A woman was executed in Georgia last night. Now, my views on the death penalty are going to surprise some of you. First off, I believe in justice. By justice, I mean clear cut, no doubt, and clear. As they used to say in the old west, up front so you know who, and close enough so you know why. The modern practice of execution has neither of these. Back in those days when a judge brought the gavel down you had maybe thirty days, if they didn’t hang you right then, and there was no complicated appeals process to gum up the works. Some cowboy who killed a little girl was hauled out to a tree, if he survived the posse, and strung up while the whole town looked on. People brought their kids so they could see what happens to bad people. That’s called a “deterrent.”

Last night’s execution didn’t deter anything. An old lady died of an overdose of drugs while crying and singing, “Amazing Grace.” She made a mistake. One choice in her life led her to that gurney. She lived with that choice for twenty years, in a small cell, hating life. I’m all for criminals getting what’s coming to them, but there is a vast difference between shooting a robber in a 7/11, and killing someone who’s crime was somewhere in the last century. If you are religious, then maybe there is “Amazing Grace” and her murdered husband was waiting for her on the other side. If you do not believe, then darkness fell, and she knew after her death exactly what she knew before she was conceived . . . nothing!

And there are those who’ll go on and on about the “expense” of maintaining convicts. It’s so much more expedient to just kill them than to feed and house them for a number of years. Ok students, we have prisons full of bad people. People much worse than the lady who died last night, and we feed them! Until you reform the criminal justice system, and stop jailing people for being addicted to drugs, prostituting themselves, or just plain being an eyesore, you are going to have prisons full of people. Saving the state the cost of a plate of bacon and eggs this morning did not balance the Georgia budget.

Then there’s the deterrent factor. What did it deter? A few witnesses and some guards? Do you really think there’s a house wife somewhere in Atlanta this morning thinking, “Gee, I was going to kill my husband today, but I’m going to rethink that because if I get caught they might execute me in 2035?” Consider Jody Arias. Now there’s a bitch! I crappith thee not! Pretty as a picture. I’ve seen her photos. Hey, she’s over twenty-one, sit down and shut up! Anyway, look what she did. Big, strapping Mormon boy, running naked down a hallway while she filleted him with a butcher knife, then cut his throat and popped a round into him. Drags him back to the shower, drives down the street and has a three piece KFC lunch. Did I say, “Bitch?”

After much ado, and cleavage, Jody got life. And I do mean life. When she is very old and very sick, the last thing she’s going to see is grey walls, guards, and lesbians. Welcome to hell. Not worried about the old eye liner now, are we? That’s JUSTICE! With all the government pork and spending, Jody’s pot pie is not going to break the bank, but it is going to break Jody! She’s not waiting to be dead, she is dead! She is a vain, self-centered, conniving little wench, and now she amounts to nothing.
Finally, let me ask you a question. Do you really trust the government that much? And it’s not just that, it’s lawyers. How many DNA results do you have to see before you realize these are the same people who foul up your property taxes, water bill, schools, highways, and whiskey? The same people who can’t understand any of the bill of rights are making life and death decisions, and it still takes them twenty years to do that! I have an idea. If someone gets the death penalty, and later DNA proves the case was totally contrived, how about taking the DA and putting him on death row? I mean, he conspired to commit murder, used state funds to do it, and had no remorse. Maybe he’ll get a letter from the Pope, who knows.

Simple Ol’ Boy From Austin



It’s All Going To Pot

Sat back this weekend and had a beer (or two) watching the news and regrouping. I call it, “Letting the well fill.” I have ideas flowing in my mind all the time. I’ll start watching YouTube and get on a run of videos that leads just about anywhere. Yesterday’s big push was Facebook addiction. I crappith thee not! There is an actual condition called “Facebook Addiction Disorder!” It has SYMTOMS! No, for real, and I have every one of them. I’m real good at dodging a drunk test, but this caught be a bit unawares.

