I was flying over the new New Orleans yesterday and thought at first that I'd taken a wrong turn and ended up over Venice, Italy. The streets were canals and there were people running around looking for something they weren't sure how they'd lost so suddenly. But they had.
I was just about to go down and see if I could help when this huge plane with a big, white man peeking out its window clipped me slightly and sent me spinning off in the direction of Memphis. So I swung by Graceland and bought a cookie.
Later I saw the white man from the plane on your tv sets. He was walking around in crisp clothes, freshly showered and smiling smugly. He hugged a crying girl and her mother and burbled platitudes and well-wishes. Then he left again.
Turns out he runs the place.
Right into the ground it would seem.
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