Pins, John. And the Proverbial Hatchet.

I will be making several rude remarks about people in charge so any snowflakes most assuredly aren’t on here but I warn. I thought that I’d wax poetically about my time in Fremont, Nebraska. It’s been lovely, it truly has. It isn’t y’all’s fault that this is the most corrupt county in the most corrupt state in our corrupt nation.

I’m just someone caught in one of Boss Hogg, Enos and Roscoe P Coltrane’s traps and they won’t let me escape the county for medical treatment. I know that my Dorothy dress is scandalous around here but it has become my own, personal Daisy Duke’s. Y’all understand. I ain’t never ho’ed not that there’s anything wrong with that. I mean I am sure that if I could see you clearly, I would’ve found you fuckable. I just ain’t the kind. I know. I know. It’s confusing. You don’t know how to hate me, fuck me, kill me, control me, whatever in a seemingly defensible way.

It’s a real conundrum so you fall back on the laws, policies and procedures that were designed specifically to control and subjugate all in Dodge County, especially the White people who were born here. Subhanatallah. You use your discretion to not serve and protect the people of Dodge County but solely the government and wealthy outsiders. Kind of un American, don’t ya think? Kind of corrupt? Kind of Hazard County?

I’m that Muslim dog dressed like a ho who doesn’t do any ho’ing outside of marriage; I have to take CBD to live; I’ve been publicly intoxicated and proved it by giving ‘illegal patches’ to medical staff, paramedics, officers, etc. I wanted everyone to know. No secrets.

I tried to save White, Christian girls who weren’t even mine from prostitution. I love Jewish people. We don’t all support the Israeli genocide of Palestinians and others. Nor do we our recent American genocide against all, especially Americans. Sorry but not. America is my motherland and Americans my people. I will fight anyone to rightfully defend them all to the death.

I was a Christian and daddy was a Catholic. I have strong US military roots and ties. Revolutionary War, Confederacy, WWII grandfathers, a Purple Heart Marine Daddy from Vietnam. I know. It’s gotta hurt. I’m sorry.

I know. Bone spurs and glandular condition. It’s okay. We aren’t all made of the right stuff. I know that we say that family serves too but I am always and will forever be the home front, especially for you War on Terror boys. Y’all are simply adorable, amazing and the bees’ knees. You truly are. You know it too.

I want to pinch all of your cheeks like the Nam boys tried to stop themselves from doing to me. Those boys were so happy to be home even in the 80’s and showed it. Love ya, boys!

I’m a Detroiter who understands farming and rural life better than most born in Omaha. I have ridden a tractor. I can garden, can and preserve just fine. I’m a good scratch and international cook. I understand the slaughter of farm animals and hunting. I know. Just breathe and crank the a/c up for a spell to help with your breathing. Call 911 if you need them, that’s what they’re there for.

Those boys wish they could help me. I’ve seen it in their eyes. Love y’all. Y’all are cutie pies too. So many fine looking White boys in Nebraska who were raised right, Mashallah. You are making our people proud with your lack of hate, all of our peoples. Mashallah you’re making me proud. Mwah!

Okay. I’m just currently not able to take a life yet. That’s my hang up. I keep hoping that one day I could get up the nerve to hunt or even shoot a tin can, y’all. I know. I’m a sissy city girl like that. I’m not a vegetarian or nothing. Just no more pork, please. I get it but I’m just different. Bless my heart.

I understand the projects and the ghetto intimately too. I waved at the pimps, prostitutes and gang bangers. They’d smile and wave hey back. I’ve had a random homeless man change his socks in my vestibule at 3am. The Golden Rule applies to everyone. Respect, dawg. You get what you give.

Thank you to the officer who kept asking for translations for ghetto slang from me and other officers. You are beautiful bridge builders like all good officers, Mashallah.

I’m a Yankee but I lived, loved and was loved in Candler County, Georgia. I understand that I don’t mention my last name and religion unless asked. Many of all races knew and didn’t care. Don’t ask don’t tell, in general. I’m a wild Yankee they kind of liking so it’s acceptable that I tell when asked. They’re respectful down there. They got Southern manners and hospitality just like Jelly Roll, dawg.

I’ve even had presumed Klan in my house, y’all. They are like an FBI agent in that their affiliation is only revealed on a need to know basis and you don’t need to know. Ever. Daddy was drunk and a racist Yankee Catholic. He was telling him that the Southern Black folk, you know the word he actually used though. They aren’t as uppity as the Yankee ones. If you were a Yankee, you’d kiss these Southern Black folks on the lips. They so good.

I wanted to die laughing considering I’ve been married to African men and have certainly kissed them on their uppity lips in front of Daddy. That presumed Klansman looked like he wanted to both kill and vomit at the same time. He thought that he was safe with a US and Confederate flag proudly displayed by a Marine but he was mistaken. He couldn’t wait to leave. I kept my mouth shut. I was just his daughter Miss Darcy with the acquired Candler County twang.

Each twanging is slightly different from place to place and even within families. We argue like crazy about it and everything else. We family, okay? Family fusses and feuds but we love each other, even the bless their hearts.

I have been called a cracker and a nigger in the same year in Detroit. I just laugh and tan their hide for being ignorant unless it’s a compliment then I thank them for the honor. It doesn’t matter what you call me. We’re family and I love ya. Let’s get to the making up and peace part of this tragedy already.

I know so many first responders who have drooled over my cooking. I’m sure that they’d love to have some of it too. I’d love to cook for them. I am the home front, y’all. I love me some fine looking service members who aren’t hanging their heads in shame over unjust orders. I cry for y’all too. Thank you.

I hope that smarter heads prevail and our community can beam with pride for our hard work, dedication and perseverance in the face of great tragedy by coming together for the greater good. It is what Jesus would do.

It’ll be okay. I know that it’s scary and that change is scary. We can do it together. I’ll help because I love you and care about you too. I’m not so bad or scary. I’m a Detroiter. A Midwesterner. A believer in God and Jesus Christ, we just differ slightly in certain ways. I’m White too. We’ve got a lot more in common than you think.

Let me get medical care and tell me your favorite food. I will do my best to make it for you even if it contains pork or organ meat. I understand that others like them but I prefer not and have serious trouble ingesting. I know. It’s me. I’ve tried and believe in using all of the animal and not wasting food but I just can’t. Daddy understood. Basha or Bousha, his Polish grandmother made duck blood soup with a live duck. He just couldn’t stomach it. He understood.

In Arab culture the eyes are given to honored guests. Thankfully they understood that I don’t like them nor the massive amounts of fatty meat they happily gave me to honor me as well. ‘Oh, you’re American’ was the first phrase immigrants learned to say to me. Followed by ‘I understand’ with a sad face. That’s okay. They loved my cooking.

It’s almost fall, y’all. Let’s bury the proverbial hatchet and get to feasting. It’s the American way and we’re all Americans around here on American soil. Because

Every life matters, especially yours.

God bless Nebraska and especially Her people.