Well, of course, this actually happened. In the reconstruction days of the South it got to be pretty serious when the carpet-baggers came down and started running the whole show down here. And things were especially rough up in the state of Arkansas when it was very seriously proposed to change the name of the state. And this is taken down on the Legislative rolls which can now be found, I think, under the date of July the twenty-third, 1867. And this is what the hometown boy had to say. I think first he, he pulled out his horse-pistol and laid it across his desk so he wouldn't be interrupted.
Mr Speaker, god-damn your soul, for more than thirty minutes I've been trying to get your attention but every time I caught your eye you squirmed like a damn dog with a flea in his ass.
I guess you know who I am Sir. My name is Cassius M. Johnson from Jackson County, Arkansas where a man can't stick his ass out the window and shit without it getting riddled with bullets. Why Sir, I was fourteen years old before I had my first pair of pants and they was of buckskin. But at the age of seventeen Mr Speaker, I had a jock on me the size of a ????????? and it was the pride of Jackson County. And you propose to change the name of Arkansas. Never, by God Sir, never!
I'm out of order? How can I be out of order when I can piss clear across the Mississippi River?
Where was Andrew Jackson when the battle of New Orleans was fought? He was right thar Sir, up to his ass in blood. And you change the name of Arkansas? Never, when I can defend her.
You may shit on the grave of George Washington. Piss on the monument of Thomas Jefferson. You may desecrate the sacred remains of the immortal General Robert E. Lee. You may rape the Goddess of Liberty and wipe your ass on the Stars and Stripes. And your crime, your crime Sir will no more compare to this hellish design than the glow of a lighting bugs ass to the glare of the noon days sun. And you propose to change the name of Arkansas. Never, by God Sir, never!
You may compare the lily of the valley to the glorious sunflower. Or the sun-kissed peaks of the highest mountains to the smokin' turd of a dunghill. Or the classic strains of Mozart to the fart of a Mexican burrow. You may compare the puny penis of a Peruvian prince to the ponderous buttocks of the Roman gladiator. But change the name of Arkansas? Never, by God Sir, never!