Texans, Yankees, and Arab Fellers

I’ve always believed that Texas WAS independent of the United States. Since the end of the War of Northern Aggression Texas has put systems in place that were designed to thwart intrusive Norté laws in order to protect its citizens. We viewed America as a minor irritant that could be ignored. Well, silly us, the Yankees started thinking they were actually running things, and when Obama took office it really got out of control. You see, as long as we had the Bushes, as bad as they were, they were still Texans. Well, sort of. Actually they are Yankees in Dallas Cowboy clothing, but it was the best we could do, OK? As a matter of fact, King George II was the Governor of Texas, and I personally thought he stayed in that capacity, but had to relocate to the White House to make it easier for Texas to run the US.

Anyway, where was I . . . Oh yes. This attitude worked pretty well until Obama came along. Now, Obama’s skin color has nothing to do with anything. The main thing that is wrong with Obama is that he is a CarpetBagger! He homed in on Texas like a Prom Queen on a beer after the game. His entire world view is Yankee. Now, I’m being clever here, but friends and neighbors, that’s really about it. You see, you have Yankees, and then you have DAMN Yankees. There are good Yankees. They hang around the pubs in Philly, drink beer, work at building all week, and laugh at our Texas ways with no malicious intent whatsoever. Then there’s Damn Yankees who want to inject every weird idea Saul Alinsky ever came up with into the mainstream of Texas life. Alinsky was from Chicago, Obama’s from Chicago, you don’t have to be on the honor roll at Texas A&M to connect those dots.

For Texas to maintain independence we have to do two things. One, at least try to stem the tide of illegal immigration. It’s really bad folks. They pour over our borders every day by the hundreds. There seems to be no end. Law enforcement does very little to stop them. I suggest checkpoints at the border. Every time a vehicle comes across the border from say, Shreveport, or Tulsa, stop that vehicle and check the passengers! If it’s two women or two men holding hands, turn them around. If they have any literature from some liberal movie star a full cavity search should be mandatory and if there are children in the car for God’s sake buy them kids a plate of Bar B Q!

Second, we have to start acting like Texans again. We are NOT Americans, we’re TEXANS! We were NOT a territory that begged the US to take us in, we were a REPUBLIC that annexed America. We do NOT buy into every weird idea that comes out of New York and LA, and all the Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders ARE girls, thank you very much!

We won’t be able to secede right away. We have to accept that. SOMEbody has to feed the “Huddled Masses Yearning To Be Free,” and if we don’t then who will? Kim Jong-un? No, we have a responsibility here. Just like a runt puppy, we have to ween them. It’s not going to be easy, but we can do it.

If we can get our minds right, stop the illegal immigration, and slow the flow of cash from Texas to the US then we might just have a chance. We won’t have to put them in FEMA camps. They already HAVE places like Detroit, Ferguson and South Chicago. The problem is to convince the Nortés that if they have it all figured out then just STAY there. We’re doing just fine down here. Then, they won’t have to worry about our guns, our churches, or our hetero-sexual marriages. Worry about them Arab fellers. They need fixing. Go fix THEM!



I just love it when people try to figure out my moods or tell me how I should feel. And when they do it they WON’T shut up. They become so convinced in their own little mind of how my little mind works that should I suggest they may be off course it goes right over their itty bitty heads and launches out into space.

I don’t know how it happened, but over the years I’ve developed a mindset that insulates me from the world. I laugh, but I simply do not get mad about anything. That’s why when I write so much humor goes into it. I find it very hard to get upset about just about anything. I get disturbed when I run out of cigarettes, but that’s about it.

I get a particular joy when I slaughter someone’s sacred cow. Like the Walmart thing. It has become so fashionable to down Walmart that all one has to do to piss off eighty-five percent of the liberals is say that you like to shop at Walmart. Or Coke. Just look up all the videos on YouTube showing Coke can be used for anything from cleaning your toilette to rotting your teeth out. I LIKE Coke! On a hot summer day a cold Coke will pep you right up. I especially like Mexican Coke. They use real sugar, and that screws up liberals too.

