A Letter from Someone Who Wants to Keep a Confederate Statue Up Solely Because That’s Where He Lost His Virginity

Dear Town Board of Trustees,

When I heard the news that the park’s famed statue of Confederate General Stonewall Jackson was scheduled to be torn down later this year, I was devastated. That weathered monument has had such a special place in my heart over the past twenty years, but not because I am some Confederate sympathizer, no. I am proud to say that it was the spot where I, as an inebriated young lad, made love with a woman for the first time at two thirty in the morning.

Look, I understand that the statue is deplorable and recalls a racist and divisive history of intolerance, but it represents more than a bygone era; it embodies the indomitable legacy of horny teens, such as myself, seeking a convenient place to get their pecker wet after homecoming. Is that not something worth commemorating and honoring? I believe our nation’s founders would say so.

This celebrated monument is not merely a structure of hate, it is a symbol of resilience, honor, and the enduring spirit of my raging erection that was harder than the bronze making up General Jackson that fateful night. And with God as my protector, (which he was back then because I was not wearing a condom) I will see to it that the significance of my dalliance with ol’ what’s her name is not understated.

Before the board makes any rash decisions, they need to know that the statue represents an important part of my heritage, but not because of any deep-seated racial prejudice, but because it was the place that I, and possibly my forefathers before me, learned the ins and outs of the female anatomy.

Let us not forget the valor and bravery of our ancestors who first went down on a woman’s nether regions up against the hard, cold granite of the pedestal. Many of our town’s own residents can trace their origins back to this very statue, and yet the board seems indifferent to our proud collective identity.

Once ol’ General Jackson is no longer standing in the park, where will I point to when I want to recount to people the greatest night of my life? How will I explain to my son where his old man received his first ever sloppy toppy?

And if that statue is removed, what’s next to be torn down? The McDonald’s parking lot where I got my first hand job? The single-stalled bathroom at the bowling alley where I had my first threesome? The supply closet at the Chuck E. Cheese where I had my first threesome with two women? Where will it end? One of those women was Regina Berman. Regina FREAKING Berman.

Again, I am completely aware of the reprehensible nature of that statue being there, but it is a complicated issue for me. Was General Jackson a man who fought fiercely to uphold a racist institution and further white supremacy? Yes. Was his gaze the first that met mine as I thrusted my way into the best intercourse a 16-year-old horndog could hope for? Also yes. There are two sides to everything.

Let us honor this statue not as a celebration of division, but as a tribute to the struggles of young men who have had to subdue their urge to climax too early. To the enduring resilience and courage of couples who have had to run away half-naked from the cops.

Each time I stand under the shadow of that eminent monument, glancing longingly at one of my love stains that still marks its pedestal, I am reminded of the start of my many sexual escapades of the past and my many more to come. The south of my belt will rise again.

So I implore you to consider the feelings of I and so many adolescents who have absolutely no allegiance to a disgraceful slave-holding rebel state, but just need a safe place to experience the magic and thrill of their first boink. Let us chart a course for the future where teens of all races can get caught up in impromptu sexy rendezvous under Stonewall Jackson’s careful watch.

A Concerned Resident