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Southern Discomfort
- Thread starter Barbaria1
- Start date
mark sessnatz
Tribune
Emilie is actually pretty vanilla by French Academic standards
windar
Teller of Tales
But she's French Vanilla...
18
“Where’s the trash? I want to get rid of these!” whispered Alvin as he followed Harriet into the house on their way to alerting Barb and Jerry of the need to call an end to the date. Alvin needed to get the truck back to his grandfather by midnight, and Harriet thought it might be a good idea to get both guys well on their way before Windar returned home.
“Hang on to it, please. Perhaps you can throw it in a ditch somewhere on your way home. I don’t think we’d want the Dean to come across it.”
“Oh … right!”
She was surprised that Windar hadn’t returned from campus yet. He’d mentioned something about a meeting with a faculty member. She thought he’d said it was someone in the French department and guessed that it might likely be her French 101 instructor, Professor Emilie Girard. Maybe the two of them decided to stick around and enjoy the Festival, she reasoned. That would explain his absence, and besides he could use a nice woman in his life. And better Girard than her Barb!
Then she felt compelled to chide herself for thinking of her dear friend in such a romantically possessive way …. but … then again …
Hand in hand, she and Alvin ascended the staircase leading to the second floor. The bedroom that she and Barb shared was situated directly across the hallway from the landing. As they reached the top, light could be seen coming from under the bedroom door but no sound from within could be heard.
“Wait here, Alvin, while I go in.”
“Whatever you say.”
She paused briefly just outside the door. “Barb? You guys decent? I’m coming in.”
“More or less. Come on in. Jerry’s gone down the hall to use the bathroom.”
Harriet pushed the door open.
“I’d call that less than more!”
“Very funny,” snorted Barb, perched at the near side of the bed, wearing nothing more than a hastily donned pair of navy blue hip-hugger panties.
Alvin, who had started to follow Harriet inside, stopped dead, gaped and beat a hasty retreat back towards the hallway, offering up a series of embarrassed apologies as he fled.
“It’s alright, Alvin. That crowd at ‘Wild Ernie’s’ saw as much or more of me than you just did.”
“And what’s there is well worth seeing … and tasting too!” quipped Jerry, suddenly appearing in the doorway directly behind his backpedaling friend.
Barb flung a pillow at him, which sailed over his head, across the hall and down the staircase just in time to hit Windar, who was on his way up, square in the head. Nearly causing him to miss a step and forcing him to grab for the banister.
“What is this?” he demanded on reaching the landing. It was difficult to tell from the expression on his face whether he was amused or angry. “What do you kids think this is, the local Kilmartin house of ill repute? High time, I daresay, for Alvin and Jerry to get their asses out of here! And as for you girls …”
He left that last part hanging in the air.
Jerry and Alvin exchanged glances.
“And what’s that?” Windar demanded, pointing a finger at the soiled underwear still clutched in Alvin’s left hand.
Nuthin’ … ain’t nuthin’”, Alvin stammered, lapsing from his polished Columbia University speech into his local Tennessee dialect.
“We really need to leave,” intervened Jerry as Barb got off the bed to pick up and toss him, one by one, his trousers, black tee and denim jacket. Adding lamely and unnecessarily, “Alvin here has to get the truck back to his grandfather’s place.”
After which they promptly left, trying not to appear to be fleeing. Although Jerry had to pause long enough when they reached the main floor to get himself fully dressed.
Once the guys had let themselves out, Windar turned to face the girls. His face conveyed outrage. Causing Harriet to edge herself closer to Barb, who had placed her hands on her hips and was striking a defiant pose. But, as the corners of Windar’s mouth slowly turned up, and a twinkle appeared in his eye along with a growing bulge in the front of his pants, it dawned on them that it had all been an act.
Barb held up both hands in mock supplication. “Boys will be boys!” she joked.
“And girls will be girls, and when they do there’s a price to be paid and you two ought to
know the drill by now. Everything off and on the bed face down! And make it fast! I’ll be back in a minute or two with a leather strap!”
Outside, Alvin started the truck, threw it into gear, and pulled out onto the narrow rutted road leading out to the main highway … rolling down the window once they’d rounded a bend to toss his soiled underwear out.
“So, did you score?” he asked as he rolled the window back up.
“Actually I did, Alvin. How about you?”
“Well, only sort of. But I did get her to promise to visit me in New York!”
“Matter of time then, my friend … matter of time.”
“But look at you man! Seducing an older woman! You old devil! Very cool!”
********
Roughly thirty miles due west of there the flashing red neon light over the entrance to Wild Ernie’s Roadhouse had been turned off. The last stripper had picked up her artfully shedded articles of clothing, counted her dollar tips and departed, along with a majority of the joint’s patrons. A couple of dozen, perhaps three dozen, possibly more, remained behind, sitting silently in the semi-darkness.
Once the door had been locked, though, the lights came back on. And Billy-Bob took the stage to announce, “As head of the Kilmartin County Klan Kalberg, ah hereby calls this Klonvocation tuh order! These heah deliberations tonight are official ones. Amber, our Kligrapp, will take the minutes.”
A brief round of applause followed as Abner waved from his table, pencil in hand.
“Ah think ya all know why I’ve called this Klonvocation tonight. It’s on account of our sense last week that it’s once again high time we Klansmen heah in Kilmartin County puts on a good ole lynching on account of the recent bad goin’s on up at the Academy and elsewheres heah in the county.”
He paused to allow for the shouts of agreement and general foot-stomping to fade away.
“More to the point, we have set our sights on four individuals we wants to lynch as a warning to any and all who might think they can come in and make trouble fer good folk heah. These are, fust of all, an uppity nigger student come heah from Atlanta to enroll at the Academy. Name of Harriet Jackson!”
Grunts of angry disapproval. Some hissing and booing.
“Second, a troublemakin’ new Professor … up thar agin at the Academy … Barbara Moore … a damn Yankee bitch come down heah from somewheres way up thar in Minnesota, bringin’ wid her lots of ideas we ‘round heah jest don’t wanna hear. She’s a nigger-lover, who not only wants tah change things round heah fer the worst. But also a dike, known to be engaging in unholy sex with that new nigger student, Harriet Jackson. Of that we have photographic proof! And tah top it off, the Yankee professor cunt has gone and gots me … yer Klan leader … fired from me job up at the Academy!”
“Lynch her! Lynch her!” they chorused. Followed by someone adding “but fuck her nigher-lovin’ Yankee cunt and asshole fust!”