As you know, I pulled back from Facebook about a week ago because I was putting a huge amount of time into it for virtually no return. Over the weekend I refined my ideas and I’m still going to post on Doc’s page, and a small private group. What I’m not going to do is sit on this porch “liking” Cob salads and dogs dancing the cha cha! My original contention was correct. Much ado about nothing. I did find one major flaw, stemming from the videos. They go on and on about once you put something on Facebook it’s there forever! You can’t really delete anything, and millions upon millions of people will see it. LIE!! Ok, lookee here. . . I’m a writer. I WANT millions of people to see my stuff. That’s my complaint! Nada! I could put a picture of myself naked on this porch typing this article and maybe, just maybe I’ll get one “like” from the gay guy around the corner.

But that’s not where the addiction comes from. That is where you check, and recheck your status, likes, news feed, whatEVER, hoping something will break. The only thing that ever happens is when you make an honest comment someone takes offense and you’re off to “Facebook Jail.” While sitting in my cell last week I came to realize that I was just as goofy as those thirteen year old airhead chicks with their pink iPhones and their “BFF.s” My granddaughter, Kylie, is cooler than I am. My other granddaughter, Jordyn, not so much. After three days in solitary I got over the shakes. Facebook reinstated me, but I didn’t go back for my fix. I pulled completely away. I did set up some rules. No more scanning the news feed. Other than my secret group, and you must be invited by an existing member to get there, I don’t comment on squat! You have to have people you really know! I once made a comment to a girl in Arizona that she was still pretty, even though she was pregnant. She was having an issue, thinking she was fat, and I was driving home the point of beautiful motherhood. Well, I’m sixty-four, and she’s twenty-one, and all her friends jumped on me calling me a creepy stalker. I un-friended everybody in Arizona and searched for a way to block anything I ever write from going there. Stalk that!

That brings me to another subject I got into this weekend. If you type in “Facebook danger” you’ll get a virtual instruction manual on how to lure teen-age girls to a city park and pick them up. It’s all in the guise of “saving the children,” but the bottom dollar is that after you watch a couple hundred of these videos you realize that teens are semi-retarded. When I was young the rules were simple; don’t talk to strangers, look both ways when you cross the street and eat all your spinach. Now you have kids who “friend” just about anybody and the first time they get invited to a face to face their only response is, “I have to wait until my parents are asleep.” Kylie would never do that. Jury’s still out on Jordyn. Matter of fact she did sneak out at least once, but we don’t like to talk about that around here. What I’m trying to say is we, as adults, seriously need to reinforce simple survival rules or the species is not going to make it. The world is changed. When I was seven a rite of passage was to be able to get on a trolley, go downtown, see a movie, and find your way back home. If you tried to teach your kid that nowadays you’d have the CPS case from hell! Like ol’ Willie said in his last song, “It’s all going to pot. . . best I can tell the world’s gone to hell, and we’re sure gonna miss it a lot!” God, I hope Trump makes it.

Simple Ol’ Boy From Austin


Sgt Martland

How far do Muslims have to go before the world says, “Enough?” How far does common decency have to be stretched before the rubber band snaps? Sgt Charles Martland honored his oath in Afghanistan when he intervened in the rape of a little boy, and now he’s being drummed out of the army. Two bronze stars, one with valor, years of service, gone! A boy chained to a bed, being raped. Mother went to Sgt Martland begging, and the soldier stopped it!

Normally I can be clever, make light, used words to circle the issue, but not now. The Afghan involved was just following his master, Mohammed, who married a five year old girl. Oh, sure, he didn’t consummate the marriage until she was nine, nice guy, but Muslims go through great pain to explain how this was proper, and we have to understand the “times.” Ok, it’s time to dispense with all the political correctness and call these pervs what they are. PERVS! They rape little boys, but they stone beautiful women for being beautiful. Now, I’m just a Simple Ol’ Boy from Austin, but that’s a queer, folks!

