ELVIS PRESLEY AIN'T DEAD
The King lives ... in space #54

That ain't no Elvis fan living in that big glittery sparkledy doublewide in space #54, no-siree. Yes, there's been Elvis music blaring out the windows ever since the place got occupied, but it ain't Elvis records or tapes or CDs, or even eight-tracks or reel-to-reels. Nope. That's real, live Elvis music blaring out the windows in space #54, performed by real, live Elvis his ownself.

Why the fuck would Elvis Presley ever move to Tinbox Acres in the first place? Well, that big deluxe doublewide sure does beat the shit out of the hole Elvis just moved from, and his ex-wife Priscilla figured even if we all blabbed our asses off about Elvis living in our trailer park, nobody sane would believe us anyways, especially not the media. She thinks we'd be lucky to attract the Weekly World News.

Elvis don't look like he did back in his wilder days. For one thing, his hair ain't black no more, it's gray. Elvis said it was naturally blond when he was younger, and he dyed it black. He said if he tried dyeing his hair black today, folks would recognize him right off the bat. So he just leaves it gray. He's going on 70 years old so he'd probably look goofy with black hair anyways. Plus, it'd be a pain in the ass to dye his stubble to match.

You'd think a big star like Elvis would be all stuck up, but no. He fits right here with the rest of us. We can request any Elvis song we want and he just plays it on the gee-tar and sings, and nobody's got to get up and do anything to the stereo. His ex-wife Priscilla is still a bit skittish of us, but she'll come around in due time. His daughter and grandkids ain't come by yet, but Elvis told us Priscilla's still scared and won't let 'em nowhere near a trailer park.

Welcome Wagon Willy's been falling all over hisself trying to make Elvis' ex-wife feel more comfortable about being here, but it seems like Priscilla's hackles go up just as soon as Willy waltzes in the door with a box of Russell Stover's or a fistful of wildflowers.  That ain't nothing compared to her reaction when Pop Feral showed up to welcome Elvis to our little 'hood.

Maybe Priscilla ain't used to the way trailers, even big glittery sparkledy doublewide ones, creak and sway when someone's walking in them. Pop Feral's about seven feet tall and weighs over 300 pounds, so you can imagine what happens to a trailer when he starts walking up the attached front steps.

Priscilla was just managing to lose that deer-in-the-headlights expression when Pop Feral showed up. The whole trailer sort of creaked and groaned and tipped about 10 degrees north, causing Priscilla to grab the kitchen table and hang on. When she looked toward the door and seen Pop Feral from the chest down blocking the entire sliding-glass door with his shirtless, furry torso and that hairy gut overhanging them orange-suspendered ratty jeans, she screeeeeeamed and ran and locked herself in Elvis' bathroom.

That ain't the worst of it. Somehow that little lady managed to squiggle out the bathroom window on Elvis' trailer and ran to her truck, leaving the door locked with us all out there in the kitchen sucking down Budweisers. None of the rest of us was little enough to squiggle into the bathroom window and unlock the door, so we all had to take our whizzes against the back of Harold and Madge's trailer next door.

All that splashing against the back of the trailer finally brought Harold out with a shotgun loaded with rock-salt ammo. Harold threatened to blast the next guy who pissed on his property.

The whole day turned out all right, though. Pop Feral eventually walked to his trailer a few doors down and dragged Beulah's boy Timmy back, then made him climb through Elvis' bathroom window and unlock the door. When Timmy emerged from Elvis' bathroom, Pop greeted Timmy with his first beer. It just brung a tear to everyone's eye, even Elvis.

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