But I don’t let this stuff fester. I know a girl. She stays mad ALL the time. She builds these huge conspiracy castles in the air, and takes pills like jelly beans because she’s bi-polar, schitzo, too happy, too sad, this list just goes on and on. Her main problem is that her mother never told her what a slut is. Hey, y’all know what Scotch Guard is, right? Well, long about when I was fourteen somebody sprayed me with Slut Guard. You take any given slut and she will screw everybody BUT me! You see, sluts do that to try and prove they’re not sluts. Can’t be a slut, they MISSED someone. Well, I’m that GUY!

About five years ago I stopped taking life so serious. Consequently I “lightened up.” I became a crusty old bastard with a jaundiced eye, so when someone tries to unload their problems on me I just listen, show empathy, and know in the silence of my heart that they are enjoying the attention. I NEVER give advice. Like SlutGirl. Keeps going back to the same boyfriend, who beats her ass and sends her packing. Then she pings all over town getting sympathy from various old men who seek her negotiable favors, then BACK to the boyfriend again for a fresh ass whipping, all the while reciting to him all the advice the other men gave her because she thinks that just perhaps THIS time, the boyfriend will be something different that all the other times. Come to think of it that’s the definition of insanity, isn’t it? I might be wrong here. She might just NEED all those pills.

Now, back to my original concept for this article. SlutGirl is JUST the type of people who try to tell ME how I feel based on THEIR dubious experience. It’s actually entertaining to listen to them. I’m sitting there with a big ol’ case of “Don’t Give A Damn Itus” and they’re rambling on like they’re formulating a paper for a PHD! It’s just like George Carlin once said. Do you realize how many stupid people there are in the world, and half of them are stupider than THAT! But this is why when a gun walk runs into Moms Against MALES I just remember SlutGirl, and quickly do the math. Swat them bees, swat them bees!

So, my advice? Try not to let anything disturb you. The more practiced you get at it they less little things will bother you, and then it just works it’s way right up the emotional ladder until you emerge into Happy. Then you realize people like SlutGirl were put here for your entertainment. Kind of like a little dog that chases its tail all the time. I don’t listen to people like that. Now Puck, I listen to Puck!

Refresher: Death by Cop 101

Ever know somebody who just can’t stop getting DUIs? One after another, and every time you see them in a bar you just know they’re gonna make bail in the morning. Well that’s the mind set of a lot of black folk these days. Boy! I played THAT race card pretty early in the game, didn’t I. I do stuff like that. Anyway, we’ve already gone over Death By Cop 101, but I sense the need for a refresher course. Last time out I had to explain that you don’t bull rush a police officer. Now we have a new wrinkle. You don’t pull out a gun out and point it at their head either.

Seems a young man did exactly that this week, and he got to join Michael Brown and Treyvon Martin in their very exclusive club of dead rappers society. This one died for a pair of shoes. That kinda moves him to the head of the class. Of course there are demonstrations, and the obligatory grieving mother is paraded around talking about an empty plate at dinner and all that. Haven’t seen an uncle jumping up and down on the roof of a car yet, but the day’s still young.

I’m not going to suck up and say it is tragic the young man died. It frankly amazed me how he lived so long! What I’d like to talk about is how stupid the demonstrators are. Yeah, I said stupid, deal with it. Back in the day when Dr. King was leading people in marches and giving speeches there was a very focused reason for it. Voter’s rights, fair housing, discrimination in everything from a bus ride to rest rooms and God knows what else. What Dr. King did actually healed a situation in America that affected all people, white and black. And he was recognized with a Nobel Prize! When you hit the streets because some thug gets capped during an armed robbery . . . Well, heeeere’s your sign. Oh, my bad, they already have their signs.

Ok, don’t point guns at off duty cops! As a matter of fact, don’t try to steal shoes from someone in a parking lot. Go in the store and steal them right off the shelf, you’ll live longer and in some county jails they may even let you wear them, that is until some big guy named Santos slaps you up long side your head and takes them away from you. Dudes! Just playing by the rules YOU set.

