fter years of stagnant tourism blamed by many on the state’s long-standing slogan of “Georgia: It’s Where They Filmed Deliverance,� tourism officials are convening this month to christen a new state slogan, in hopes of inspiring vacationers to contribute to Georgia’s beleaguered economy. Though officials have yet to decide on what the new slogan will be, one trait shared by all early candidates is a complete avoidance of the 1972 Burt Reynolds hillbilly rape film.

After the Georgia Tourism Board changed its slogan from “Georgia: Wow!� to “Georgia: It’s Where They Filmed Deliverance,� in 1973, the state’s tourism dropped to virtually zero, except for the few stragglers who came looking for “hot, man-on-man action,� and who were mostly disappointed by their visits to the Peach state. At the time, state tourism officials blamed the decline on poor marketing support, and redoubled their efforts to get the word out about the key role their state played in the John Boorman blockbuster.

“Come on down and learn to play the banjo,� intoned smiling spokesperson Walter Goering, plucking a homemade banjo in the first of a series of television ads shown nationwide in the mid-70’s.

As the state’s tourism gradually fell to negative levels, meaning that now even native Georgians were vacationing in South Carolina, tourism officials expressed bafflement at the public’s reaction to their foolproof campaign.

“Why wouldn’t people want to come visit the natural Georgian beauty what was captured in that movie?� questioned tourism director Samuel Chick in a 1978 interview. “There’s trees, rivers… and some trees. All the things you think of when you think about Georgia.�

Though the hit film Deliverance did feature a stunning panorama of Georgia’s natural beauty, in addition to healthy portions of the manly Burt Reynolds before he went all soft on us, many felt the infamous scene where actor Ned Beatty’s character is violently raped by inbred yokels may have dominated filmgoers’ memories, marking Georgia as a place they would never, ever want to go. Tourism officials, however, remained skeptical of this explanation.

“What don’t they like? That little retard kid with the banjo?� asked Chick in a 1983 interview. “They know he wasn’t real right? Just all foam rubber and airplane glue, like Yoda. We ain’t got none of them in Georgia. No Yodas neither. You find me a banjo-playin’ retard or a Yoda in the state of Georgia, anywhere, and I’ll give you a shiny new apple. That’s how confident I am in that statement.�

The Deliverance campaign continued in Georgia until 1998, when during a hypnotic regression treatment Chick uncovered repressed memories of the rape scene from the film. After attempting to convince the rest of the tourism board of his findings, Chick was fired for being queer. But the event did serve as a breakthrough for several Georgia state officials, who promptly ordered a new state slogan.

Weeks later, Georgia’s slogan was changed to “Georgia: They Actually Filmed Most of Deliverance in West Virginia.� This helped some, but a large part of the damage had already been done in the preceding 26 years. Over the next twelve months, several new slogans were attempted to minimize the damage further, including “Georgia: No Hillbillies Here!� and “Georgia: The Unrapingest Place on Earth.�

Now state officials believe the time has come for a complete break from their sloganing past, possibly with one involving puppy dogs. Early proposals include “Georgia: A Mouthful of the South� to appeal to food fans and “Georgia: It’s Saferific!� appealing to security-minded vacationers by highlighting Georgia’s appealing lack of New York and Oklahoma-style terrorist attacks. This reporter’s suggestion that the tourism board might look into signing Burt Reynolds to act as a pitchman for the new slogan was met with an initial flurry of enthusiasm, quickly followed by a very rude ending to the telephone call.

nyone waiting for the much-talked about "October Surprise" may have found it when, on an Oct. 23 broadcast of Saturday Night Live, musical ingénue Ashlee Simpson suffered a technical glitch that revealed her lip-synching to the world.

Legendary "October Surprises" have become a part of election year speculation, most memorably in the Carter-Reagan battle for the White House in 1980, when some suggested Carter's administration would pull off an October release of Iranian hostages and seal his re-election. Instead, he completely and utterly failed to release the hostages, and maybe that was the October Surprise, for the other guy. But you get the picture.

In the Bush-Kerry race, wild postulations on 2004's "October Surprise" included the capture of Osama bin Laden, another terrorist attack on U.S. soil, the release of new information about the economy, or a major degradation in the already-shitty Iraq situation. But if anyone had any money on a hack pop singer igniting the lip-synching controversy, you can collect your winnings, Charlie.

Simpson, a teen tart and possibly sister to "Chicken of the Sea" Jessica Simpson, was caught close-mouthed on stage before a live studio audience while the wrong vocal track rolled as her band played a different song. She apologized to the audience at the end of the show, blaming the incident on a wardrobe malfunction; later, Simpson admitted to using the backing vocal, but said she was sorry and it was the first time and she would never do it again, for honest this time.

The embarrassing event follows another flare-up in the lip-synching issue, when Elton John recently blasted ancient crumpet Madonna for allegedly lip-synching in her live concerts. John was drunkenly furious to hear Madonna had been nominated for "Best Live Act" in some shameless back-patting awards show. "Anyone who lip-synchs in public on stage when you pay seventy-five pounds to see them should be shot," said the famous "Crocodile Rock" singer, who is very gay.