The greatest oxymoron imaginable is to hold a man such as Sgt Martland to such a high standard, and then turn on him for acting on that standard. The defense of the helpless. I thought that’s what we were over there for in the first place. It seems as if we just cleared the playing field for every weird, perverted animal to run amuck and do whatever he wants. And, in all of our new, liberal, mindset the rules of engagement become convoluted. The Libtards want religion out of our lives, but they stand in defense of anything Muslim. Do the logic; Muslims are perverts, Liberals defend Muslims, therefore Liberals are perverts. See how that works?

One thing for sure, Sgt Martland is not a pervert! He is a soldier, honoring his oath. If you are offended by this please go to this petition and sign it. Forward it to everyone you know. Call your Congressman, call your friends, and raise a stink! We cannot let this warrior fall. This is so black and white it defies logic. How can such an action even be considered? Patton would have just shot the pervert on the spot. We need to take a good long look at the slime that lives over there, and a real hard look at the slime passing itself off as “refugees” right now. Wanna see where liberal thought takes you? I give you GERMANY! France, too. All those Nancy Boys downing America, now watching as Muslims tear up their countries. Like I said before, we’re not going to come over and save you again.

I’m going to be up front with you. When I see a guy wearing a dress, with a beard, a turban, and screaming, “Allah Akbar,” I don’t think of his religious rights, I just see a queer. And all you gay rights idiots out there better wise up. These new friends of yours will chunk you fairies off a roof to see if you can fly! What is happening to Martland is as wrong as pooping in bed, and I’ll bet the “Holy Qu’ran” approves of that too!

Simple Ol’ Boy From Austin


The Great Bomb Threat of 1969

Ahmed is all over the news yet again today, but I have a story for you. On one front I empathize with the kid, and I’m going to tell you why. The great bomb threat of 1969. When I was in high school I had a routine of writing a book a year. I would buy one of those spiral notebooks with two hundred pages (a major investment for a white trash kid from Po-Dunk, Texas) and I’d write a book. One was just a collection of dreams. I’d have a dream and then write it down the next day. Then I’d pass it around and to my surprise the other kids liked it. There was one girl in particular, a black kid, who came over to my table in the cafeteria, with my book, and excitedly began to talk about it. I still remember her face after all these years. Perhaps if. . . well, anyway, back to the book.

In my senior year I planned another book, and this time I really planned. I actually devised a plot. Now bear in mind I knew zip about outline, through lines, plot, back story or any of that. I couldn’t spell and I was failing English, and I SPOKE English. The teacher had actually told me I would never be able to communicate in the English language. But, I could weave a tale! This particular story was innovative. It was a story of a kid who was irritated with his school. He comes up with this idea to plant a bomb in the cafeteria, set to go off at 12:20 PM while the room was full. Sounds common now, but this was 1969, yeah, I’m good. The plot was leading up to the blast, and the events after. I wrote the book. My plan was always the same. Fill up the two hundred pages. When the notebook was full I was done. I passed it to a classmate, who passed it to another, and another, and finally to my English teacher who passed it to the principal, who called the police.

Seems there was one teeny tiny little problem with my book. My bomb would work! Having been born in Shreveport, Louisiana, and growing up among the oil fields, I, like all my fellow students, was well versed in what to do when you came upon a blasting cap. We were taught what would make one of those things go off, how to get away, what not to touch, and how to get the police to come and fetch it. Well, shucks! My book bomb was simple. I don’t know why terrorists have to go to any training. I took an old fashioned alarm clock. I ran two wires from a lantern battery, you know, one of those things half as big as a pound cake, one wire to one of the bells on top of the clock, and another from the opposite pole of the battery to the striker, from there to the opposing ends of the blasting cap which was tucked conveniently into a bundle of dynamite. Set th1e alarm for 12:20, leave the device on the shelves in the lunch room among all the books and back packs, get the hell out of there, 12:20 rolls around, alarm goes off, lunch is over!