“Yes, yes! That’s the plan, but thar’s two more. Thar’s Alvin Washington, one of Kilmartin County’s own nigger boys, gotten himself off to one of them fancy northern colleges and now’s come back down heah to stir up trouble ‘mong his own kind. Deserves a good ole-fashioned lynching. And that too goes fer his Jew-boy pal, Jerry Goldman … cum down heah with Alvin to help cause trouble.”
“Them too, lynch ‘em all!” was the responding cry taken up by all present.
When that finally died down, someone in back, stood up to demand “where and when?”
“Ahs a cummin’ ta that. This weekend’s the Festival. We don’t wanna get in the way of that, but soon after! And ‘cause all those terrible goin’s on up at the Academy seems so central to this, Ah’m proposing we does it out right on the campus quad next Tuesday night … three days from now. That’ll be barely past the new moon, so we gets a good dark night. We’ll all assemble fust heah at Ernie’s, then we’ll locate and nab Washington and Goldman wherever they might be and get in tah the campus jest in time to abduct Harriet Jackson following’ her Tuesday evening French class.”
“And what ‘bout the Yankee Professor bitch?”
“That’s been arranged with a little help from one of our own newly joined Klansmen, Biff Sutton! Biff, maybe ya’d like to stand up and tells us all what ya’ve worked out.”
“Sure. I don’t mind telling you all that this Barbara Moore has been a royal pain in the ass ever since she arrived, and rightly deserves everything we mete out to her next Tuesday night! Here’s how I’ll deliver her to you. I happen to be in one of her classes … a class full of lies, by the way … lies about us, our past, our values … everything about us! So, as her student, I decided to ask for an ‘on campus’ office appointment with her for that Tuesday evening. I set it up yesterday. It’s on her calendar for Tuesday night, which means she’s sure sure to be there alone … ripe for the taking.”
“Thanks Biff. Sounds purrfect, and welcome tah the Klan. Now, listens up everybody. Thar’s one more thing befores we adjourns. Tuesday night’ll be a full-dress event … robes, hoods, Klan insignia, torches and all. Thar’s to be four burnin’ crosses. We means tah make a statement, tah spread terror! Strippin’, beatin’, whippin’ of all four of ‘em, and gang rape in the cases of Barbara Moore and Harriet Jackson is expected. So don’t ya all hold back none! And it’s all ta end with the four of ‘em noosed and a’swingin’ by thar necks from one of them thar big ol’ Quad trees.”
“Any questions? None? Good! See Abner on yer way out fer yer individual assignments.”
***************
Ten minutes later, outside Wild Willie’s, Biff sauntered across the parking lot and clambered into his red 1964 Mustang convertible. Waiting for him inside was Carolyn Smith, still clad in her Festival royalty attire.
“How’d it go, Biff?”
“Perfectly.”
“This time Tuesday night our Yankee bitch prof will be swinging in the buff under one of those big old Quad trees … with her little nigger bitch lover right there alongside her.”
“You sure, we’re doing the right thing, Biff, getting involved in something like this? I mean THE KLAN? Those guys are hardly on our social level. They’re low life, Biff. Hardly the kind either of our families would ever think of having over for dinner.”
“Maybe not.”
“Well, it makes me feel uneasy … dirty even.”
“Don’t go all soft and principled on me now, babe! Remember, it was Professor Moore who went and got you ass-whipped by Dean Windar down in the basement of Old Main!”
“Yes, but … maybe we deserved … oh, Biff … this Klan thing makes me feel … oh, I don’t know …”
“Well, let me take your mind off it then. Why don’t we pull the low front of that formal gown you’re wearing down and let me get to work. You must know I’ve been wanting to get at those two lovelies of yours all evening!”
“No! Not in your Mustang, and certainly not in a roadhouse parking lot!”
“Why not? The last pickup just left. We’re here all alone. Everyone’s gone.”
“I don’t care. This car is way too uncomfortable. We’ve tried that before! Besides I’m not in the mood. Drive me home now to the Delta Gamma house, please. And don’t argue with me.”
“But Carolyn …”
“Get your paws off my boobs, Biff! And I mean now! I’m not in the mood. Drive me home!”
*************
“Why are we allowing him to do this to us?”
“I don’t know, Harriet. Because we may deserve it, I suppose. Or maybe we just want to make him happy … a way of thanking him for taking us in, protecting us and all. Just accept it, get naked and lie down on the bed next to me before he returns with that leather strap he went off in search of.”
“Alright. Alright. It’s not like I have much choice, I guess.”
“Well you do. I’m hardly going to make you do it. And technically he can’t either.”
“No, but I’ll do it. See! I’m getting naked. Now move over a little and make more room for me so I can join you on the bed. Wonder what’s keeping him?
“I suspect he’ll turn up soon enough.”
“Well, he can thrash my bare butt if he likes, but one thing I won’t allow is for him to put himself inside me like he did to you the last time.”
“Sure, I doubt it will come to that. After all, he said he doesn't fuck students.”
“Yeah, that's right; he’ll probably just want to do you again, like he did last time.”
“We’ll soon find out, won’t we?”
“You know, Barb, it’s occurred to me that maybe you like this sort of thing. After all, you just let Jerry screw you on a first date! Or maybe … just maybe … you’ve got romantic designs on Dean Windar. He’s obviously attracted to you and, after all, he’s certainly quite eligible … a good catch … as they say. Although something tells me he may have eyes for my French professor, as well, as I’ve seen him go out of his way to run into her soon as my French class lets out. And tonight I suspect he’s been out with her all evening. That’s got to be why he’s home late.”
“Nah, i don’t have any designs on Windar. And, as for Jerry, I was just doing him a little favor … relieving him of his virginity. Least I could do after all he went through for me earlier, out at that dreadful roadhouse.”
“You have a big heart, Barb. And speaking of a big hard, here comes Windar. Want me to hold your wrists tight again when the moment comes, like I did last time?”
“Very funny. Let’s just wait and see what happens.”
TBC
“Where’s the trash? I want to get rid of these!” whispered Alvin as he followed Harriet into the house on their way to alerting Barb and Jerry of the need to call an end to the date. Alvin needed to get the truck back to his grandfather by midnight, and Harriet thought it might be a good idea to get both guys well on their way before Windar returned home.
“Hang on to it, please. Perhaps you can throw it in a ditch somewhere on your way home. I don’t think we’d want the Dean to come across it.”
“Oh … right!”