The undercurrent to this whole sorry scenario is that if I had the young man sitting right here, right now he would ignore my advice. In his culture the shoes are worth the risk. He put his life on the line for a pair of shoes that would make him King of the Homeboys! When Brown bit the dust the demonstrators all marched around holding up their hands in a kind of “surrender” posture. I think it would be appropriate to have this cluster of wear a necklace with little gold tennis shoes around their neck. Or better than that, have the necklace, with hands raised holding Arizona Tea and Skittles. Yeah, perfect! The absolutely perfect social statement for the entire Hip Hop generation.

Be Sure Your Sins Will Find You Out

Be sure your sins will find you out. Mr. Dorrill, my business partner in the 1980’s used that phrase all the time. If you do something stupid you can bet it will come back at some point and bite you in then butt. So it is with Bill Cosby. I said in a previous article that he might have gotten laid in his life. Well, most certainly he did! I began to strip this onion and have actually done a bit of research and come to some conclusions. Now, y’all don’t tell anybody that cause I don’t want to blow my image but I do read up on some of this crap, and I read up on Bill Cosby.

Bill Cosby isn’t a white guy, he’s not a black guy, he’s henacolor. He’s kinda like an Oriole cookie. He created an image that frankly never existed. I have never watched more than fifteen minutes of the entire series of the Cosby show because I realized that it was Hollywood crap! Oh, you’re all horrified now. Even the Klu Klux Klan will be burning a cross just for me! Hear me out. No black family lives like that. No WHITE family lives like that. John F. Freaking KENNEDY didn’t live like that! That show floated because you WANTED to think that was the perfect family. Bill Cosby was an actor. Hey, Clint Eastwood never shot anybody either, ok?

If you are in the public eye you put forth what we call an image. You do this to make money. This image is almost never who you really are. All except John Wayne, he really was what you saw. Bill Cosby put forth an image of the all wise, ever present, perfect dad. Well folks, that was not Bill Cosby. And Jaquiline Brandt Witt was not iJackie, that was a character she played on YouTube. Only difference was Jackie knew she was acting and Bill Cosby tried to convince the public that he really was what you saw on the Boob Tube.

So what sins found him out? Was it sex? Nope. It was lies. Hey, lookee here, if you are in the entertainment industry, and you have anything at all on the ball you will get “opportunities.” Women will throw themselves at you offering the only thing they have to give. They want to touch the golden calf and if they think you can put them there you’d be amazed at what comes out. I’ve been there. Women offering themselves in the hope that somehow I can put them in a position to take the ride. But Bill crossed the line.

If you have a young lady mesmerized why drug them? I have a hard, fast rule. If I’m drinking with a lady, and we’re equally drunk all’s fair in love and war. When she gets too far gone to understand what’s going on that’s NOT fair. That’s rape! Plain and simple. You’re telling me that a man with Bill Cosby’s celebrity, and money, and intelligence can’t talk a girl out of a piece of tail without slipping her a Mickey? Have I got a bridge for you and it’s on SALE!

There are too many stories and they all match. Bill used drugs to rape these ladies. DUDES! That is so uncool. I, myself could never have sex with an mannequin, and I’m a redneck from Austin. You’d EXPECT me to do that! No, be sure your sins will find you out, and Bill’s found HIM!

A Christmas Story

At Christmas my mind always drifts back to the house at Berry Creek. Berry Creek Sits a fault line, Balcones. Georgetown is about twenty minutes from Austin, but Berry Creek is more of a country setting. There’s an eighteen hole golf course that winds through the neighborhood. We were on the tenth green. The first generation of grandkids played on the greens, ever vigilant for golfers teeing off. My granddaughter, Jo Jo would wear a little fireman’s helmet backwards and shout, “Incoming!” whenever a cart approached the tee box.

The house was large. It was one of three that we owned in the neighborhood, but it was the largest. It was a copy of Elvis’ Graceland. With four columns and a winding staircase. The entrance took your breath away. From the front door you could see all the way through and the huge picture windows afforded a view of the greens beyond the back yard. There were three living areas, an office and even a theater on the second floor. We would do evenings on the back deck, watching the golfers play through.

Christmas was a big deal in the house on the green. It would fill up with people. There was a sixteen foot Christmas tree situated by the curved staircase, and the grandchildren each year would use the stair case as an assist to dress the tree, which was spectacular! Every ornament had a special meaning from someone’s past from the ceramic angel on top to the “Wilbur” glass ball on the lower branches.

