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Adventures in a Campervan in the Bible Belt

My adventurous resolve to tour that lovely area
Of the USA amusingly known as Jesusland
Was prompted by the classy Jerry Springer Show
And the sophisticated guests I have seen thereon:
Who can forget those KKK wizards and fierce rednecks
Fighting to preserve their ancestral way of life?
Not I! And how I have longed to visit the Old South
To see its colonial mansions and graceful towns,
Albeit preferably behind bullet-proof glass,
For safety's sake..

And so I started off my epoch-making trip
In my pink reinforced steel stretched Bentley campervan,
(fitted out with king-size bed and cocktail bar
the better to entertain any lovelies of whatever sex I might meet,
whether in a tasteful bar or hitching on a turnpike corner),
Accompanied by Big Butch Bill the Bastard,
My co-driver and well-armed security guard
(he slept in the trailer, since you dare to ask,
mainly because of his hideous bodily odours,
but also because I detest his piking sur moi*
when I am busy 'sur le job'**, so to speak).

Our first stop was lovely Lynchburg in Virginia,
A vibrant and modern city with a paltry
Eight gospel radio stations to its measly credit,
And venue of the not very liberal at all
Liberty University, where I was distressed
To find a tragic paucity of red light bars,
Thus obliging me to chat up a plump salesperson
From the local Wal-Mart whose charms were soon revealed
After generously free access to my onboard minibar.
Sadly our time together was abbreviated
When the redneck Sheriff opened fire on my vehicle
For a very minor traffic violation, killing several passers-by;

My new-found friend sadly took a dozen or more bullets
And is unlikely to resume the job on the checkout.
My valiant chauffeur drove us out of town tout vite***
And I consoled myself with a bottle of champagne (or two)
As we sped through the sawn-off mountains and coalmines
Of despoiled West Virginia en route to Kentucky,
Justly famed for its fried chickens and 'manly' military men.

O, have you e'er been to delightful Dawson Springs,
Home of the Imperial Klan of America?
What a truly elegant town it really is, yeeha.
And how fortunate I was to leave it alive,
After unwisely asking for a glass of wine
Instead of the normal bottle of bourbon in a downtown bar,
Where I had taken a rather nice young pick-up
Of my recent acquaintance for a pre-bed drink.
Sadly, only one us of made it back to the love-van,
And the rear window took a nasty peppering
From the barman's sawn-off pump action shotgun.

[BLAM!! There goes my no claim bonus on the campervan!]

Such was the depth of my sorely injured pride,
I was perhaps unable to appreciate
The immense urban beauty of Charlotte's suburbs,
That city of over seven hundred churches
And birth place of that soon-to-be-late immortal
The ever-so Reverend Dr Billy Graham.
Not only that, oh no, there is more to tell:
A brief dalliance with a dim drugstore server
Caused overmuch excitement and an anal accident
Which rather made a mess of the upholstery;
How is that tragedy dogs my every aventure erotique?****

Furthermore I have to admit that Tuskegee (AL)
Left me slightly cold, despite its place in history
As the location of the famous syphilis tests,
In which caring sharing local experimenters
Denied penicillin to infected local guinea pigs
For over twenty years in order to ascertain
That absence of treatment led to their death.
And the absence of a decent restaurant
Obliged me to go on a diet for yet another day.

Our next overnight stop was Mobile on the Gulf
And here the hookers were as generous
With their favours as I was with my dollars,
And I found a new and highly erotic way
To eat a giant-size Mississippi Mud Pie,
Thanks to the initiative of a trannie in a bar.
But again my intrepid driver and my humble self
Had to flee the city under police gunfire,
And just because I enquired all in innocence
Where the site of the last American lynching
Might be found, so I could take a selfie or two
To show the Old Folks back at home in England.

All good things must come to an end, it is said;
And my ground-breaking trip through the Deep South
Came to a fitting end in old New Orleans
Where I managed to get myself a bit of French,
And learned the steamy secrets of the Cajun Kiss
From a talented young actor/actress (I forget which)
Who could have removed your tonsils with one sensuous suck.
Oy vay already! I shall never forget the smell of the sewers
In Basin Street, no wonder people got the blues.

* This is French.
** So is this
*** This one too
**** Yet more French.
PS I like a bit of French, doesn't everyone?

Style / type: 
Free verse
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Last few words: 
As you may imagine, my lovely campervan took a bit of a pasting on this trip, what with law enforcement officers' bullets, the pukings (and worse) of my many overnight guests, not to mention the stones and arrows of outrageous fortune. Never mind, win some, lose some. The cost was well worth it for the frank photos I took to console me in my old age.
Editing stage: 


to see one from another country, taking such an interest in our great heritage! I do suppose that your
touching attitude is mostly because of the genteel upbringing you have received in "Merry" Old England? Or is it "Great" Britain or "United" Kingdom? ~ Geezer.

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The "Great" in Great Britain does not refer to the same type of miltary/economic/chauvinistic "greatness" to which your loathsome president aspires; it merely refers to the collection of islands which are form GB. "United" refers to the Act of Union which politically united England and Scotland in (if I recall) 1707. As a matter of immense interest, the Isle of Man and the Channel Islands are part of Great Britain in as much as they are British, but they are not a patt of the UK and thus are not in the EU.

If the loudmouth arsehole Boris and the repulsive Tories are elected on 12 December, you can watch the great and the united start to head towards the Brexit plughole en route to the sewer of conservatism.

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a never Trumper. I despise the man as much anyone. The only thing that could be described as great about him, [a dubious honor, to say the least], is that he could very well be the Greatest Liar and Con of all time. Always very confusing to try and put a name to England, because you don't know what to include or exclude, unless of course, you happen to be English.

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Yes, Trump is a piece of shit.

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I am delighted to have you as a fan!

And yes, there were some VERY nasty stains which needed a good polish to get rid of them.

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I doubt it!
invariably, if I'm on this pewter thing I've been at the whisky and prone to get the hump::


Having a hump = GOOD
Getting the hump = BAD

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