She was surprised that Windar hadn’t returned from campus yet. He’d mentioned something about a meeting with a faculty member. She thought he’d said it was someone in the French department and guessed that it might likely be her French 101 instructor, Professor Emilie Girard. Maybe the two of them decided to stick around and enjoy the Festival, she reasoned. That would explain his absence, and besides he could use a nice woman in his life. And better Girard than her Barb!
Then she felt compelled to chide herself for thinking of her dear friend in such a romantically possessive way …. but … then again …
Hand in hand, she and Alvin ascended the staircase leading to the second floor. The bedroom that she and Barb shared was situated directly across the hallway from the landing. As they reached the top, light could be seen coming from under the bedroom door but no sound from within could be heard.
“Wait here, Alvin, while I go in.”
“Whatever you say.”
She paused briefly just outside the door. “Barb? You guys decent? I’m coming in.”
“More or less. Come on in. Jerry’s gone down the hall to use the bathroom.”
Harriet pushed the door open.
“I’d call that less than more!”
“Very funny,” snorted Barb, perched at the near side of the bed, wearing nothing more than a hastily donned pair of navy blue hip-hugger panties.
Alvin, who had started to follow Harriet inside, stopped dead, gaped and beat a hasty retreat back towards the hallway, offering up a series of embarrassed apologies as he fled.
“It’s alright, Alvin. That crowd at ‘Wild Ernie’s’ saw as much or more of me than you just did.”
“And what’s there is well worth seeing … and tasting too!” quipped Jerry, suddenly appearing in the doorway directly behind his backpedaling friend.
Barb flung a pillow at him, which sailed over his head, across the hall and down the staircase just in time to hit Windar, who was on his way up, square in the head. Nearly causing him to miss a step and forcing him to grab for the banister.
“What is this?” he demanded on reaching the landing. It was difficult to tell from the expression on his face whether he was amused or angry. “What do you kids think this is, the local Kilmartin house of ill repute? High time, I daresay, for Alvin and Jerry to get their asses out of here! And as for you girls …”
He left that last part hanging in the air.
Jerry and Alvin exchanged glances.
“And what’s that?” Windar demanded, pointing a finger at the soiled underwear still clutched in Alvin’s left hand.
Nuthin’ … ain’t nuthin’”, Alvin stammered, lapsing from his polished Columbia University speech into his local Tennessee dialect.
“We really need to leave,” intervened Jerry as Barb got off the bed to pick up and toss him, one by one, his trousers, black tee and denim jacket. Adding lamely and unnecessarily, “Alvin here has to get the truck back to his grandfather’s place.”
After which they promptly left, trying not to appear to be fleeing. Although Jerry had to pause long enough when they reached the main floor to get himself fully dressed.
Once the guys had let themselves out, Windar turned to face the girls. His face conveyed outrage. Causing Harriet to edge herself closer to Barb, who had placed her hands on her hips and was striking a defiant pose. But, as the corners of Windar’s mouth slowly turned up, and a twinkle appeared in his eye along with a growing bulge in the front of his pants, it dawned on them that it had all been an act.
Barb held up both hands in mock supplication. “Boys will be boys!” she joked.
“And girls will be girls, and when they do there’s a price to be paid and you two ought to
know the drill by now. Everything off and on the bed face down! And make it fast! I’ll be back in a minute or two with a leather strap!”
Outside, Alvin started the truck, threw it into gear, and pulled out onto the narrow rutted road leading out to the main highway … rolling down the window once they’d rounded a bend to toss his soiled underwear out.
“So, did you score?” he asked as he rolled the window back up.
“Actually I did, Alvin. How about you?”
“Well, only sort of. But I did get her to promise to visit me in New York!”
“Matter of time then, my friend … matter of time.”
“But look at you man! Seducing an older woman! You old devil! Very cool!”
********
Roughly thirty miles due west of there the flashing red neon light over the entrance to Wild Ernie’s Roadhouse had been turned off. The last stripper had picked up her artfully shedded articles of clothing, counted her dollar tips and departed, along with a majority of the joint’s patrons. A couple of dozen, perhaps three dozen, possibly more, remained behind, sitting silently in the semi-darkness.
Once the door had been locked, though, the lights came back on. And Billy-Bob took the stage to announce, “As head of the Kilmartin County Klan Kalberg, ah hereby calls this Klonvocation tuh order! These heah deliberations tonight are official ones. Amber, our Kligrapp, will take the minutes.”
A brief round of applause followed as Abner waved from his table, pencil in hand.
“Ah think ya all know why I’ve called this Klonvocation tonight. It’s on account of our sense last week that it’s once again high time we Klansmen heah in Kilmartin County puts on a good ole lynching on account of the recent bad goin’s on up at the Academy and elsewheres heah in the county.”
He paused to allow for the shouts of agreement and general foot-stomping to fade away.
“More to the point, we have set our sights on four individuals we wants to lynch as a warning to any and all who might think they can come in and make trouble fer good folk heah. These are, fust of all, an uppity nigger student come heah from Atlanta to enroll at the Academy. Name of Harriet Jackson!”
Grunts of angry disapproval. Some hissing and booing.
“Second, a troublemakin’ new Professor … up thar agin at the Academy … Barbara Moore … a damn Yankee bitch come down heah from somewheres way up thar in Minnesota, bringin’ wid her lots of ideas we ‘round heah jest don’t wanna hear. She’s a nigger-lover, who not only wants tah change things round heah fer the worst. But also a dike, known to be engaging in unholy sex with that new nigger student, Harriet Jackson. Of that we have photographic proof! And tah top it off, the Yankee professor cunt has gone and gots me … yer Klan leader … fired from me job up at the Academy!”
“Lynch her! Lynch her!” they chorused. Followed by someone adding “but fuck her nigher-lovin’ Yankee cunt and asshole fust!”
“Yes, yes! That’s the plan, but thar’s two more. Thar’s Alvin Washington, one of Kilmartin County’s own nigger boys, gotten himself off to one of them fancy northern colleges and now’s come back down heah to stir up trouble ‘mong his own kind. Deserves a good ole-fashioned lynching. And that too goes fer his Jew-boy pal, Jerry Goldman … cum down heah with Alvin to help cause trouble.”
“Them too, lynch ‘em all!” was the responding cry taken up by all present.
When that finally died down, someone in back, stood up to demand “where and when?”