Police chief Charlie Mitchell lost his MIND! Little Ahmed is so lucky he lives in today’s Texas. The first thing Mr. Patterson, the principal did was beat my butt. He had this paddle he’d constructed out of a hardwood floor plank. Then, Charlie came in and grilled me for hours! I had one aspect of my personality that has served me well all these years. All the time these two rednecks were foaming at the mouth, screaming, all I was thinking was, “Holy smoke! I got a HIT!” The other thing I was thinking was that if I ever really did make a bomb, I’d put it under that English teacher’s desk.

I never got my book back, and I was too lazy to write another. You have to understand I was “winging” it, and by the time all hell broke loose I was more interested in Jody Tucker’s shorts than repeating another copy, and besides that, my butt was still hurting. What came out of all of this was I realized that I could communicate in the English language, lost all respect for teachers, and surprisingly I passed English! Computers and spell check came along, and well, the rest is history. Someday I may land a publishing deal, they’ll make movies, I’ll go on talk shows, the host will poke fun at my accent, and Mr. Patterson’s heirs will sell my notebook for an indescribable amount of money, whereupon I’ll hire some thugs in Vegas to fetch the notebook back, accompany them to the suite, and my book sales will go through the roof, but I don’t know nothing about all that.

Simple Ol’ Boy From Austin


Tic Toc

Some issues simply will not die, such as this little twerp up in Irving. I took up his cause initially, but after looking at the whole situation I wiped the pie off my face and realized the political implications. Uh, Muslims, kid, massive publicity, call from Obama, who’d have thought, right? I wish I could get that kind of roll out on one of my books, I’d never work again! Ok, let’s just look at some facts, shall we? Ask yourself, if Suzie Sweetcheeks, blonde haired blue eyed leader of the cheerleader squad had come in with this gadget just what do you suppose would have happened? Ahmed had to parade this contraption around school for six classes before someone said, “WTF!” and called the cops. Then a flurry of media with his father and mother by his side, mom had the appropriate towel on her head, and the school scurried for the cover of political correctness.

Take a look at where this happened. Irving, Texas. There IS a Suzie Sweetcheeks there. She’s the MAYOR, and she shut down the local Sharia court a few months back. The Muslims were quietly setting up an alternative government and she took offense. I think there was even a “This Ain’t Gonna Fly In Texas,” law passed down in Austin, but I may be wrong. Enter CAIR. That’s the Muslim front group that allegedly funds several Islamic groups that would love to blow Texas off the map. Little Ahmed builds his clock, and after the poo poo hits the fan he assumes this air of a young Kunta Kinte. “I SHALL make a drum.”

Ok, he is a brown kid who is a member of a religion that blows stuff up all over the world! Strolls into school with a big box going, “Tic Toc, Tic Toc.” Oh, the thought of terrorism never occurred, right? Did someone say, “Garland?” This was a contrived event. On the surface it’s a boy with a box. One layer under that it’s an effort to expose bigotry. At the core it’s a way to desensitize the school, indeed the public, and the next box won’t be going, “Tic Toc,” it’ll be going, “BOOM!” If this kid was so smart why didn’t he redesign the Apple watch? Why didn’t he make the iCloud link flawlessly with Microsoft? Why didn’t he invent a new way to process goat! He didn’t do that because first of all, the clock was just an existing clock, disassembled and placed in a box, and second, this was all a planned event by CAIR to CAIRry out their agenda.

Of course he said he’s not going back to that high school. Good move, because THAT’S where the bomb is gonna go off. I fully expect to see him on some talk show, with his sister behind him whispering answers of course, and he may even get a reality series. Just like those two zombies in Garland learned, Texans were not born yesterday, and they were not born in the dark. I’d love to say more, but I have to contact Ahmed and see if I can ghost write his upcoming best seller. Hey, I’m not a communist! Tic Toc!