Christmas was twelve days, no ifs, no ands, no buts! With turkeys and hams and a full bar, the entire time was a feast. Guests would come and go, and sleep in the guest rooms, some spilling over to the two other houses on the same street. There was a golf cart and they would take moonlight drives on the course, and look at the Christmas lights which were beautiful. The season would extend until New Year’s, and sometimes the house never slept.

When Christmas was ended it would take a while to take down the tree, and all the decorations. Little by little Christmas would disappear until next time. The smells would linger, sometimes until Easter. When the tree and all the trimmings were finally gone the house would seem somehow empty. Life would return to normal.

I don’t remember the last Christmas. I don’t know if there was one. I think God fogged that memory so that only the good ones remained. I go by there now and again but it’s not the same. The house has been sold and resold, seems no one finds happiness there. It’s been renovated, of course, and I think that made the house angry so it took its magic and nobody can ever really fit in again.

In the end it was just Jackie and I. She called it our “pretty prison.” Where we used to have more guests than chairs there were now empty chairs covering the porches, and decks. It was a bit like sitting on the deck of the sunken Titanic. And we watched it sink. One day it was gone, and the Christmas house was no more. But, you know, love lives forever, and I think if you sit on the porch at night, when it’s quiet, you can still hear the children. The house is lonely, and waits for people who can never return. At Christmas my mind always drifts back to the house at Berry Creek


I first met CJ Grisham in Austin during a rally. He was carrying this big flag, a bullet proof vest on, and a bottle of Ozarka water, which is always a nice touch when you’re in Austin. His eyes kept scanning the horizon, but what he was really doing was watching the DPS because unlike me he understood that he and I were not the craziest people on the block that day. When we finally got together we didn’t talk about Open Carry. He is LDS and at that point in time my family was going through yet another little dance with the CPS while they tried, yet again, to throw all my grandkids on the auction block, so we mainly discussed family, faith, and how nice it was in Utah.

CJ came to national prominence when some gumshoe up in Temple, Texas took it upon himself to rewrite the constitution one afternoon while CJ was taking his boy on a merit badge hike along some country road. CJ had his rifle with him, and, of course his completely legal, licensed pistol, fashionably concealed, by his side. Some lady saw him walk by and became “alarmed” by the presence of his guns. Now I’d like to interject something here. I understand that said woman was loosely connected with a “Casa.” A Casa is a kind of holding tank where little kidnapped CPS kids go until a suitable pedophile can be found for a more “permanent” solution. You see, CPS steals so many kids that sometimes they develop a traffic jam. So, in my opinion, this tower of public concern was not so much worried about CJ’s rifle as she was those dollar signs walking in front of him striving for a merit badge. And I don’t want to hear that there are good Casas, I’m sure there must be, but there were good Nazis, too, yada, yada, yada!

So here comes Barney with a donut in his mouth questioning CJ about his guns. CJ was very polite, but firm, and, well you know, in short order RoboCop served and protected him! Now I grew up mainly in Bell County so I’m a gonna say some,things here that are going to set some people on their ear, but here goes. CJ is not, to my knowledge a Temple native, though he may be, and he is LDS. He was laboring under the delusion that being a veteran who served his country in WAR, and a church going father out to help his son during a hike that he and officer whomEVER would most likely be on the same sheet of music. What he didn’t know is all Temple cops are stupid. Now, they’re not as stupid as Nolanville cops, but they’re right on up there in the top five, I’ll assure you. Copperas Cove cops are pretty bad, too. In fact, Killeen has a fairly good police force. I think the Killeen chief tells them, “Watch Temple, Nolanville, and Copperas Cove, and whatever you see THEM do, do exactly the OPPOSITE!

So here we have the perfect storm. A law abiding citizen out for a walk, a cop trying to rewrite the constitution, and a kidnapper rubbing her hands in fiendish glee on the sidelines. Arrests CJ, steals his guns, slams him down on the hood of the car and subsequently got him convicted of interfering with a police officer during the consumption of a donut, with is a very serious charge. They even had to import a judge because they had to find one who could read!