“Ahs a cummin’ ta that. This weekend’s the Festival. We don’t wanna get in the way of that, but soon after! And ‘cause all those terrible goin’s on up at the Academy seems so central to this, Ah’m proposing we does it out right on the campus quad next Tuesday night … three days from now. That’ll be barely past the new moon, so we gets a good dark night. We’ll all assemble fust heah at Ernie’s, then we’ll locate and nab Washington and Goldman wherever they might be and get in tah the campus jest in time to abduct Harriet Jackson following’ her Tuesday evening French class.”
“And what ‘bout the Yankee Professor bitch?”
“That’s been arranged with a little help from one of our own newly joined Klansmen, Biff Sutton! Biff, maybe ya’d like to stand up and tells us all what ya’ve worked out.”
“Sure. I don’t mind telling you all that this Barbara Moore has been a royal pain in the ass ever since she arrived, and rightly deserves everything we mete out to her next Tuesday night! Here’s how I’ll deliver her to you. I happen to be in one of her classes … a class full of lies, by the way … lies about us, our past, our values … everything about us! So, as her student, I decided to ask for an ‘on campus’ office appointment with her for that Tuesday evening. I set it up yesterday. It’s on her calendar for Tuesday night, which means she’s sure sure to be there alone … ripe for the taking.”
“Thanks Biff. Sounds purrfect, and welcome tah the Klan. Now, listens up everybody. Thar’s one more thing befores we adjourns. Tuesday night’ll be a full-dress event … robes, hoods, Klan insignia, torches and all. Thar’s to be four burnin’ crosses. We means tah make a statement, tah spread terror! Strippin’, beatin’, whippin’ of all four of ‘em, and gang rape in the cases of Barbara Moore and Harriet Jackson is expected. So don’t ya all hold back none! And it’s all ta end with the four of ‘em noosed and a’swingin’ by thar necks from one of them thar big ol’ Quad trees.”
“Any questions? None? Good! See Abner on yer way out fer yer individual assignments.”
***************
Ten minutes later, outside Wild Willie’s, Biff sauntered across the parking lot and clambered into his red 1964 Mustang convertible. Waiting for him inside was Carolyn Smith, still clad in her Festival royalty attire.
“How’d it go, Biff?”
“Perfectly.”
“This time Tuesday night our Yankee bitch prof will be swinging in the buff under one of those big old Quad trees … with her little nigger bitch lover right there alongside her.”
“You sure, we’re doing the right thing, Biff, getting involved in something like this? I mean THE KLAN? Those guys are hardly on our social level. They’re low life, Biff. Hardly the kind either of our families would ever think of having over for dinner.”
“Maybe not.”
“Well, it makes me feel uneasy … dirty even.”
“Don’t go all soft and principled on me now, babe! Remember, it was Professor Moore who went and got you ass-whipped by Dean Windar down in the basement of Old Main!”
“Yes, but … maybe we deserved … oh, Biff … this Klan thing makes me feel … oh, I don’t know …”
“Well, let me take your mind off it then. Why don’t we pull the low front of that formal gown you’re wearing down and let me get to work. You must know I’ve been wanting to get at those two lovelies of yours all evening!”
“No! Not in your Mustang, and certainly not in a roadhouse parking lot!”
“Why not? The last pickup just left. We’re here all alone. Everyone’s gone.”
“I don’t care. This car is way too uncomfortable. We’ve tried that before! Besides I’m not in the mood. Drive me home now to the Delta Gamma house, please. And don’t argue with me.”
“But Carolyn …”
“Get your paws off my boobs, Biff! And I mean now! I’m not in the mood. Drive me home!”
*************
“Why are we allowing him to do this to us?”
“I don’t know, Harriet. Because we may deserve it, I suppose. Or maybe we just want to make him happy … a way of thanking him for taking us in, protecting us and all. Just accept it, get naked and lie down on the bed next to me before he returns with that leather strap he went off in search of.”
“Alright. Alright. It’s not like I have much choice, I guess.”
“Well you do. I’m hardly going to make you do it. And technically he can’t either.”
“No, but I’ll do it. See! I’m getting naked. Now move over a little and make more room for me so I can join you on the bed. Wonder what’s keeping him?
“I suspect he’ll turn up soon enough.”
“Well, he can thrash my bare butt if he likes, but one thing I won’t allow is for him to put himself inside me like he did to you the last time.”
“Sure, I doubt it will come to that. After all, he said he doesn't fuck students.”
“Yeah, that's right; he’ll probably just want to do you again, like he did last time.”
“We’ll soon find out, won’t we?”
“You know, Barb, it’s occurred to me that maybe you like this sort of thing. After all, you just let Jerry screw you on a first date! Or maybe … just maybe … you’ve got romantic designs on Dean Windar. He’s obviously attracted to you and, after all, he’s certainly quite eligible … a good catch … as they say. Although something tells me he may have eyes for my French professor, as well, as I’ve seen him go out of his way to run into her soon as my French class lets out. And tonight I suspect he’s been out with her all evening. That’s got to be why he’s home late.”
“Nah, i don’t have any designs on Windar. And, as for Jerry, I was just doing him a little favor … relieving him of his virginity. Least I could do after all he went through for me earlier, out at that dreadful roadhouse.”
“You have a big heart, Barb. And speaking of a big hard, here comes Windar. Want me to hold your wrists tight again when the moment comes, like I did last time?”
“Very funny. Let’s just wait and see what happens.”
TBC
windar
Teller of Tales
A reasonable question...
You suppose?
Nothing wrong with that
A man could get used to this...
This does not look good for our four. Barb will get they out of this...
...I hope, at least!!!
toastywarm
Spectator
Hmm sounds familiar. James really gets upset when writers don’t do their work. Where else have we seen this?
windar
Teller of Tales
Most of you will know what @toastywarm is referring to, but for those who haven't read them I encourage you to check out this pair of stories about writer's block and how to overcome it.
Curing Carole's Writer's Block
Hi, All: I haven’t posted a story here on CF in quite a while, mostly because I haven’t written any. Well, with the following exception which I completed about a year ago. It started with a conversation on another site where I had placed a couple of my stories (yes, other sites do exist, though...
www.cruxforums.com
https://www.cruxforums.com/xf/threads/submission-a-writers-tale.11645/
windar
Teller of Tales
19
Alvin looked quickly at Jerry sitting beside him in Grandpa Washington’s truck then turned his eyes back to the road. “I can’t believe you talked me into going to some talk by some quack cracker historian trying to justify the Confederate side,” he said. “All because you want to see if you can run into your girlfriend.”
