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Lady Potamus' Tea Room
Friday, June 27, 2003  

Ah, I remember Strom. Say what you will, but to me, he will never be just "that segregationist presidential candidate and racist fuckwit." Oh, he was that, too, but he was also so much more.

To me, Strom will always be that nervous, soft spoken, stuttering Southern lad who sent me a letter asking me to be his prom date. He had seen a picture of me in a local paper and wrote me a letter asking me to accompany him to the prom because "I was the whitest white girl he had ever seen." Well, it was a newsprint drawing and I was dealing with consumption at the time, but it would have taken too long to explain this to him, so I agreed.

It was the first time I had ever been to a prom in the United States before. I had imaged a band and dancing couples, but it turns out that a prom in Strom's town meant 14 lads in white hoods and one girl, that being me. Well, far from a night of dancing, I was treated to something called the "South will rise again and again shis-ka-bob," not that I objected, mind you.

Perhaps the repeal of the sodomy law did have something to do with older Strom's passing, but young Strom certainly didn't have any problem with it. In fact, I would say he gave as good as he got - but I suppose he had to, seeing as I was the only lady and he was th most "fey" of the other participants.

Anyhow, everything was going swimmingly until, at a moment of passion, I cried out, 'Strom, you make love like a Chinaman!' Well, the atmosphere turned postively icey and the next thing I knew, I was back on the stage coach for Kitchener without so much as a "how dee do."

Alas, I mourn his passing. In his memory, I will make love to a Chinaman tonight. Perhaps two.

(Written at YesAnd.com, but worth a looksie here, too)

6:00 PM

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