There’s an old saying, “The one you should have left alone.” Well, that’s CJ! He’s a vet, he believes in God, he’s honest, and he’s a type number one capitalist who has supported his family and church and keeps his eye firmly on his goals. Well, his main goal was now the bastardized gun laws in the great state of Texas! You see, for all the western lore they took our guns away right after the civil war. In the so called “Wild West,” Texans really never strolled into the saloon with a hogleg on their hip. Texas was never actually invaded during the Civil War. The Yankees waited until the war was over and asked permission to enter. But, we had to be disarmed because there was this little thing about us having been a Republic, and not really ever getting along with the Nortés anyway, you know, stuff like that. So we trotted around for a hundred or so years carrying Skoll in our pockets instead of a Colt. After George Hennard did his little skit on birth control at Luby’s the State relented and let us have LICENSED conceal carry. Now, I’m gonna let y’all in on a little secret so don’t tell anybody, but we’d been carrying anyway, we just didn’t tell the Yankees. None of this made any sense to CJ. He played by the rules and got arrested ANYWAY, so what good was the license in his wallet when you could lose it for spitting on the sidewalk? No good, that’s what! So why not strip away the nonsense and just let us have our freaking GUNS back, and friends and neighbors, that’s exactly what he did!

He devised a thing called the “Gun Walk!” An obnoxious event for an obnoxious law. Of course California had a field day with it, but the cops began to figure it out and little by little and the gun walks began to be mainstay, more normalized, and most people saw them for what they really were. It wasn’t just about guns, it was about RIGHTS! It was a public statement that a police officer had no right to slam any citizen down on the hood of a car and then make up a law to justify it. It was about freedom of speech, illegal search and seizure, and the right to be secure in your person. I don’t know if even CJ himself knew the can of worms he’d opened that day on that lonely Temple road, but Texas did! I’ve said this before, but it bears repeating. William Barrett Travis allegedly drew a line in the main plaza of the Alamo. Now, Yankee historians will argue with me, saying it never happened that way, but the fact remains that the men of the Alamo stayed! Well, I contend that Travis continues to draw that line and a few, a very few, are called to come across. CJ crossed that line that afternoon in Temple, Texas. And now the Dallas Morning News has nominated him for Texan of the year. It doesn’t really matter if he wins. The very first time a young lady reaches in her purse in a lonely, dark parking lot after work, and is not raped and murdered, CJ just made his point, and Texas, you can be proud of that!

Race War?

Reading the news this morning, and kept running across the term, “Race War.” Back in the day, when I was in high school, just after the Civil War, that term had weight. There were riots all over the place, you had James Brown recording, “Say It Loud, I’m Black And I’m Proud,” and we had some REAL race baiters back then. About the calmest one was Malcolm X, and he was like Al Sharpton on steroids. And you think Ferguson was something? Them cats out in LA could burn you out QUICK! Ah, the old days!

And all during this time there were people screaming, “RACE WAR!” Oh, of course, being a bunch of Texas teenage rednecks, and crazy as a pack of outhouse rats, my friends and I were all up for this. Clint Eastwood even weighed in with a scene or two, one in particular where he shoots through a boom box to kill a black hoodlum. You see, back then we didn’t have iPods, there were these big radio, tape playing gadgets that black folk would carry on their shoulders and stick there ear to the speaker . . . Don’t ask me, it was a black thing. We crackers just had the girl climb into the front seat and turn on the eight track.

Now, with the unfortunate deaths of two NYPD officers we have that tired old ghost, Race War, rearing it’s head again. So, let’s look at some demographics. I love that word. Until last year when Doc Greene introduced it to me I didn’t even know what demographics meant. I had written three books and never used over five-hundred words in my life. Turn on RER, instant literacy! Let’s see, where was I? Oh, yeah, race war. So there is a contingent of the populace who would like you to believe that some day all the black folk are going to rise up is furious anger and run all us crackers back to England. I don’t know what they plan to do with the Mexicans, but we’ll just let them sort that out. Brilliant minds like Al Sharpton claim that all the problems concerning black people stem directly from the America of Shirley Temple. Of course slavery comes into play, although I really can’t see a slaver paying very much for Al Sharpton. I’d buy Janet Jackson, but I digress. Anyway after this war is over the skies will clear, the Angels will sing, and white will be the new black.