“I’m not sure I’d call Barbara my girlfriend just because of one night of wild screwing. I mean she’s older than me and a professor and rumor has it she really prefers girls like your girlfriend, Harriet.”
“Fuck that, Jerry! Harriet is young and inexperienced. She’s trying shit out. Now that she’s met the right man, by which I mean yours truly, I think her dyke days are over.”
“Yeah, well maybe Barbara’s are over, too,” Jerry retorted. “Anyway, I’m not sure she’ll be at this talk.”
“She’s a history prof, dude; of course she’ll be there!” Alvin said. “And I’m sure she’ll bring Harriet along. I hope she’ll ask this asshole speaker some tough questions.”
“Maybe we should, too,” Jerry replied.
“Man, I don’t know. I’m a bit worried. Grandma says some of the ladies at church are hearing about some Klan goings on. I ain’t interested in gettin’ lynched, that’s for sure. And you best be careful, too, my man. They ain’t too fond of your kind either.”
“Yeah, maybe it’s best if we leave the questions to the Professor. She’s the expert after all,” Jerry said.
Alvin slowed as they reached the Kilmartin town limits. He made his way towards the campus and found a parking space. The campus was quiet, almost eerily so, as they walked towards the quad. They didn’t run into a single student.
“Where is everybody?” Jerry asked.
“I dunno. It’s weird, man, “Alvin replied, as they neared their destination. “I’m gonna grab a coffee at the Student Union. You want one?”
“No thanks, man,” Jerry said. “It’s a nice night. I think I’ll take a walk. Let’s meet right here just before that lecture.”
“Sure thing, man. Say hello to Barbara for me,” Alvin said. Jerry just shook his head and headed off.
Alvin headed into the Student Union. There were more students here, some sitting alone, studying, or pretending to, others in small groups talking. Several stared at him, but no one approached him or said anything to him.
The dining area was empty, the dinner hour having passed, except for two middle aged Black women in white serving uniforms, who were wiping down the serving stations for the night. Alvin saw a large urn with some cups beside it.
He approached one of the women. Her name tag said “Lucille”.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” Alvin asked. “Would it be all right if I took a cup of coffee?”
“Y’all ain’t a student here, are you?” she asked, knowing quite well that he wasn’t.
“No, ma’am,” he replied, “But I could sure use some coffee.”
“It’s from this afternoon, so I can’t say it’ll be any good, but help yourself.” Alvin poured himself a cup as she watched.
He approached her. “Say, if you don’t mind my asking, are you registered to vote?”
She shook her head. “No, I ain’t never done that.”
“Have you heard about the Voting Rights Act that just passed Congress and been signed by the President?”
“I think I did, maybe,” she said.
“Well, it means our people can vote and no one can stop us. After so many years, we finally get a say.” He reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out two cards. “Just fill this out and give one to your friend back there,” he said, tilting his head in the direction of the kitchen. “I’ll be back in a couple of days to collect them and bring them to County Registrar,
She looked a bit reluctant, but she took the cards and disappeared into the kitchen, carrying a tray of leftover food to be stored away. Alvin sat at one of the tables and took a sip of the coffee. Lucille had been right about it not being very good. Suddenly, he heard a noise behind him. Before he could react, they were on him-three men in robes and hoods.
“What the fuck?” he said, before one of the men clapped his hand over his mouth.
“Keep your big fat mouth shut, boy, if you know what’s good for you,” the man said. “You fancy-ass New York niggers don’t impress us. On your feet!”
Alvin looked around for the two cafeteria ladies, but they were nowhere to be seen. Reluctantly, he stood. He tried to kick out at the man standing in front of him, but one of the men behind him grabbed his leg. The man in front of him drove his fist into Alvin’s solar plexus, knocking the wind out of him.
“That otta’ shut him up real good,” one of them said. They began dragging a minimally resistant Alvin out of the dining area through a side door that led to a service corridor. They passed a door that led to the kitchen. If the two women finishing up their cleaning tasks saw or heard anything, which they probably didn’t, they were too frightened to do anything about it.
The door at the end of the corridor led to a loading dock. There were two more hooded figures there. One of them grabbed Alvin’s hands and wrenched them behind him, tying them together with a thick piece of rope. The other slipped a black hood over Alvin’s head and pulled the drawstring at the base tight around his neck.
“Sit down right there, boy!” one of the men ordered.
When Alvin was slow to obey, one of them kicked his legs out from under him. “You best make yourself comfortable,” he said. He took another piece of rope and tied it to the rope around Alvin’s wrists, then secured it to a shelf that was attached to the wall with brackets.
“You keep watch over him while we go get the others,” one of the men said. Alvin heard their footsteps receding.
Jerry wasn’t sure where Barb’s office was, but he figured Old Main would be a good starting point. Fortunately, on a wall just inside the door, was a directory of departments with faculty members listed. Under History, he quickly found “Professor B Moore, Room 242”. Figuring that the “2” meant the second floor, he climbed the main staircase right in front of him. As he reached the top, he heard male voices, but couldn’t make out the words. He saw a corridor which appeared to contain faculty offices as the first one, number 221, straight across, had a nameplate that read “Professor J McMillan”.
Glancing down the corridor he saw a sight that struck terror into his heart. Four men in full Klan regalia were heading towards the end of the corridor, where it appeared there was another staircase, as indicated by a red “Exit” sign.
The Klansmen were in pairs, and each pair was leading a shorter figure, each of which appeared to be female. One had straight brown hair, in a ponytail, much like the one worn by his lover, Barbara Moore. She wore high-heeled shoes, or, rather, one, which fell off as the men hustled her towards the door. The other figure had kinky hair and he quickly surmised that it was almost certainly Harriet Jackson. The group quickly disappeared through the door into the back stairway.
Jerry’s heart was pounding. Should he run after them? But he was alone against four men-what could he do if he confronted them? Moreover, he knew there was a good chance the Klansmen might be looking for him and Alvin, too.
He waited a moment and then moved as stealthily as he could down the corridor. All of the offices were shut tight, their occupants presumably at home relaxing, except for one-Room 242, with the nameplate that read “Professor B Moore” and “Professor W Clinton”. That door was wide open, but the room was empty. There could be no doubt whom it was that the Kluxers had taken away.
He thought about calling the cops, but this was a small southern town and he didn’t trust them. ‘Think, Jerry,” he told himself. Well, there was one person he knew here on this campus, even if they had only met briefly under less than promising circumstances-Dean Windar.
