The last time I posted I told you all about evacuating from Hurricane Katrina into the "very kind" arms of the relatives of Jerry Lee Lewis in Ferriday, Louisiana. Scratch that. Here I use the term "psychotic" in its most perjorative usage. Those people were psychotic! First the sister of Jerry Lee Lewis named Frankee must have an undiagnosed mental illness of some sort. I almost felt sorry for her--- well not anymore. I'll explain in a bit, but the woman LOVES drama. She is also currently violating several laws at her drive-in liquor store. For one she "pays" all of her employees under the table in the form of alchohol, cigarettes and 25-40 bucks a week. This is for seven-twelve hour shifts a week! She runs off her employees one day in fits of rage and then wonders when they are coming back to work the next day. She chased one employee off swinging a shotgun at him. I'm thinking she suffers of some kind of mania because she is always doing something --- stuff that isn't even productive. She talks real fast and jumps from one topic to the next all of the time. And she buys oxycontin from Ferriday's only drag queen, Amos. But this is just the tip of the iceberg. Turns out her daughter and all of her employees are on crack--- except the one who is Jimmy Swaggart's nephew. He is almost normal but he's completely co-dependent on Frankee's daughter Marrianne, the crack addict,who beats Darryly silly every time she is jonesing for crack or is high on it... which is all of the time. The place me and my partner were put up turns out to be a crack house with dealers and buyers going in all of the time. They even tried selling us crack!

One night while walking back to the crackhouse I got jumped by a gang of black teenagers... they didn't do any harm, they didn't rob me they just stunned me. They did it because I was white. All of the time I have lived in New Orleans, supposivedly America's most violent city I have never been jumped by black teenagers because I was white... but then I never stayed in a crackhouse either.

I could tell stories about those people for days. Frankee, in one of her spontaneous fits of rage threw Lee and I out of the crackhouse. So we aren't there now (thank god--- I just knew one of those crack addicts would have killed us if we didn't eventually give them money to cover their crack debts).

All of the time I lived in New Orleans I NEVER saw anyone smoke crack but I did in this rural small town in Louisiana... I guess if you live long enough...