So, just whom is going to participate in this war? Well, I don’t think the black guy getting up at five AM in Austin, drinking his coffee on the way to a call center where he’s a team leader at Sear’s Holdings will be there. Nope, not him. Oh, he might work in one battle if it doesn’t conflict with his evening with the guys at the Country Club. How about the black school teacher who worked her way through the University of Texas living on Ramen Soup. Nah, we need to count her out. Oh, I know. The black roofer who just got a loan for a new car and a credit card to fill the tank. Nope, his wife said, “No.” Seems the revolution is losing steam. Let’s look on the other side of the tracks.

Over in CrackerVille you can cross off about eighty percent right off the bat. The one thing we white folk all seem to have in common is a big ol’ disgusting case of apathy. It’s all very fine to get all outraged at the rioters up in Ferguson, but that lasts about, um, two beers, and then the football game comes on. That REALLY removes Texas from the mix because if JESUS comes back He’d better not do it when the Cowboys kick off! So that leaves twenty percent or so that actually dwell on this kind of nonsense. The Second Amendment has a phrase, “A well disciplined militia . . . ” Did you ever try to make sense out of a bunch of old drunks in a biker bar cracking moldy race jokes? Well, there’s you white army.

In order to have a war you have to have a fairly well defined demographic. There’s that word again. You have to have a common people, common language, and borders are always real nice. Race plays into it because it’s nice if you all look alike, too. Now, this has to be real race. Hitler made up a race, called them Aryans, and we all know how that worked out. He had this little thing about borders too, but a few countries with REAL borders straightened him out on that one. So where are the borders in this upcoming race war. Is Harlem going to invade Long Island. Let me think. Harlem is not all black, and contrary to myth, Long Island is not totally Jewish. Nope, no war there. I know, Detroit can jump on Chicago! Nah, too spotty. Ok, last chance. The South shall rise again, and all them rednecks are gonna take down Pennsylvania! We have a problem Houston. Almost NObody retires and moves up NORTH. If you’re looking for racial purity you are NOT going to find it in Alabama.

Looks like our Race War is falling apart. You want to know why? Because it’s not gonna happen, that’s why. Behind every flare up, where the term, “Race War” comes up, you’ll see some type number one capitalist skipping merrily to the bank. And they’re all different colors. There are blacks like Al Sharpton, whites like David Duke, and then some like Michael Jackson where you’re not quite sure. I know, I know, Michael wasn’t a racist, but just had to throw that in. Fact is you will NEVER see a race war.

One good thing that came out of the civil rights movement was the merging of cultures. We began to understand each other a bit more. In almost any Texas bar you’ll find blacks and whites sharing beer AND race jokes, and they’re all laughing, because almost NObody buys into that crap anymore! Heck, I’ll even have a beer with a gay guy, I just won’t go to the bathroom at the some time he does, that’s all.

Americans have realized that it’s not race that is the issue it’s economics. It’s a government that has ignored the constitution, and set up royalty in Washington DC. It’s little short, fat foreign leaders who can switch off American companies as easily as you turn out a lamp at bedtime. Let’s fix all that and THEN worry about complexions. I yearn for the day when Al Sharpton gives a speech, the crowd breaks out in laughter, and leaves for the Hockey game. But, for the time being don’t expect any race wars. If you really think that’s going to happen have I got a BRIDGE for YOU . . . and it’s on SALE!

My Buddy Kim

I have a new hero! Kim Jong-un! That’s right, I Crappith Thee NOT! You know, the little short, fat Jap with the super model wife? I just said that to set off the liberals. I know he’s Korean, but those people all look alike to me. Somebody STOP me! Anyway, I digress. It seems there was this movie. You’ve all seen the promos. Two guys go to interview this rice burner and the CIA tries to get them into a plot to assassinate Kim. Now, let’s move from rice paddies to ivory towers, shall we?

