, icecream man!" And so I says, "Winner, winner, chicken dinner!" and shoved a pocket edition of Webster's Dictionary into his mouth such that he had to eat his own dang, liberal words--which I felt was highly poetical and appropriate to the occasion. I been goin' out there once a day to feed and water him and I ain't settin' him free of the cart wheel until he speaks some dang sense for once.
Your Friend,
McElroy Boyd
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