Omni Hotels stopped payment on the check. I said I would not accept their money after they turned the microphone off after a few minutes of my performance. The fact they would censor my words was so appalling, that I didn’t want their ’silence the truth’ germs to get on me. So, I donated all of the funds to charity. So, basically, they fucked with my kids.

It wasn’t enough that my “too true for these ears” show got people within the ranks fired. This multibillion dollar corporation, with interests worldwide, whose president happens to be a ‘close personal friend of George W. Bush and reads the Bible every day’ yet seems to have missed the part about forgiveness, actually took money out of the pockets of a non-profit organization that I have dedicated much of my own time and money to, the West Memphis Three.

I know he isn’t going to take that money and enroll in an Evelyn Wood speed reading class. He is just going to keep on trying to read the Bible every day, but stay on the same page, where Cain kills Abel, over and over again. A good thing that Bush has friends like him. He will need somewhere to stay after he is evicted from the White House.

It is sickening that corporate America has been soldered onto what is American freedom, justice and the Constitution. Whoever controls the money, controls what is being said. I am sad this corporation has no dignity, that they just have to be petty about what was their ‘mistake’ to begin with. If they wanted to have no controversy, no ‘message,’ no meaningful entertainment, why the hell tap me? If they didn’t know who I was, then that was their fault. If you hire 2LiveCrew for your daughter’s confirmation party by accident, you still have to pay them even if you unplug the sound system during “Me So Horny.”

Luke Skyywalker would never stand for that. You’d be fishing all the hand held mikes out of the pool, trying to avoid electric shock. I don’t want the money, but it would help people desperately in need. It would assist a justice system that is caving in onto itself. It would help set free three young men, who are nothing like me, straight, white, Southern, innocent, to live their lives as even the slowest reading God would have wanted them to.

If I am to be blamed for my words, then I am happy to be guilty for what I say. I am also very strict about how I conduct business, and the way this incident has turned itself inside out made me not want what I call their ‘blood money.’ It didn’t mean that I wouldn’t give it to those who deserve it. It does not exempt them from payment. It cannot stop me from continuing on educating, illuminating, participating, congratulating others.

I will jump gender/ race/ opinion/ partisan/ sexuality/ class/ Mason-Dixon lines all in the name of freedom. I see that very few people will do that, and that is ok for now. Most don’t understand understanding. I won’t live long enough to see a world that does, but someone who reads this might.

I did a gig last Saturday night, not really something that unusual, but it was not my typical show. It was a corporate convention, the kind I normally avoid even though there are extravagant sums to be made, because I hate the atmosphere at those events. However, this was booked by a friend, was in reasonable distance from my home and I was told the employees specifically requested me.

We (my sidekick Bruce and my husband Al) drove in a stretch limousine to the show in San Diego. We watched “Dogville” on our way there. I love Lars Von Trier. The film strangely fit the scene we were presented with when we got there.

“Dogville” is about the exploitation and persecution of women who search only for virtue and the opportunity to do good deeds. However, to limit the film to one topic is to diminish the scope and power of this extremely compelling and complex film.

We got there early and ran around in the suite provided us at the hotel, eating cold pizza and chocolate cake, waiting for the time we were to perform. Finally, they fetched us from the room and brought us down through the kitchen to the banquet hall.

Two large screens filled the spaces between the stage and the doors to the room, so the audience could see up close what was happening. This didn’t make sense, as the room was rather small, hardly a ballroom, which had been occupied by manic teenagers trying to prom.

It looked bad to me. It felt wrong. There was a speech made by a man who was much applauded for seemingly no reason, and who swept past me without acknowledging my presence. Then a woman wearing a NU-BRA tm, allowing us all the ability to enjoy the backless fashions of the moment, underneath her black rayon sheath with rhinestone spaghetti straps and a butterfly back, you know, your “night on the town” dress, started to cry onstage about her sales staff. She was overwhelmed with emotion and had her hand on her chest, as if her heart were about to burst with affection for her employees, and she was trying to push it back in, like the monster from “Alien.” We all had to cope with the lump in her throat for several minutes, as she had to return to the stage after leaving once, because she had forgotten names she wouldn’t have forgiven herself for not speaking aloud.

The rhinestone butterfly lady finally finished, then there was a parade of the staff, mostly young people of color, those that work behind the scenes at hotels, turn down the beds, park the cars, serve the room service, you know, like do everything. It seemed oddly demeaning to me, as a person of color myself, that the maids and busboys had to undergo this kind of odd celebratory lineup, but it seemed that they were very appreciated by the audience. I was glad. Everyone deserves applause.

Bruce took the stage, and I thought he did well. He was funny and got laughs, which is what he always does. Then, I took the stage, after a brief, panicked attack by a nervous woman in another black rhinestone confection, likely to have also needed a NU-BRA tm, but I wasn’t sure. She accosted me directly before I went on the stage to say “language.” I assumed she meant for me to go ahead and speak English.

After about 10 mins. my mic was turned off and the band, comprised of Asian, African-American, and Latino musicians, was hurried on to the stage. They passed me, looking apologetic. “We wish we didn’t have to do this,” they all said with their eyes as they launched in to a rousing rendition of “Sweet Home Alabama.”

Using Lynyrd Skynyrd as a way to ethnically cleanse the stage after I was unconsititutionally censored was the most offensive. I am a huge Skynyrd fan and I consider it unconscionable that they played me off with “Sweet Home Alabama” to give the allusion that they were excising the ‘anti-American’ element from the stage. Skynyrd and I are on the same side. I am proud of the South. I wish I was from the South. I have spent enough time there to know and love it well. “Sweet Home Alabama” is one of my favorite songs, and it was appalling that they offended me with the greatest band in American history.

I was also offended by the five identical blonde women ready to leap onto the stage after I was turned off. What were they there for? It just proves once again, pussy is not supposed to speak.

It’s ironic that Skynyrd was chosen to chase me out of the town like a witch when we are the true Americans. I feel bad because the audience, albeit chilly, would have eventually enjoyed and loved what I had to say. I am sad that they were not allowed the great honor to see me perform in person.

Margaret donated all the money from this gig to the West Memphis Three.

Update 6/3/2004: Omni Hotels stopped payment on their check.