Hollywood’s been on a roll ever since Dennis Hopper flipped those two rednecks the bird in the final scene of “Easy Rider.” I recently watched that movie again. I was amazed at how dumb it really was. Peter Fonda going around with that aloof look on his face and all those deep, philosophical lines, that made absolutely no sense at all puking out of his mouth. (Good thing his daddy was rich, huh?) They were searching for the real America until they found it, and got shotgunned off their weird, California motorcycles. After that it was all downhill for Hollywood. No subject was taboo. If anything was held sacred by the American people you could bet Hollywood would make a film about it, pervert it, and call it art! Oh, there were a few shining moments. “Patton” was one, but the promo twisted that. “Hero or villain?” True to the anti-war agenda they had to slant the promotion of the film by trying to say, “Yeah, we know it looks like this guy was all American, but we didn’t mean it.” I wish they’d made a movie where Patton blew Peter Fonda off his motorcycle.

Then here came the Internet and shows like The Young Turks. Now, don’t get me wrong, I watch the young Turks, but not for content. I just like the chick with the expanded chest. God, I hope she’s not a lesbian! SOMEtimes they’ll make a good point, but before the segment is done you can bet they will screw it up! Let’s see, good point, fairly well laid out . . . WHOMP! Dey it is!

And while this garbage spews out of California, people who have their heads screwed on fairly straight wring their hands and lament the content as Hollywood implies that Jesus was a polygamous bi-sexual who faked his own death in order to get a good job in Rome! Well, enter my little buddy Kim Jong-un. Sony pictures takes it upon themselves to make a film poking fun at him, which isn’t really all THAT hard, I mean LOOK at the guy. He LOOKS funny. And he pays good money for that haircut! He’s four foot nothing and loves basketball . . . go figure. He’s got that bombshell wife and those itty bitty feet. That’s a Texas joke. You Nortés ask your mama and she’ll explain that one to you. Anyway, the North Koreans haven’t got much and Hollyweird ripped that up. So what does ol’ Kim do? Does he kidnap one of their executives and send his head to the Oscars in a hatbox? Does he blow up the Hollywood bowl? NO! He hacks the beJESUS out of their company until they actually pull the film. Now, if that’s not cool I’m not a white boy from Austin. A stopped watch is right two times a day, and Kim was spot on. He gets the honorary rice bowl award for the ultimate film edit of the year.

SOME body had to bitch slap Hollywood and Kim showed them a Cyber-fu move like they’d never seen. And did you see how fast they tucked tail and ran? Even I was amazed. If that’s the only thing he leaves to posterity he’s made his mark. And I know that he’s a fanatical despot, but aren’t they all? He showed Sony, as Bruce Lee so aptly put it, “The art of fighting widout fighting!” Ah SO!

The Chicken***t Factor

Got into a deep discussion with Michael Bee tonight. Now Michael’s a historian. He looks for patterns and historical benchmarks that tell us where we’re heading, based on where we’ve been, and that’s all good, I suppose. He’s real big on trying to make people understand that protests and sign holdings will not sway events. Like the Occupy movement. Much ado about nothing, and he’s right. But I began to understand that’s the way it’s always been. Caesar made a difference. The masses in the Coliseum didn’t mean squat. Always been that way. The sad fact of the matter is the people don’t mean much when it comes to changing history.

You’re never going to get the masses to move in mass. There is a natural inertia ingrained in the populace. What with just trying to make a living such things as revolutionary change slip by the wayside. Once a revolution starts, and seems to be working, people tend to join in. Everyone wants to get next to a happening guy. The American revolution was like that. The people involved were actually a very small percentage, but when it was a done deal then America, America, God shed His grace on thee. If we’d have lost it would have been God save the king.

Michael is a brilliant man but he has never figured in the chickenshit factor. Most people are chickenshit. They won’t move until either the movement is sure to win or their butts are on the line and they have to move. That’s called human nature. It boils down to this. If this Texas independence thing is going to work it’s going to be a few nuts that make it fly. You’re never going to see crowds of people behind you. If the IRS is ever going to be ended some people are going to have to go to jail. The so-called “people” are not going to rise to the occasion.

Michael is disappointed with the chat rooms. Well, that’s what chat rooms are for. Most people there are looking for diversion. But, if you look closely you’ll see one or two like me, and let me tell you brothers and sisters, I’m open for business. I intend to tear the government down, stick it up Obama’s ass, and see a new Republic of Texas. It’s very simple, actually. I don’t have that many years left, and if I don’t make it, well, someone will read an article and take the torch.

