^{October 22, 2023}

^{A note, scrawled in blood, found in the spare tire well in an abandoned car alongside a bayou. It has been transcribed here with no corrections related to common usage of the English language.}

^{My name is Earl Bubba Wilson. If your [sic] reading this, I am already a dead man. I suspect something was put in my beans and colored [sic] greens. Tell the police to look into my wife, Wanda, her uppity friend, Mary Ann, and a bunch of other dixie chicks who give woman [sic] a bad name. My body is probally [sic] at the bottom of one of these gator-infested lakes around here.}

^{I never hit Wanda. That was bull from the beginning. Wanda is such a clutz [sic] she could hit water if she didn't fall outta [sic] a boat. I have no idear [sic] how she got those bruises. Besides, ain't a man a-lowed [sic] to show his wife who is boss.}

^{I was framed, but no constraining [sic] order was gonna [sic] keep me out of my own home. Divorce! Shit, that mean nothing.}

^{Anyway, that's mostly irreverent [sic] if you have found this note. At the moment, I am lieing [sic] in the trunk of my own Chevy Nova, writing this note with my tire gage [sic] dipped in my own blood. The car is moving pretty fast so I pologize [sic] for the handwriting. I am still mostly wrapped in a tarp that I used to cover my own damn boat (which I stupidly called "Wanda Lust").}

^{I am sure Mary Ann, and these other witches that go by something like Nat, Emy, and Martini, are behind all of this. They all swooped into town after the police came when I went back to my rightful home. They sat in Mary Ann's mama's trailer all night long, playing dueling banjos, drinking wine, and cackling. I member [sic] one of them howling, "damn, this could be a song."}

^{I just know that no-one needs to be saying "goodbye Earl." I will come back and haunt them one on one, each one a "goodbye girl," until there are no more girls to say goodbye too [sic]. I think I will start with them three chicks that didn't need to fly into town. Mary Ann and Wanda still hang out around town, selling crap alongside the road. And they had the autocity [sic] to call me redneck! The police can get right to them.}

^{No, it's those other three. Stupid local police probably won't even suspect them, let alone pin the rap on them. They tend to be a little too big for their britches, hanging around with them big-wig celebrities, thinking one of them could pretend to be me. Hah. One of them chicks got a big mouth. I doubt it takes much to set her off.}

^{All I need to do is to get that one to talk. She'll open that yap real nice and encrimnate [sic] herself. Suddenly she will be a leper, even if she is living out there in Hollywood, Californie [sic]. You can take the Dixie out of that chick, but you can't take that chick out of Dixie. She'll be a missing person none of the locals will miss at all.}

^{Maybe I'll call my good buddy, George. He owes me one for that time I covered for him during that fight at the local honky-tonk. He's my weapon of mass destruction.}

The Dixie Chicks. "Goodbye Earl." Fly. 1999. Link here.

Day 292: Pretenders "Jealous Dogs"

Day 294: Bad Company "Bad Company"

Unfinished list here.