You louts are still visiting this ignoble Web-site looking for your information on the great “Neon” Deion Sanders, and so I shall keep giving to you miscreants. Visit the following information repositories and please leave me alone.

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Dearest readers, your thanks for this service I continue to render is acceptable at any time, in any form, although I would request any cash payouts be no less than $1,000.00.

Housekeeping aside, I would naturally think SOMEONE out there would venture here to read my groundbreaking prose, revel in MY exceptional skill rather than my mentor’s. To you out there, I say: fear not – my appeasement of the lowest common denominator would never mean I had forgotten you, my TRUE followers. Those simply Latching on in their quest for information about a man who is so much more…you know who you are, and you are certainly ashamed.

Were I to inquire as to whether my work has perhaps been a tad on the infrequent side lately, I am rather chagrined to tell you the response would likely be an unequivocal “yea.” Though it may be true such circumstances are beyond my control, the Man who succumbs to such circumstances is hardly a Man at all, and with this in mind, I throw myself humbly before you and request your permission to perchance be somewhat infrequent in these taxing “Trombone Dixie” updates. O, if only there were another way! O, for just one less speaking engagement! A cruel existence this is, indeed.

Now, I know that I have been a raconteur of sorts in sharing my worldly experiences. I have detailed a rather significant portion of my adventures up to this point, so allow me to concisely say: traversing the glorious ruins of Machu Picchu, I could not help but think of simpler times. Specifically, my mind raced back to my days as a strapping younger lad on the New Jersey shore. Something so profound came to me in this moment that I could not help but record it in writing, and I feel this is the right time to share the beginning with you:

Well they blew up the chicken man in Philly last night, now they blew up his house too        Down on the boardwalk they’re getting ready for a fight, gonna see what them racket boys can do                                                                                                                                          Now there’s trouble busin’ in from out of state and the D.A. can’t get no relief                        Gonna be a rumble out on the promenade, and the gambling commission’s hanging on by the skin of its teeth

Well now, everything dies, baby that’s a fact                                                                                But maybe everything that dies someday comes back                                                                 Put your makeup on, fix your hair up pretty                                                                                 And meet me tonight in Atlantic City

…I have never been prouder of anything I alone have thought up. The sheer originality of this overwhelms me, one of the only times my own work has brought me to tears. The only caveat is that some fellow out there seems to think he owns the rights to this work (ludicrous, I know) any may therefore prevent me from bringing this masterpiece to the masses. when he finally sees it my way and a resolution is reached, my loyal fans on this site will be among the first to know.