We are non-commercial, all volunteer and supported by our readers. Please help sustain the Dew by making a donation.
Who Needs a Flag When We’ve Got the Fuzz?
The outcome of Christie’s recent auction of General Robert E. Lee’s precious navel lint left even the most jaded “Lost Cause” memorabilia mavens gobsmacked and whistling Dixie. Not to mention afflicting many frustrated, heart-broken losing bidders with a temporary paralysis that baffled emergency physicians compared to the old-timey Southern Belle “vapors.”
This dream-crushing auction loss brutalized their very star and barred souls.
The awestruck winner of General Lee’s coveted navel detritus, said that he did not consider himself to be the “owner” of the singular holy Rebel artifact; only its humble and devoted caretaker until the treasure is passed on to the next worshipful generation.
This navel lint, the object of such ardent desire, and the only extant personal object from the sainted Bobby Lee’s body, had a pre-auction estimate of only $650. Naturally, pandemonium reigned and many shocked losing bidders began speaking in some sort of unknown tongues when the gavel struck on the final bid of $873,000.
Even though Robert E. Lee’s navel lint sold for nearly a million dollars, the visibly moved — yet-unnamed– winner emotionally exclaimed, “This here navel lint would be a bargain at three times the price.”
(Which just proves that even in these days of effective birth control and abortion on-demand, there is still one born every minute.)
The small orb of lint is described as being Confederate gray in color and still fluffy after all these years. In 1870, Undertaker Kessler Turnipseed plucked the sacred ball of lint from the South’s leading general’s navel while preparing the Great One’s body for its ascension into heaven on the wings of angels.
According to R. Colin Heathrow, Smithsonian Curator of Antique Underwear and Numbnut Doodads, Lee’s drawers contained no polyester, but were woven out of the rough cotton threads common to the 1800s. Heathrow explained that, ” Such a ‘down-home’ fabric can produce an impressive wad of navel clottage, especially in a man who wasn’t a fanatic about changing his underwear.
Lee’s navel lint was a prized possession of the Turnipseed family for a hundred and forty-five years. Placed in a golden snuff-box for safekeeping, the lint was regarded as a sacred relic by Rebel diehards and was visited by countless humorless pilgrims who, in their butternut-colored heart of hearts, still yearned to give the” Late Unpleasantness “another go.
It has been rumored that some wealthy Lee worshipers would pay as much as five thousand dollars just to hold the venerated snuff box in their hands,and, sniff its contents. (It has been claimed by many that, even the slightest contact with Lee’s navel lint, not only fills the supplicant with rapturous Southern pride, but also instantly cures even the most stubborn case of ringworm.)
Many Lee admirers of lesser financial acumen, pure-t hate the Turnipseed family for not creating a “Fondle Lee’s Lint Layaway Plan.” T’aint fair, they all agree.
Earlier this year, Kessler Turnipseed IV, who had inherited the family mortuary business, along with the holy lint, surprised everyone by announcing that he was selling the treasured artifact. Kessler the younger had been informed that a fanatical splinter group from the Sons of Confederate Veterans, known as “Opus Bubba,” were planning to liberate Lee’s navel lint lint, “by any means necessary.”
Besides, Kessler had grown weary of conveys of four-wheel drive trucks on a lint pilgrimage showing up at his house on Saturday mornings while he and his Mexican yard boy were sunbathing by the pool, glistening and greasy, in their thong bikinis.
Fearing for the safety of both his family, his pool partner, and his six teacup poodles, Mr.Turnipseed broke family tradition and put the hallowed lint on the auction block. The sooner the better.
A semi-reliable source claims that the new owner of Robert E. Lee’s navel lint will make the esteemed fuzz available to Opus Bubba and other goofy reenactment groups for God know what kind of secret ceremonies.
(For a nominal fee, of course. There has never been a Rebel yell as soul-stirring and exciting as the ring of a cash-register!)
Can I get an amen!