As such flaps become newsworthy, it becomes harder and harder for the candidates to avoid the lip-synching controversy that divides the nation. For younger voters and pop-music, lip-synching is often a necessary evil that helps make stage-shows more involved and choreographed, while other voters and real music fans denounce it as technical trickery for the untalented. Older voters also often ask for the candidates to take a hard stance against rap music, which they proclaim is "just talkin'."

Although his platform is definitively against lip-synching, except on M-TV parody shows, Bush and his campaign would rather avoid a public stand-off on an issue that might alienate the young voters he seeks. While preaching to his conservative base at rallies across the nation, Bush has been known to challenge the legitimacy of music acts using pre-recorded vocals.

"My personal favorite has always been the Charlie Daniels Band," said Bush, to the same vigorous roar of applause he always receives. "If you can catch him lip-synching, I'll give you a coupon good for one free kick in my ass."

The Kerry campaign, on the other hand, has played it close to the vest, trying to court voters who feel that lip-synching should be regulated by the states and private citizens, rather than the government.

"I am against, and always have been against a constitutional amendment banning the use of pre-recorded vocal tracks by a live act," said Kerry. "This should not be taken as support of those who would choose to use such tracks live. I believe live music should be sang, not played back. Clearly, I would like to be elected."

There's nothing more ugly than a fat man in banana-colored jams. That's just a fact of life. Sweet canary-colored Christ, is that a hard fact of life. This having been said, I admit there are more tactful ways to spread the word about this eternal truth than screaming it through a batch of megaphones you've got welded to the roof of your car like some kind of old-timey politician on a budget.

But may all the world's unfortunately-dressed fat men be my witness when I say I didn't set out this morning to malign the portly and ill-coutured via electronic amplification. I just wanted to test out the six-megaphone behemoth I had recently added to the roof of Bricksmobile III (formerly known as the Bagecudda) for purposes of thinking out-loud while in commute. Needless to say, that unfortunate fat bastard surprised me by appearing on the sidewalk in the middle of one of Omar Bricks' famous stream-of-consciousness clusterfuck rants, which led to me inadvertently screaming "Sweet Grandma Moses, did you see that fat fucker's pants?!?!" at the top of my lungs for the benefit of most of the greater metro area. If I'd had more time to think about what I was broadcasting at the decibel equivalent of two jet engines exploding in a stainless-steel men's room, I might have made it less obvious which fat fucker I was talking about, saving that jams-wearing butterball a fair measure of public embarrassment.

Of course, as should surprise nobody, Omar Bricks was man enough to admit his mistake, which I did by flipping a bitch across the median and heading back to apologize to the yellow-legged monstrosity whose dignity I had shitcanned with my ear-piercing insensitivity.

This time around we were heading in opposite directions, so I only had time to yell "Sorry, fatass!" before my window of opportunity was gone. Anything I'd said after that would have appeared to be directed at this gang of Latino guys hanging out on the corner, who didn't look like they had any kind of sense of humor about loud, public affronts to their manhood. Not to be prejudiced or anything, maybe they were a sensitive barbershop quartet or something, but those didn't look like barbershop tattoos to me.

In the split second that I saw that big yellow blimp's face on the way back, I couldn't quite interpret the look he was giving me, but it for sure wasn't the look that says "Don't worry about it dude, and thanks for having such an unbelievable assload of class." It seemed more like a mix of "Why me?" and "Fuck you," so clearly he'd misunderstood my message and thought I was just buttering him up as the set-up for a really devastating critique of his wide-load fashion sense.

Needless to say, Omar Bricks just couldn't let that injustice stand, so I threw the Bricksmobile in reverse and made my way back up the sidewalk to re-apologize. I'd barely megaphoned a heart-felt "I'm sorry for drawing attention to your big yellow ass, chunky" when the dude took off running like he'd never heard of social etiquette.

Most people aren't familiar with the proper technique for driving backwards up a city sidewalk; they think you should take it slow and steady to make sure you don't hit anything, careful to remember that turning left makes the car go right, etc. Actually, that's the most dangerous thing you can do, you're in real deep shit if you honestly think you're going to keep all that crap straight. It's much safer to put the hammer down and let the G-forces steer your car for you, the sidewalk and surrounding buildings will direct your car far better than your eyes ever could, trust me. But most people don't know this, so they overreact and dive out of the way when they see your car bearing down on them, accelerating into the low 60's with a mangled shopping cart bent across the trunk.

Jimmy Jams was apparently from the overreactor's school of backwards-sidewalk driving, because he hit the shoe-leather expressway like a big fat Lamborghini running on NASA fuel when he saw the Bricksmobile take out that kiosk of newspaper vending machines en route to apology. I knew I was going to have to think fast to set this whole thing right.

"Really, you're not that fat," I offered charitably over the megaphones. "Anybody would look bad in those pants."

But the rotund runaway kept on sprinting, even after I blurted out "My bad" on the car's horn in universally-understood motorist Morse code. Some people just can't be reached, especially after you wipe out into a fruit stand and your homemade bank of megaphones snaps off and flies through the window of a nearby deli.

I think he got the message though. And even if he didn't, I imagine the sprint for his life helped him drop a few pounds, so I figure I'm karmically in the clear on this one either way. Bricks out.

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