Robert E. Lee Goes to a Rave in Peoria

Last weekend, former Confederate General Robert E. Lee accidentally walked into a time warp through no fault of his own.  A series of snapping quarks and swirling dimensions unfolding upon themselves shoved General Lee into the 21st century.  Unfortunately, he was plopped into the middle of a rave at Plaza Bonita, an abandoned office park outside of Peoria, IL.

Robert E. Lee:  What in the blue devil has happened?  Where am I? What is that cacophony I hear pulsating from the rafters of this structure?

Guy with Yellow Mohawk: That’s Skrillex dude.

Robert E. Lee: Well it sounds like a flock of sheep being sheared by the Devil.  Mercy!  What’s happened to your scalp, son?  Did your town get attacked by the Comanche again?  As impoverished and deposed as their lot is, the Indians are still most ferocious.  I’ll send for the US Marshalls at once.  Or perhaps we should send for someone from the Bureau of Indian Affairs.  Get my  quill and my writing desk!  Where is the nearest post-master?

Lady with Pacifier: Cool beard man.  Colonel Sanders has a crispy, cool beard.

Robert E. Lee: Where is your husband madam?  I should think he’d like to be made aware of the salacious nature of your wardrobe.  It shames me to look in your direction.  Get your hands off of me!

Dude with Ninja Turtles Snuggie Wrapped Around His Head Like a Turban: This wool suit is like so…peaceful.

Robert E. Lee:  Who are you?

Dude with Ninja Turtles Snuggie Wrapped Around His Head Like a Turban:  I’m like the man.  I’m the man in charge.  Let me touch your chest hair.

Robert E. Lee: I cannot consent to be controlled by one who cannot control himself.  Unhand me.

General Lee pulls out his sidearm, an 1851 Colt Navy Revolver, and shoots the Dude with the Ninja Turtles Snuggie Wrapped Around His Head Like a Turban in his leg.

Robert E. Lee:  My experience of men has neither disposed me to think worse of them, or indisposed me to serve them.  However, the field nurse will undoubtedly have to take your leg.  It already reeks of gangrene.

Robert E. Lee takes a small glowstick off of the writhing raver in front of him.  He waves it over his head, hollering a rebel yell. 

Now…who’s got some Ecstasy, for Granny Lee?  I’m trying to roll on this place.