He ran down the stairs, checked the directory and quickly found the Dean’s office. The door was shut, but there was light coming through the space under the door. He heard a couple of voices, one male and one female. He knocked loudly.
The Dean sat on the couch that ran along the side wall of his office, facing his desk and the windows that looked out on the quad, though the blinds were drawn so one couldn’t admire the view. Emilie Girard sat next to him.
“So my motivation session has had some effect?” he said.
“Oui, James, I have already two chapters completed.”
“That’s very good, Emilie.”
“And you promise me if I complete the book, you will make sure I get tenure?”
“You have my word, Emilie. I would really hate to lose you from our staff. You’re a very good teacher.” She smiled. “And you have other skills as well,” he added. “Perhaps in view of the progress you’ve made, which I think I deserve some credit for, you’d like to practice those.”
Emilie sighed. “You are such a bad man, James,” she said, but she reached down to unbutton his trousers. He stood, so she could lower them and his undershorts to his knees, then sat back down next to her.
Emilie bent her torso, her mouth hovering over his semi-erect cock. She stuck her tongue out, about to lick the tip, when there was a loud knocking at the door.
“Fuck!” he exclaimed. “Who the hell would knock at this hour?”
“Dean Windar! Please! Open up, it’s an emergency!” the voice, which sounded vaguely familiar, shouted.
“You’ll excuse me for a moment, Emilie,” he said, rising, pulling up and buttoning his pants, unlocking the door and opening it part way. It was that kid who’d been at his house fucking Barbara the other night. What was his name?
“You’re…” the Dean began.
“Jerry. Jerry Goldman. You remember from the other night?”
“I do,” the Dean replied. “What is the meaning of you bothering me here?” he asked.
“It’s the Klan, sir.”
“The Klan?” Windar asked, alarmed.
“Yes, sir. You know, with white robes and hoods and everything. They were up on the second floor leading two women away, and I’m pretty sure it was Professor Moore, Barbara, and Harriet. You know, Harriet Jackson, the negro student here.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes, I checked Professor Moore’s office. The door was left unlocked and it was empty. We have to do something.”
“Ok, come in Jerry,” Windar said. “This is Professor Emilie Girard of the French department. We were having a meeting to discuss her research. Emilie, I think you’d better leave; something urgent has come up. Can we finish this tomorrow evening?”
“Yes, of course, Dean Windar,” Emilie said, rising and leaving the office. Jerry noticed the Dean staring at her ass as she made her way to the door.
“What should we do, Dean, sir?” Jerry asked. “Should we call the police?”
The Dean frowned. “They might be worse than the Klan.”
“I’m worried that they might be after my friend Alvin, too. You remember him from your house?”
“Is he on campus also?”
“Yes, we came together.”
“Well the Klan certainly might be after him,” the Dean said. “And you, too, for that matter. Barbara, uh, Professor Moore, tells me you two are down here registering Negroes to vote.”
“Yes, sir,” Jerry replied.
“Well the Klan certainly doesn’t like that.”
“I was supposed to meet Alvin outside the Student Union right about now,” Jerry said. “Can we go check?”
“OK, but put this on and do up the hood.” He handed Jerry a Kilmartin Academy sweatshirt from a pile on a table next to his desk. Jerry slipped it over his head and drew the hood tightly around his head. It wasn’t a perfect disguise, but it was what he had at the moment.
They quickly walked to the meeting spot. No Alvin. “I’m worried they got him,” Jerry said.
“That’s very possible,” Windar admitted.
“I need to call his grandfather. We’re staying with him. He has a shotgun and maybe he can help.”
“Let’s go back to my office,“ Windar said.
Back in the Dean’s office, Jerry dialed Alvin’s grandparents. His grandmother picked up.
“Mrs. Washington, it’s Jerry. Is Mr. Washington there?”
“Jerry? Is everything alright?”
“I’m afraid Alvin may be in trouble. Can I please speak to Mr. Washington?”
Jerry heard her saying, “John, it’s Alvin’s friend, Jerry. Alvin may be in trouble.”
Then, Alvin’s grandfather came on the line. “What’s going on?”
“I’m at the Academy, sir and the Klan has been seen on campus. In full robes and everything.”
“Oh, my Lord.”
“I saw them taking that Negro student, Harriet Jackson away, along with her professor, Barbara Moore. She’s white, but she’s on our side. And, I’m sorry to say this, but we can’t find Alvin and we think they may have him, too.”
“Alright, listen to me young man. Some of my friends and I have been expecting trouble and have been preparing for it. But Alvin took my truck, as you know, so I’m stuck out here.”
Jerry covered the phone and spoke to Windar. “Alvin has his truck and he has the keys. Can we go and pick him up in your car?” Windar nodded. Jerry turned back to the phone. “I’m with the Dean of the college here, Dean Windar. We’ll come and pick you up.”
“Good, I’ll call the members of the group and have them get ready. I’ve got my shotgun loaded.”
“OK, sir. We’ll be there as quick as we can.” He hung up.
“Before we go, let me make one more call,” Windar said. “An old Navy buddy and college friend, Jack Garfield, is an attorney with the Justice Department up in DC. Let’s see if he can send us some help. A few Federal Marshalls might put the fear of God in those Kluxers.”
Windar dialed the number and had a brief conversation, explaining the situation. Then, he hung up. “No promises, but he’ll see what he can do. Let’s get going.”
Alvin looked quickly at Jerry sitting beside him in Grandpa Washington’s truck then turned his eyes back to the road. “I can’t believe you talked me into going to some talk by some quack cracker historian trying to justify the Confederate side,” he said. “All because you want to see if you can run into your girlfriend.”
“I’m not sure I’d call Barbara my girlfriend just because of one night of wild screwing. I mean she’s older than me and a professor and rumor has it she really prefers girls like your girlfriend, Harriet.”
“Fuck that, Jerry! Harriet is young and inexperienced. She’s trying shit out. Now that she’s met the right man, by which I mean yours truly, I think her dyke days are over.”
“Yeah, well maybe Barbara’s are over, too,” Jerry retorted. “Anyway, I’m not sure she’ll be at this talk.”
“She’s a history prof, dude; of course she’ll be there!” Alvin said. “And I’m sure she’ll bring Harriet along. I hope she’ll ask this asshole speaker some tough questions.”
“Maybe we should, too,” Jerry replied.
“Man, I don’t know. I’m a bit worried. Grandma says some of the ladies at church are hearing about some Klan goings on. I ain’t interested in gettin’ lynched, that’s for sure. And you best be careful, too, my man. They ain’t too fond of your kind either.”
