A Letter from a Plantation Owner – by Anony Mouse

A Letter from a Plantation Owner – by Anony Mouse

While restoring a very old building in the South, used for a time as a post office, the following letter to the editor of the Picayune Post-Gazeteer was found under the floorboards….

Dear Sirs;

It has come to my attention that we, the fine upstanding plantation owners of the region, may be unknowingly harboring an Insidious and Malignant Evil, poised to destroy everything we hold dear. I speak, of course, of the seemingly innocuous Ornament oft found in the grounds and near the front stoops of many a fine house, the Lawn Jockey. “Tis but a harmless statue,” I hear you say, and indeed so it seems! But I have been informed that this same Statue is used to communicate secretly with the dastardly criminals commonly known as the Underground Railroad.

Using these Statues and certain signs placed thereon to communicate the safety of approaching a house in vile conspiracy with this so-called Railroad, the criminals, under cover of night, beguile our slaves with such tawdry superstitions as “freedom” and “humanity”, tempting even an obedient slave into discarding their master’s lifetime investment and care and instead, running off to distant and uncivilized lands (such as Canada).

The danger is imminent, and it is real! We must ban the display and manufacture of these violence-inducing lawn ornaments, used to incite rebellion and communicate the plans of thieves—and if that does not suffice to stop the plague of escaping slaves, the next step can only be the banning of any foolhardy enough to own such devices of insurrection and conspiracy. Do not listen to the naysayers that claim these rogues are only an idea, incapable of actual destruction! It has been well documented one of the so-called “Conductors” of this Railroad of Doom is a Female of the name of Tubman, who is widely reported to carry a firearm everywhere she goes. It is only a matter of time before she injures or even kills some innocent slaveholder!

I remain, Sirs,

your most Obedient Servant,

Beauregard Aloysius O’Blivion

38 thoughts on “A Letter from a Plantation Owner – by Anony Mouse

      1. The Gangsta Gnomes and Trailer Park Elves have a low-level guerrilla war that’s been going on for a loooong time… 😛

    1. I wonder if he’s related to Father Bivian O’Blivion? 😀

      Father Bivian O’Blivion
      Respendent in his frock
      Was mixing up the batter
      For the pancakes of his flock…

      1. Did Father Vivian have a brother named Bivian?
        (weird thing is, I can’t recall the song and thought to myself “I thought it was Vivian?)
        Strange happenings down at St. Alfonzo’s

        1. You know, I couldn’t really tell. Frank’s enunciation is not always as clear as it might be. I just looked up the lyrics and they do say ‘Vivian’ but I heard it long before ever seeing them. Don’t get started about that naughty Leprechaun, though…

          I did get the third line wrong, it’s ‘Was whipping up the batter’, this is Frank Zappa after all.

  1. Since it looks like we may need the equivalent of an underground railroad, we need some similar symbol… Or maybe just the flag will do. Most of the left abhors it. Or is the flag too obvious?

    1. Perhaps waffle irons? Another blogger is using the Pineland flag for similar purposes, but Krasnovia should get a shout-out.

  2. i gather that in parts of the Midwest and possibly PA, women putt out patchwork quilts in specific paatterns to identify stops on the Railway.

  3. Sadly, the satirical point is going to fly right over the pointed heads of the people who most need to hear it.

  4. I suspect that letter of being a forgery placed by some nefarious Lawn Gnome, in order to defame the noble Lawn Jockeys and thus get those obstacles to the Lawn Gnome Gangs removed.

    Fortunately, the International Lord Of Hate is getting out the truth about those Eeevul Lawn Gnomes. Read! Believe!
    My grandpa voted Republican until the day he died — but he’s been voting Democrat ever since.

      1. my great uncle once paid some kids who were swimming by his house (his house was along the Escanaba river next to a bridge across it), to swim across the river, to the house with the “tacky things” and move all the plastic flamingos so from his house they hiden were behind trees, and the flamingo home-owners never noticed the move for months.
        Come fall, they pulled the birds up, ran a sweeper and then put the birds back into their old places where he saw them again. Before he could figure out some other move, he left for a trip and when he returned the blight had been put up for the winter. Next summer he was plotting again when the house sold, and the birds moved away. Not long after he too moved.

        1. When I was a kid, we went on a week-long Christmas visit to my grandmother in Nashville. When we came back, my aunt had incited HER entire family to come to our yard and…improve…it. Flamingos with wreaths around their necks, a spray-painted white tire filled with bouquets of plastic flowers, tinsel garland EVERYwhere. (Being six years old, I was particularly enamored of the Christmas bells made of halved gallon jugs with a ball ornament hung inside.)

          My mother COULD take a joke and tended to take it in odd directions. The next year, we teamed up with my aunt and hit our preacher’s yard. The year after that, we got together with the aunt, the preacher, and all assorted spouses and kids and marched on my English teacher’s yard.

          Et cetera.

          1. for some time, there was a “gift” for when one turned 40 in the family. When Dad hit the momentous occasion it showed up to their house in Memphis, in a box, via UPS.
            It was a buck’s head, mounted by someone, and when Dad got it the antlers were covered in foil, had various ornaments hanging from it, lipstick, and glitter.
            a few changes were made and he sent it along to the next relative who hit the “Big Four Oh”

  5. Two weeks after the largely bloodless takeover, the streets of the capital are still filled with troops but empty of civilians. Government buildings are newly surrounded by semi-permanent barriers, and armed guards frisk all who attempt to enter. The new Maximum Leader issues flurries of proclamations from his bunker but is rarely seen in public. His minions prepare new laws to suspend previously sacrosanct constitutional rights, suppress dissent, and nationalize any remaining wealth that they do not already control. News media, celebrities, and key businessmen sing the praises of the Maximum Leader with one voice, despite the unspoken assumption that he will soon be replaced by a junior member of his own faction. They heap scorn on his predecessor and the faction that supported him. The show trial for the Maximum Leader’s predecessor has already been scheduled.

    Unseen, unacknowledged, the Founding Fathers weep.

    1. I’m so old I remember when putting barriers around one courthouse, the burning of which was attempted nightly, was not protection against an insurrection but fascist suppression of the right of protest.

  6. Hah-Ha! Squire O’Blivion was obviously victim of a delusion. It is well known to all who have studied the prophecies of QueueAnon, the mad linesman, that these “lawn jockeys” are advance scouts deployed here by the Arcturans, envoys f the Great Old Ones, sent here to prepare the way for the return of their masters. Seemingly motionless they , observing all who pass by, tracking their movements so that come the day of their uprising all shall helpless before their lords and as it was so shall it again be.

    1. Seemingly motionless they , observing all who pass by, tracking their movements…

      Gargoyles of the Ground. (Not the same as gargoyles that have been ground.)

      1. It’s also hate speech. And the GreT Old Ones will return when the stars are right; the way has been prepared for a millennia.

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