The Crazy Rants of Samantha Burns

Dave from The Waterglass wrote this tale in the comment section of my recent article, The Gangs of New Orleans, but really it deserves to be front page news. In the article, I had a little fun commenting on the ever-so-tough transvestite theft gang in New Orleans.

This is Dave D's response.

"Y'know, that's not that funny. Brings back memories of living in The Big Easy...

There I was, walking back from a 27-hour shift working for The Man, with my $1.98 monthly paycheck jingling softly in my jeans pocket. Times were tough then, and half the pennies would fall out of the holes in my pants if I wasn't careful or if the duct tape peeled off. Anyway, there I was, dog-tired and walking home at 2:30 AM, and when I looked up from the broken sidewalk, I was surrounded by 'em. Five o'clock shadow, Adam's apples, Revlon Peach Delight lipstick, and velour track suits an Italian housewife would run over an old lady for at Filene's. They were terrifying. The ringleader's bright red wig seemed to glow like Hell's own fire in the streetlights' glare, and when he/she smiled, I saw dentition so horrible that I will carry that image to my mausoleum.

'Gimme whatcha got, sugar, 'fore we take it and more,' she/he said, in a deep, gravelly voice that squeaked on the high notes like James Earl Jones being rogered by a desert cactus.

Hands shaking, I fumbled with my pockets, trying to gather up the nickels and pennies in a quick and non-threatening manner. I heard the ever-deafening 'click' of a switchblade opening behind me, and I knew that no matter what I gave 'em, I was still a dead man. These trannies were out for blood.

Grinning from ear to ear, the leader reached out for the money, his/her crimson Lee press-on nails gleaming dully like the talons of a fearsome street raptor. At the last moment, I flung my hands up, change flying everywhere. While they scrambled to pick up the precious nickels and pennies amidst the busted crack vials in the gutter, I ran away in the confusion.

Thank God my worn-out Keds could beat high heels in a street race, or I wouldn't be here now.

Yup."

Thanks Dave D for informing us on the gravity of the situation. My humblest apologies ;-D