“Yeah, maybe it’s best if we leave the questions to the Professor. She’s the expert after all,” Jerry said.
Alvin slowed as they reached the Kilmartin town limits. He made his way towards the campus and found a parking space. The campus was quiet, almost eerily so, as they walked towards the quad. They didn’t run into a single student.
“Where is everybody?” Jerry asked.
“I dunno. It’s weird, man, “Alvin replied, as they neared their destination. “I’m gonna grab a coffee at the Student Union. You want one?”
“No thanks, man,” Jerry said. “It’s a nice night. I think I’ll take a walk. Let’s meet right here just before that lecture.”
“Sure thing, man. Say hello to Barbara for me,” Alvin said. Jerry just shook his head and headed off.
Alvin headed into the Student Union. There were more students here, some sitting alone, studying, or pretending to, others in small groups talking. Several stared at him, but no one approached him or said anything to him.
The dining area was empty, the dinner hour having passed, except for two middle aged Black women in white serving uniforms, who were wiping down the serving stations for the night. Alvin saw a large urn with some cups beside it.
He approached one of the women. Her name tag said “Lucille”.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” Alvin asked. “Would it be all right if I took a cup of coffee?”
“Y’all ain’t a student here, are you?” she asked, knowing quite well that he wasn’t.
“No, ma’am,” he replied, “But I could sure use some coffee.”
“It’s from this afternoon, so I can’t say it’ll be any good, but help yourself.” Alvin poured himself a cup as she watched.
He approached her. “Say, if you don’t mind my asking, are you registered to vote?”
She shook her head. “No, I ain’t never done that.”
“Have you heard about the Voting Rights Act that just passed Congress and been signed by the President?”
“I think I did, maybe,” she said.
“Well, it means our people can vote and no one can stop us. After so many years, we finally get a say.” He reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out two cards. “Just fill this out and give one to your friend back there,” he said, tilting his head in the direction of the kitchen. “I’ll be back in a couple of days to collect them and bring them to County Registrar,
She looked a bit reluctant, but she took the cards and disappeared into the kitchen, carrying a tray of leftover food to be stored away. Alvin sat at one of the tables and took a sip of the coffee. Lucille had been right about it not being very good. Suddenly, he heard a noise behind him. Before he could react, they were on him-three men in robes and hoods.
“What the fuck?” he said, before one of the men clapped his hand over his mouth.
“Keep your big fat mouth shut, boy, if you know what’s good for you,” the man said. “You fancy-ass New York niggers don’t impress us. On your feet!”
Alvin looked around for the two cafeteria ladies, but they were nowhere to be seen. Reluctantly, he stood. He tried to kick out at the man standing in front of him, but one of the men behind him grabbed his leg. The man in front of him drove his fist into Alvin’s solar plexus, knocking the wind out of him.
“That otta’ shut him up real good,” one of them said. They began dragging a minimally resistant Alvin out of the dining area through a side door that led to a service corridor. They passed a door that led to the kitchen. If the two women finishing up their cleaning tasks saw or heard anything, which they probably didn’t, they were too frightened to do anything about it.
The door at the end of the corridor led to a loading dock. There were two more hooded figures there. One of them grabbed Alvin’s hands and wrenched them behind him, tying them together with a thick piece of rope. The other slipped a black hood over Alvin’s head and pulled the drawstring at the base tight around his neck.
“Sit down right there, boy!” one of the men ordered.
When Alvin was slow to obey, one of them kicked his legs out from under him. “You best make yourself comfortable,” he said. He took another piece of rope and tied it to the rope around Alvin’s wrists, then secured it to a shelf that was attached to the wall with brackets.
“You keep watch over him while we go get the others,” one of the men said. Alvin heard their footsteps receding.
***
Jerry wasn’t sure where Barb’s office was, but he figured Old Main would be a good starting point. Fortunately, on a wall just inside the door, was a directory of departments with faculty members listed. Under History, he quickly found “Professor B Moore, Room 242”. Figuring that the “2” meant the second floor, he climbed the main staircase right in front of him. As he reached the top, he heard male voices, but couldn’t make out the words. He saw a corridor which appeared to contain faculty offices as the first one, number 221, straight across, had a nameplate that read “Professor J McMillan”.
Glancing down the corridor he saw a sight that struck terror into his heart. Four men in full Klan regalia were heading towards the end of the corridor, where it appeared there was another staircase, as indicated by a red “Exit” sign.
The Klansmen were in pairs, and each pair was leading a shorter figure, each of which appeared to be female. One had straight brown hair, in a ponytail, much like the one worn by his lover, Barbara Moore. She wore high-heeled shoes, or, rather, one, which fell off as the men hustled her towards the door. The other figure had kinky hair and he quickly surmised that it was almost certainly Harriet Jackson. The group quickly disappeared through the door into the back stairway.
Jerry’s heart was pounding. Should he run after them? But he was alone against four men-what could he do if he confronted them? Moreover, he knew there was a good chance the Klansmen might be looking for him and Alvin, too.
He waited a moment and then moved as stealthily as he could down the corridor. All of the offices were shut tight, their occupants presumably at home relaxing, except for one-Room 242, with the nameplate that read “Professor B Moore” and “Professor W Clinton”. That door was wide open, but the room was empty. There could be no doubt whom it was that the Kluxers had taken away.
He thought about calling the cops, but this was a small southern town and he didn’t trust them. ‘Think, Jerry,” he told himself. Well, there was one person he knew here on this campus, even if they had only met briefly under less than promising circumstances-Dean Windar.
He ran down the stairs, checked the directory and quickly found the Dean’s office. The door was shut, but there was light coming through the space under the door. He heard a couple of voices, one male and one female. He knocked loudly.
***
The Dean sat on the couch that ran along the side wall of his office, facing his desk and the windows that looked out on the quad, though the blinds were drawn so one couldn’t admire the view. Emilie Girard sat next to him.
“So my motivation session has had some effect?” he said.
“Oui, James, I have already two chapters completed.”
“That’s very good, Emilie.”
“And you promise me if I complete the book, you will make sure I get tenure?”
“You have my word, Emilie. I would really hate to lose you from our staff. You’re a very good teacher.” She smiled. “And you have other skills as well,” he added. “Perhaps in view of the progress you’ve made, which I think I deserve some credit for, you’d like to practice those.”
Emilie sighed. “You are such a bad man, James,” she said, but she reached down to unbutton his trousers. He stood, so she could lower them and his undershorts to his knees, then sat back down next to her.