Simple Ol’ Boy From Austin


How To Be A Writer 101

During a get together last night someone posed the question all writers dread. “How much money have you made?” This will throw the unseasoned off, and result in everything from excuses to outright anger, but I’ve been doing this a long time, and said, “Not a cent.” I’m not a real writer, I’m more of an accidental tourist. My entire writing career has been backing into a corner, and writing my way out. My patent advice to beginners is if you are writing for money stop, and sell snow cones. You’ll make more.

You must write because you enjoy it. If the dollar signs are before your eyes composition becomes laborious, and that will work its way into your material. For me writing an article is like painting a picture. You do the whole thing, and then go back putting a dab here, a dab there, until you get what you want. The whole picture must fit. When I dream up a subject I pretty much have the entire concept in my head, and the resulting article is the summation thereof.

You have to learn the craft. I wrote music for years, and finally got that down to where I could churn out a fairly good song, but I’ve only been in political satire for about two years. I’m still in training. That, and I have a high school education from Killeen, Texas, and that’s just about as illiterate as you can get and they still let you drive a car. I know absolutely nothing about composition, subject-verb agreement, proper English, or adjectives. What I do know is how to turn a phrase, use sixty-four years of common sense, and poke fun at liberals who don’t know what sex they are.

You all know the famous writers, King, Hemmingway, and Grisham. Those are rare. If you are going to be a successful writer, i.e. write every day and get read you have to be successful in your own right. Mine was real estate. By dumb luck I formed a company with my wife and sold a boat load of real estate. In the process I became versed in real estate law, and brothers and sisters, I ain’t kidding. I have sat before the Texas Real Estate Commission, representing brokers twelve times and schooled them! The only time I ever lost was when we used a lawyer (Ted Smith) and his brilliance cost me forty-six thousand dollars. The fact is, if you are going to write you must experience life else you have nothing to write about. In Nashville all beginning songwriters go on endlessly about “paying dues,” and the life of a songwriter. I just wrote songs about loose women and bad whiskey because I knew all about that, and couldn’t find the Grand Ol’ Opry with a GPS!

All my stuff is original, right off the top of my head. I write “off the cuff,” and call myself “A Simple Ol’ Boy From Austin.” That way, if I foul up I can always say, “Hey, I TOLD you I was stupid!” Like I said, I was a song writer, adult country humor to be exact. Although I’d written three books I didn’t consider myself to be much of a prose writer. I put one or two little comments up on Doc Greene’s chat room. I’d always had several Facebook pages, but never developed them. As you may have seen yesterday I have divorced Facebook, but, just like a real divorce, she keeps coming around, so we’ll see how that goes. Facebook is worthless to me, but I want to bring my reader base over to more productive formats. Anyway, I kept making comments on Doc’s chat room and little by little I began to expand the comments to articles and put them up on various pages and groups.

A friend of mine suggested I do a blog. I’ve always considered a blog to be a poor man’s publishing, but it took little effort so I ran one. Then someone suggested that I string the articles together and do a book, so I did. I published through Amazon, which is another poor man’s effort, but the price is right. I wasn’t particularly happy with the layout, and getting them to accept the cover was an ordeal, but the words were all there. That, and the fact that I wrote the book on an iPhone. Published it from an iPhone too. How cool is THAT? I just love it when someone gets on me about my punctuation, not realizing I write mostly on an iPhone, in the morning, with dirty glasses. Go Figure!

I began to attend political events, and drawing upon what I was writing I actually had something to say. The stats began to pile up and I realized this was working, which was never my intention at all. Bear in mind I was retired after a career in Nashville and Austin. Divorced, I had been living with my son out in California and hanging out near Ocotillo Wells. My ambition was to have Martinis with co-eds and play guitar on the beach. I migrated back to Texas, and ended up taking care of my five grandchildren which my ex had adopted and actually looking after her husband who had been diagnosed with Agent Orange and cancer. He actually subscribed to my blogs and began to discuss Texas politics with me. The man has three bronze stars and a purple heart. When I would tell him I was “thinking” about going to some rally he’d rush out, buy me a new suit of clothes (I’m a desert rat) and insist that I go! They eventually moved up to Salt Lake and left me to care for the two houses back in Texas. (So much for retirement.)

