My name is Ricky Harpole. You probably don’t know me because I have not applied for pardon yet. I wouldn’t take this opportunity to bother you, but you are there and it is your turn and while you are comfortably seated in Jackson with only the problems of the state to consider.

There are more than a few people who like myself are bound by birthright and raising to speak our piece. The heritage I am referring to is all about “please and thank you” “yessir” and “nosir” and “ma’am” and “much appreciated,” all of which came with the farm I was raised on.

When you got a holt of this here state I took a good look at it and at you, too. I was reminded of a time years ago when I inherited a soybean crop — halfway thru the season. This was hardly a blessing and one poorly stirred at that. About the only good thing to be said for the whole geography of the situation was that there was a “good stand.”

There was plenty of weeds and a superb conglomeration of profit-minded insects that would put you in mind of a Democrat congress and no money.

Does this put us on a common ground? No, because you inherited a worse mess than I did — whole state of it and today it smells sweet as magnolia. Beg pardon not saying it sooner. Much obliged.

P.S. Since I wrote this BP has made a first class mass in our Gulf. If you locate any company executives extend my invitation to our weekly skeet shoot at Moccasin Bend.

We will be proud to have them join us on our range. The down range part. We also voted to invite certain citizens concerned with the coastal fishing industry who are encouraged to bring their own ammunition.

Many Thanks,

Ricky Harpole