Last Friday, I woke up in a pool of my own saliva—when I fall unconscious, into a sleep so involuntary I just fall right off, I tend to drool (like a dog). That was what awakened me, in fact—the whole bottom of my lower lip, right down to my chin, was wet (soaked). I sat up and dried my mouth with my sleeves and discovered I had left a large wet spot on the carpet—one of those industrial strength carpets with a very thick weave (and very dark grey in this case) that are used in offices or in libraries…which was no surprise because I was, as it turns out, in a library. It took a moment or two to orientate myself, but after I staggered around for a bit I found that I was in the Thomas Cooper Library at the University of North Carolina, Chapel Hill…
It was very early in the morning and, apparently, the staff hadn’t noticed me (I had awoken in a large semi-alcove somewhat off the library’s main drag)…so I staggered out the door (dawn was just breaking, since the library has special night opening times in exam season) and wandered about a bit…the air was typically American, somewhat sweet with an underlying industrial tang—the smell of petroleum (and thick as an Entenmann’s chocolate cake—as usual, you could practically cut it; and this is the South, after all—things are “thicker” here, so they say).
It was at about this time that I checked my wallet and found, to my surprise, that I’m married with three children (to judge by the photos)—and I also found an old receipt with my address, which is how I ended up at home. Which is where I am now—but, please, don’t be confused, I’m not in your America, I’m in the Confederate States of America. And it’s not 2023 here but rather 2004—in fact, I’ve just had an ADSL line laid on, Uncle Peter installed it for me (he’s one of our handier house negroes)…
In fact, I’m sitting here watching the soccer mammies take their charges to practice right now—it happens as regular as clockwork. “Now you just stahp your hollerin’!” (the sound carries from the open SUV windows). As you can see from the above video, life is somewhat…different in the CSA in 2004 (you should see the “house servant” section on eBay—it’s quite something, enough to give your progressives out there in 2023 regular conniptions)…
I’ve hooked in via a rather special VPN, it has a drop-down to connect to the “nth dimension” server (you have to scroll right down to the bottom to find it, way beyond “Netherlands”; most people can’t be bothered…)—that’s how I can still use Twitter, or “X” as you call it there (of course, it hasn’t been invented here yet—but if they do invent it, I’ll be sure to get in on the ground floor).
Well, I’m going to watch President Raphael Beauregard (III) give an address to a joint session of Congress this evening…he entertained the Prime Minister at Monticello this morning…apparently it’s all about how the Crusade in Mesopotamia is proceeding…it seems that a joint Anglo-American expeditionary force landed at Basra a few months ago and is now fighting its way up the Tigris…It’s all the talk of the campus and I understand there has been a rash of marriages as young beaux leave their belles and enlist in the army…the recruitment office has a long line outside it every day…all watched over by a statue of General Lee leant forward on his unsheathed sabre…
It seems that a slave economy has been integrated into a modern economy quite satisfactorily—I must admit, there is some propaganda to the effect that “young people are discovering the joy of owning negroes”, though personally I think the young on campus seem quite “liberal” (some of them are even advocating that there should be a separate extension college for ladies…). No, Oriental prints are all the rage here this year…since Japan finally opened up to the West ten years ago, after 330-odd years in isolation, there’s been a “Nippophilia” pandemic among the young…
Well, I must sign off—my wife has decided that we’re to visit her “folks” (as they say here) in Utah and apparently “I’ve forgotten, as usual” because I’m “inconsiderate and selfish”. There’s no mercy for an inter-dimensional time-traveller, you see—though even she has to admit I’m acting in a more peculiar way than usual. Worse, it turns out that her father works at the university and that I in some way, in some Southern patronage network that I’ve married into, owe my position as a lecturer in Modern British Imperial History to his protection. Well, they say it’s a sinecure—but still, a man in my position can’t afford to carry on “scandalous”, as they say here…in the New-Old South.