A Big Ol' "Woo Hoo" to Ya'll!
My name is Ophelia Uppe- Bouviér and I am the proprietor and Activities Director of the Grace~land Trailer Park! We always welcome new friends and feel honored that you would venture past the town sewer plant and the home of that old nasty woman with all the cats, to find your way to our doorstep. In the event that your car has been damaged on your way here by one of them free range cattle or one of the potholes (no, that was not a lake) please remember that residents of Grace~land Trailer Park are not liable for your poor driving skills. You won't regret it as we race past the entry gates into the trailer park that the King, Elvis told me to build in a psychic vision.
It was about 10 years ago when I was called to build the trailer park. I had been enjoying the successes of my "Hootenholler Bible Camp" when I received a psychic message from the King, Elvis. At first, I just thought it was all the incense at my Patsy Cline shrine making me hallucinate again, but then I realized my neighbor Chanté had used up all that incense to clean her oven. I knew it was the King, Elvis, speaking directly to me from the grave.
Well, I had to sit done right there and think, "What the hell does he want?" and then I saw it, right outside my penthouse window. My penthouse was located on the third story of the Chrysler Building in downtown Squattor's Hole, MT. (The two stories below are a used car dealership.) I had a grand view of Squattor's Hole ½ block Main Street from the terrace. That very day I saw a lovely double-wide trailer (in separate sections) bein' hauled by two semi-trucks (one had jack-knifed and there was a commotion, but that was beside the point) I knew that the King, Elvis, was calling me to a higher purpose.
A year later, and after being sued twice by that mean spirited Lisa Marie girl, I finally was able to erect my shingle for the Grace~land Trailer Park, which is in absolutely no way associated with, affiliated by, acknowledged as safe for human consumption or otherwise implied as in any sort of form known to humanity by the actual Graceland™©®, home and eternal resting place for the King, Elvis.

So that's the story of how it all began. Let's begin the tour at my lovely trailer, which I have decorated in neo-classic faux fur with a whimsical twist of French country. That's my gardener, Raoule Nazeltroute in the photo. He's on some sort of political visa in our country, or he's from a foreign asylum or some such thing. He's awful nice, and does a lovely job of mulching my peonies. He built that little foyer on the front of my trailer for me as I had no place to properly display my collection of reproduction 16th Century settees. UPDATE!! Raoule is dead, I am sad to say. He died tragically as the result of freebasing bug spray. Let that be a lesson to all you children out there.

My Mamma, Luka Uppe, lives here in the trailer park as well. Her trailer is beyond the speed bump and just past the half submerged Chevrolet in that pothole. I believe Phil Bob Binklemeier, Edna Sue's husband, lived in that Chevrolet when Edna threw him out last month. Although it remains unproven, many of us in the trailer park suspect Phil Bob of having slept with Miss Nancy Ho, runner up for this year's Junior Miss Teen Competition. (Nancy was disqualified from the competition when she turned out to be forty-two. Then she started hanging out at local casinos, displaying her loose morals, and enticing the men folk. Phil Bob was really no match for her wanton wiles.) Any-hoo, the best thing about Mamma's trailer is the view.

Mamma has lived here at the park since 1992 when they threw her out of this theme-retirement facility she lived in. It was named " 20,001: An Aging Odyssey" and it was all future-like. The rooms were sparse with television sets embedded in the walls, all running reruns of "Planet of the Apes" or "the Jetsons" and everything was painted pale blue. The residents were served pills for every meal, called "Meal Capsules". They wore these loose sack dresses made out of black plastic bags (the employees wore white kitchen garbage sacks, I believe) and then when a resident 'expired' they were loaded into this torpedo and shot out of the complex into the woods.
Mamma got a nasty shock from this automatic bathing robot they had, and when she tried to sue them they threw her out. Not through the torpedo thing, though. They did have an exit called " The Time Warp" which was a freight elevator with the inside all covered in mirror tiles, and when you were in it they jerked you up and down the eight floors real fast six or seven times and then they let you out... It made me puke, so I rarely visited Mamma.

Here's my cousin, Buffy Bouviér and her boyfriend Ozwaldo. Buffy lives at the first trailer on the right when you come into the trailer park. It's a lovely trailer, really, except for that open sewer phenomenon.

Buffy has been one of my closest friends for years, and was the first to encourage me to write my series of pamphlets entitled "Lasting Friendships Through Co-Dependence". She used to work as a checker at WalMart ©™, but they fired her and hired some Chinese gal who will work for stale noodles leftover from their Food Court. I hired her to sell my Ophelia Brand Cosmetics© door to door and she is doing great. She gets let into houses a lot 'cause you can't see her standin' on your porch through the door peep hole. Ozwald is a worthless piece of poop who lies around the trailer all day drinking beer and watching religious TV 'cause he thinks he's Jesus.

My dear friend Chanté (pronounced Shawn-tay or Shann-TAY) lives here with her prized Pomeranians, which she raises as attack dogs. She uses a special blend of her own herbs, spices and seizure medications to craft these little yappin' things into fierce self-protection guard dogs. Actually, I think they're just hopped up little rat dogs Chanté gets from the pound - even she can't control them. They usually run around the trailer park in a nasty little pack.

Every spring we gather on Chanté's front veranda (you can see how lovely it is in this photo) and we sip pink squirrels during her annual "Run of the Rat Dog" where she lets loose a whole slew of her fierce little brood and we watch them chase the neighbor children. It's quite the social event for us all.

When Chanté isn't mixing medications, she can be found at the local nightclub, where she hosts a lively variety show. In the photo below, that's her in the green jumpsuit next to Marie Osmond (who never did return that gown to me) and the Chanté Dancers.

This is my neighbor Rachelle. She operates a thriving automotive repair shop and beauty parlor out of her lovely triple wide. She named the business "Rachelle's Automotive and Salon di Loveliness". All the ladies get their hair done by Rachelle. It's de rigeur. Rachelle is such a dear friend, she is the only one I entrust with keeping the candles lit at my Grandmother's shrine for Tammy Wynette's pink curlers. These curlers are very ones Grandmother set Tammy in the night her Winnebago broke down outside her beauty salon. The curlers themselves seem to have some sort of healing powers.

Here's a photo of my cousin Marilyn (that's her smiling on the left) with some lesbian she picked up at a truck stop. Marilyn has a lovely single wide that used to be a rest stop. She had it fixed up real nice with her settlement money from that unfortunate personal shaver accident. Here's a photo of her trailer being repossessed.

Now she's been living in my guest bedroom, but it's only temporary, because she's not allowed to smoke or drink in my trailer and its making her real cranky. She would've moved in with Chanté if it weren't for that restraining order.