George Wallace is in heaven, sitting in a rocking chair on a long veranda overlooking a vast field of cotton. In the field, black people are bent over with enormous sacks on their backs, picking the cotton balls. A house nigger dressed in a white uniform brings George a mint julip from inside the white plantation house. "How are things today, Fetch-it?" George asks with a broad smile. "Things be just fine, Mastah George, be mighty fine," the nigger says, rolling his eyes and flashing his pearly whites. George Wallace nods and sips his drink. "That they are, Fetch-it, that they are," he says with deep satisfaction.