Emilie bent her torso, her mouth hovering over his semi-erect cock. She stuck her tongue out, about to lick the tip, when there was a loud knocking at the door.
“Fuck!” he exclaimed. “Who the hell would knock at this hour?”
“Dean Windar! Please! Open up, it’s an emergency!” the voice, which sounded vaguely familiar, shouted.
“You’ll excuse me for a moment, Emilie,” he said, rising, pulling up and buttoning his pants, unlocking the door and opening it part way. It was that kid who’d been at his house fucking Barbara the other night. What was his name?
“You’re…” the Dean began.
“Jerry. Jerry Goldman. You remember from the other night?”
“I do,” the Dean replied. “What is the meaning of you bothering me here?” he asked.
“It’s the Klan, sir.”
“The Klan?” Windar asked, alarmed.
“Yes, sir. You know, with white robes and hoods and everything. They were up on the second floor leading two women away, and I’m pretty sure it was Professor Moore, Barbara, and Harriet. You know, Harriet Jackson, the negro student here.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes, I checked Professor Moore’s office. The door was left unlocked and it was empty. We have to do something.”
“Ok, come in Jerry,” Windar said. “This is Professor Emilie Girard of the French department. We were having a meeting to discuss her research. Emilie, I think you’d better leave; something urgent has come up. Can we finish this tomorrow evening?”
“Yes, of course, Dean Windar,” Emilie said, rising and leaving the office. Jerry noticed the Dean staring at her ass as she made her way to the door.
“What should we do, Dean, sir?” Jerry asked. “Should we call the police?”
The Dean frowned. “They might be worse than the Klan.”
“I’m worried that they might be after my friend Alvin, too. You remember him from your house?”
“Is he on campus also?”
“Yes, we came together.”
“Well the Klan certainly might be after him,” the Dean said. “And you, too, for that matter. Barbara, uh, Professor Moore, tells me you two are down here registering Negroes to vote.”
“Yes, sir,” Jerry replied.
“Well the Klan certainly doesn’t like that.”
“I was supposed to meet Alvin outside the Student Union right about now,” Jerry said. “Can we go check?”
“OK, but put this on and do up the hood.” He handed Jerry a Kilmartin Academy sweatshirt from a pile on a table next to his desk. Jerry slipped it over his head and drew the hood tightly around his head. It wasn’t a perfect disguise, but it was what he had at the moment.
They quickly walked to the meeting spot. No Alvin. “I’m worried they got him,” Jerry said.
“That’s very possible,” Windar admitted.
“I need to call his grandfather. We’re staying with him. He has a shotgun and maybe he can help.”
“Let’s go back to my office,“ Windar said.
Back in the Dean’s office, Jerry dialed Alvin’s grandparents. His grandmother picked up.
“Mrs. Washington, it’s Jerry. Is Mr. Washington there?”
“Jerry? Is everything alright?”
“I’m afraid Alvin may be in trouble. Can I please speak to Mr. Washington?”
Jerry heard her saying, “John, it’s Alvin’s friend, Jerry. Alvin may be in trouble.”
Then, Alvin’s grandfather came on the line. “What’s going on?”
“I’m at the Academy, sir and the Klan has been seen on campus. In full robes and everything.”
“Oh, my Lord.”
“I saw them taking that Negro student, Harriet Jackson away, along with her professor, Barbara Moore. She’s white, but she’s on our side. And, I’m sorry to say this, but we can’t find Alvin and we think they may have him, too.”
“Alright, listen to me young man. Some of my friends and I have been expecting trouble and have been preparing for it. But Alvin took my truck, as you know, so I’m stuck out here.”
Jerry covered the phone and spoke to Windar. “Alvin has his truck and he has the keys. Can we go and pick him up in your car?” Windar nodded. Jerry turned back to the phone. “I’m with the Dean of the college here, Dean Windar. We’ll come and pick you up.”
“Good, I’ll call the members of the group and have them get ready. I’ve got my shotgun loaded.”
“OK, sir. We’ll be there as quick as we can.” He hung up.
“Before we go, let me make one more call,” Windar said. “An old Navy buddy and college friend, Jack Garfield, is an attorney with the Justice Department up in DC. Let’s see if he can send us some help. A few Federal Marshalls might put the fear of God in those Kluxers.”
Windar dialed the number and had a brief conversation, explaining the situation. Then, he hung up. “No promises, but he’ll see what he can do. Let’s get going.”
"Why aren't you wearing a white robe and hood?" Barb asks.
"I'm not part of the Klan" Tree replies. "I'm a longshoreman from Arkansas."
"I didn't know Arkansas needed longshoremen" Barb says.
"Usually they don't but sometimes other things need to be roped correctly" Tree says.
"Like me now?" Barb asks.
"It's nothing personal. They just want you hanged right" Tree says.
Arkansas is on the Mississippi River. The Blue State brides, all from up north, come in by barge and they need those guys to unload all the brides for delivery to the interior of that Red state. Up the Arkansas River, other longshoremen offload them at Tight Little Rock and on into the REAL Red counties.
"It ain't personal. It's just business."
Oh dear, it’s given me quite a fright
To learn that Tree’s to noose me tight
I didn’t know that he’s a fan
Of the dreaded Ku Klux Klan
His yellow hat atop a hood so white
Tree visited Arkansas many times in his younger days. The Arkansas River was not navigable until the the second half of the 1960s. Before then, blue state brides arrived in boxcars by train. Remember when the story takes place.Arkansas is on the Mississippi River. The Blue State brides, all from up north, come in by barge and they need those guys to unload all the brides for delivery to the interior of that Red state. Up the Arkansas River, other longshoremen offload them at Tight Little Rock and on into the REAL Red counties.
"It ain't personal. It's just business."
And yes, "It ain't personal. It's just business."
As I said 'they just want to hang you right'. I wouldn't want you to fall and hurt yourself before the noose... well, does its job!!!
twonines
LIMERICUS
Though not a leader of style,
Tree is obviously versatile.
When it comes to a noose,
He`s adept at its use
As you will find out in a while.
mark sessnatz
Tribune
He's a shoreman alright. But as for how "long" he is...Arkansas is on the Mississippi River. The Blue State brides, all from up north, come in by barge and they need those guys to unload all the brides for delivery to the interior of that Red state. Up the Arkansas River, other longshoremen offload them at Tight Little Rock and on into the REAL Red counties.
"It ain't personal. It's just business."