Defending the Honor of Confederate-Americans Everywhere

As you may recall, I've been corresponding with a San Francisco hippy poet who is pretending to be Confederate-American. I challenged him to a fight in my last email. Here's his response and my reply.

Date: Mon, 17 Jan 2011 11:13:37 -0800 (PST)
From: "George William \(Bill\) Newport" gwnewport2@yahoo.com
Subject: burn a confederate flag
To: "Gen. JC Christian, patriot"

I was there,
the Confederate Memorial,
Caroll County Courthouse,
Carollton Mississippi,
1200 pm,
01 January 2011,
I arrive at zero six hundred hours 01 January 2011,
I stay until sixteen hundred hours 01 January 2011,
no one there knew of any asshole using the e mail address,
no one there ever heard of the Cornfed lack of Intelligence Bureau
obviously a fake name you lurk behind,
nice small town,
do not bother these people they are way nicer then you are,
or can be,
I did not expect your homosexual ass to show up,
and you did not disappoint me,
this would have required you to be a real man,
use spell check asshole you cannot spell worth a shit
G

Dear Mr. Newport,

I suspect you're not being truthful. How is it that we both spend our New Years Day at the Confederate memorial on the grounds of the Caroll County(Mississippi)Courthouse and fail to run into each other? I mean, my Lord, no one was there--it was New Years Day.

Wait, there was that odd-looking guy who wore a big, flowered, Hawaiian muʻumuʻu and a Dolly Parton wig and was packing a .50 cal Desert Eagle. I didn't want to bother him because he was, uhh, doing things--you know, wonderfully special and very personal spelunking things--with his gun.

I thought he looked and acted too much like a true patriot to be you. Was I wrong? Were you in disguise?

Heterosexually yours,

Gen. JC Christian, patriot

p.s. You're right about the town. Carollton, MS is a truly Confederate kind of place. I chose it because more businesses from that county advertise in the White Citizens Council's Council of Conservative Citizens' newsletter than from anywhere else.

Me and the Poet Down at the Confederate Memorial

That San Francisco hippy poet who pretends to be a proud Confederate-American sent me another one of those poems of his that don't rhyme:

Date: Mon, 27 Dec 2010 05:21:50 -0800 (PST)
From: "George William \(Bill\) Newport" gwnewport2@yahoo.com
Subject: burn a confederate flag
To: "Gen. JC Christian, patriot"

You need to quit running your bullshit generator wide ass open,
and quit shoveling pig shit into it,
I am not pretending to be a Confederate man you worthless piece of shit,
I am a Confederate man,
totally unlike you,
asshole,
the bunch of lying shit you made up shows what a totally ignorant psycho you are,
you retard,
you are not at all hard to fool,
I will be perfectly happy to drive out there,
give me a time and a place,
you pool of shit-scum,
quit trying to align yourself with our valiant Confederacy to make your elephant dick sucking ass look better,
tye-dyed is spelled tie-dyed,
try spell-check dumb-fuck,
there is nothing at all intelligent about your CIB,
you are not heterosexual you are homosexual,
I will be perfectly happy to shove your righteous rogering up your ass sideways and pull it out your nose
G

Here's my response.

Dear Mr. Newport,

You're not fooling anyone. My associates at the Confederate Intelligence Bureau (CIB) analyzed your poetry and concluded that it was written by a leftislamunistofascist hippy from San Francisco (or possibly even Berkeley). I planted the "tye-dyed" part in my e-mail as a trap to trip you up. It's the kind of spelling correction a San Francisco hippy wouldn't pass up, and you didn't.

I've taken your case to my superiors at the CIB and to certain anonymous potential justices of CSA Constitutional Court. They've ordered you to be sanctioned with extreme prejudice for impersonating an honored son of our dear Confederacy. In everyday terms, that means we're going to whoop your ass, and I've been honored with the contract.

You are hereby ordered to appear at the Confederate Memorial at the Caroll County Courthouse in Carollton, Misssissippi at 12:00 p.m. on the First day of January in the Year of Our Lord, 2011.

At that time and place I shall begin executing your sentence by pulling down your pants and taunting you. No, better yet, I will pull down my pants and taunt you. Then, I'll paint my ass a Soviet shade of red before manipulating my butt cheeks in a way that makes them appear to be delivering off-colored jokes about sailors. I'll probably also make you watch me pleasure myself much in the same way Gen. Nathan Bedford Forrest forced his naughtiest goats to witness what he called his "muzzle loading."

Finally after all that, I'm going to beat you like Jefferson Davis beat his most loyal and favored pieces of property when one of them spilled his julip.

That is if you're man enough to show up.

Heterosexually yours,

Gen. JC Christian, patriot

I am not a Northern Lady Part!

I received this email from someone claiming to be a fellow Confederate-American. I respond, below.



Dear Mr. Newport,

How dare you pretend to be a Confederate man, you ignorant pool of hog santorum. If you knew anything about our dear Confederacy, you'd have guessed the truth about my Burn the Confederate Flag Day operation. It was a covert op I ran for the Confederate Intelligence Bureau (CIB), an organization created in 2004 by the Constitutional Court of the Confederate States of America (Occupied). I was simply collecting intel for use on the The Great and Glorious Day of The Righteous Rogering.

Did you really think you could fool me? Your email bears all the marks of something written by a San Francisco hippy. I mean, my God, you wrote me a poem, and not just any kind of poem, but one of those filthy beatnik poems that don't rhyme and include whole stanzas that simply repeat the word "motherfucker" over and over gain. I had to rent bongos just to read the God damned thing.

Well, I'm telling you, poetry boy. You can stop dragging yourself through the negro streets at dawn, looking for an angry hick, because, by God, you found him, and he's hankering to kick your tye-dyed, clove-cigarette-smoking, birthday-party-stationary-using ass.

The truth is you don't have the right stuff to be a real Confederate, and you know it. That's why you're so angry. You know that you'll never be invited to our secret man-sword crossing parties, a sacred tradition we've been practicing since Stonewall Jackson and Robert E. Lee first drunkenly struck their man-swords together at a party in Fredericksburg.

It's just something we don't share with secularist hippies.

Heterosexually yours,

Gen, JC Christian, patriot

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