With all due respect to MLK, but . . .

"...I say to you today, my friends, that in spite of the difficulties and frustrations of the moment, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the Troutslayer dream.

I have a dream that one day this household will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self evident: that the one thing that would make this even better would be a good blow job and a well-cooked meal."

I have a dream that one day in the hills of Taney County the sons and daughters of Willow, Kiltboy, Bumperboy, Whitesox, Midgetlover and the sons of the Taney Virgin will sit together at the table of bruthahood, and scarf down mountains of great vittles with a kickass beer.

I have a dream that one day even in the midst of the Beavergeddon, a desert place sweltering with the heat of estrogen and progesterone, it will be transformed into an oasis of marital bliss and post-coital napping.

I have a dream that my own children will on day live in a nation where they will not be judged by their tackle, but by the content of their live wells.

I have a dream today.

I have a dream that one day in the household of the high priestess of the Beavergeddon, whose lips are presently dripping with the juices of the red tide and the spoink of Summer's Eve, will be transformed into a situation where the Ozark Joe would give the high priestess a Donkey Punch.

I have a dream today.

I have a dream that one day every fishing rod will be bent, every trout chew consumed, every bottle of Beam be emptied, every Gloria Cubana be lit, every stringer filled and the glory of the Troutslayer will be revealed and all flesh shall see it together, standing naked in the sun.

This is our hope. This is the faith with which I return to Taney County. With this faith we will be able to hew from the mountain of whininess and bitching, a cellar for pizza and pitchers of Grain Belt. With this faith we will be able to transform the jangling discords of the rugrats a beautitful symphony of a mongoloid with a cowbell. With this faith, we will be able to ride together, to laugh together, to tie lines together, to snore together, to get drunk together, knowing that we will be free one day.

This will be the day when all God's children will be able to sing with a new meaning, "What d'ya want? I want Food and Pussy. How come? It's just the way God made me."

And if Taney County is to become a great destination for the true Taneytime, this must become true, so suck that mofugga from the Bass Pro in Counciltucky! So suck that mofugga from the driveway at Wickerland Ranch!

So suck that mofugga from the boat corral at the Bassmaster's Swap Meet!

So suck that mofugga from a glass of chunky milk at the Fox and Turtlehead!

So suck that mofugga from the thong wearing co-eds at the Pizza Cellar!

So suck that mofugga from the dock at Ozark Beach!

Suck that mofugga from every hill and molehill of Taney County. From every mountainside, just suck that mofugga.

When we suck that mofugga, when we suck it from every village and hamlet from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up to that day when all Troutslayers, midget lovers, kilt wearers, pig fuckers, big gay guys, skinny guys with slippyfists and those virgins yet to be initiated will be able to join hands and sing in the words of that old Zappa spiritual, "Fuck me! you ugly son of a biiiiitch (you ugly son of a bitch.)"


There. I said it.