Shopping Tips

While I try to follow the party line I reserve the right to make my own choices. When someone tells me not to like something I always weigh that advice with my own criteria. That, and my political correctness barometer is set to zero. I never do something to appear correct to prying eyes. Here’s a list of my personal likes and dislikes. You don’t have to follow these, just do your own thing, ok?

I like Walmart. It’s big, it has stuff I want, and the carts are always charged up. Sometimes I go to Walmart just to ride around. I grew up in a town with very few choices as far as stores went. With Walmart I can go to one place and buy anything from a hamburger to a book to a beer. I don’t care about low wages. I care about “falling prices.” Now Walmart employees are for the most part brain dead. That’s why they don’t make much money. You don’t pay idiots in the six figure range. I have actually asked where a particular item was while positioning myself right in front of the item and been told, “That’s not my department!” That’s ok with me. I KNOW where the beer is!

For those of you not in Texas HEB is like Kroger’s on steroids. HEB will put a store right across the STREET from a Walmart and compete head to head with it. I don’t like the fact that HEB uses Mexican illegals, but I do like the fact that most of the checkers are young, pretty girls. That always enriches my shopping experience. Especially when they help me take my stuff to my Mercedes. I mean the SEE the beer, wine and cigarettes, and they SEE the car, but I digress. Texas girls are delightful. The meat is good. There’s even a “Better cook this TODAY” isle where the prices are quite low. The employees know a lot more about the store than the average Walmart employee, but that’s all good. I KNOW where the beer is!

I don’t like Starbucks, and it’s not entirely their anti-gun stand. Their coffee is too damn high! I can buy my OWN Expresso machine, thank you very much. When they allowed smoking on the deck that was cool, but they stomped out the cigarettes long about the same time they ran CHL holders off. So I’m sitting there thinking, when this place gets robbed, and it will get robbed, I’m going to be standing before a firing squad without even a last cigarette! Starbucks politically corrected itself right out of my wallet.

In contrast to Starbucks a senior coffee at McDonald’s is around forty-nine cents. You can get the fancy coffee and they’re more expensive, but still beat the hell out of the Mermaid place. Oh, forgot to tell you, I don’t like the Starbucks Mermaid either. Nothing to do with Satanic cults, I just don’t like women who smell like fish. Anyway, McDonald’s has biscuits and gravy. I like that. I’ll get crazy about twice a year and eat a Big Mac. Eating McDonald’s all the time is not good for you, but an occasional McFish won’t kill you. McDonald’s provides entry level jobs for lots of kids. That does NOT influence my decision to eat there. I don’t care who they hire so long as they don’t spit in my food.

Any Privately Owned Mexican Restaurant
If MaMasita is doing the cooking and her daughters are waiting the tables I’m IN! I always get the combination platter. Prices are right and most likely the food is real food. Amazing how such a skinny plate can fill you up. I don’t eat Taco Bell. A few years ago when they had that little exposé about silicon in the beef and the CEO actually admitted it, and went on to explain how silicon is used safely for breast implants, also, well, I prefer my titties ala-carte.

Korean Owned Used Appliance Shops
Koreans are the most industrious people on the planet. If you can get all the pieces in a box they can make it work. The prices are negotiable and the warranty is simple. If it breaks, and you,didn’t break it, they’ll come out and fix it. Now, I don’t like Korean Real Estate agents. Don’t use them!

Corporate Barber Shops
Prices are too high. I use a Korean shop and the barber’s daughter rubs my neck

ANY Online Dating Service
Oh don’t get me started. Friend of mine got me to go on Plenty Of Fish. I was honest in my profile and found Plenty Of Whales. That, and every transvestite in Nigeria. I KNEW better. I’ll just pick up girls from HEB.

I could go on but I think you get the idea. I’m getting old now so I’m probably set in my ways. There are things I didn’t get into like biker bars, I like them and Sushi, I don’t like that. If you use my simple rule for personal preference your choices may be different from mine, but you’ll be a lot happier.