So, I began a routine of putting up an article a day on Raging Elephants and various groups writing blogs and sitting on the porch composing on my iPhone, none of which I took very seriously. I made the style simple so the average reader could understand. I would take an issue, step back, look at it, and ask, “What’s REALLY going on here?” Originally I made it salty. Since I was a song writer I made the articles “go ’round in ‘circles.” I used key phrases like, “Swat them bees,” and “Save your fork,” to alert the reader. I read a lot, but I don’t do research per sae outside of checking the correct spelling of someone’s name. After I wrote something I read it out loud. This is an old songwriter’s trick. The article must go around in circles. The human mind looks for conclusion. You start, explain, and end up right back where you started. Hammer that nail! The reason for reading out loud is to make the prose smooth. Forget everything some college English teacher ever told you. If they knew anything about writing they’d be in the New York Times list and not teaching in some Po-Dunk junior college out in Coryell County, Texas! I regularly use “don’t” for “doesn’t,” double negatives, and I’m real fond of the word, “ain’t,” because that’s what Bubba sitting in his F-150 with his copy of the Dam Good Times understands!

I learn by listening to people who obviously have more comprehension than I, and for the most part they have been very supportive. I never argue, and most of the time I’m not rude, unless you count putting up “Leatherface,” and making a racial slur, yeah, I done that. I’m very aware that I’m a beginner with absolutely NO training. I’d end up on a radio show with some guy who had more degrees than a thermometer, and I didn’t have the background to debate a brisket recipe, much less black history (I’m from Texas, so I simply must be a racist, right?) ! About the worse I’ve ever done is to ask a professor on Michael Bee’s show, who was expounding his theory of the black tribes in Africa civilizing Egypt and the western world, why I couldn’t find any great pyramids in the Congo. (He told me the Illuminati had “cloaked” them!) Being an adult humorist I originally used very salty language, but began to pull back as I realized people were actually READING my stuff!

My first book on this subject, “A Simple Ol’ Boy From Austin” was so so, but I’m now putting together a second book, “I Crappith Thee NOT,” in which I will zero in more on style, and content. I don’t expect to hit the best seller list. I am retired and between me, and my husband in law we have three homes. The old sarge was hanging on for dear life because he wanted to get a place out in SoCal and have me to take him sand railing across the Mojave Desert before he died. He always told me, “The best is yet to come.” Maybe he knew something I didn’t.

The way I look at it I will never get an honorable mention in the New York Times, but hey . . .I live in Texas! You can buy a lot of beer with 50,000 sales! I am always grateful for people who put up with me, and I learn from greater minds than my own. Simple Ol’ Boy From Austin is the personification of a philosophy. If you are going to write you must divorce ego. I am really simple, as are most people. I have no remote idea how many people read my stuff. I know my one reader, my mother no longer does because she’s dead. I have never in my life ran into someone at the supermarket that ever read anything I ever wrote. Pump up your ego and you’ll get your feeling hurt quick!

Once, when I attended a meeting where I spoke, when I emerged someone was asking me all kinds of questions about my opinions about this and that, and using words I didn’t understand. I told her, “Well, I don’t know nothing about all of that, but they sure got some good samiches in there.” Guess she didn’t like the cuisine, because she left.

Simple Ol’ Boy From Austin


The Jawbone of an Ass

I sent out a notice to my Facebook friends last night that I was leaving Facebook. There are many factors concerning this decision, and I’m going to try to explain them here. First off the statistics. For all the hoopla generated by Zuckerberg and company, for me Facebook is virtually worthless. I place articles in dozens of groups and get, mmmm, maybe twenty reads a day. Compare that with the Tea Party Tribune, Patriotic Warriors, Raging Elephants, the Dam Good Times, MY blogs, and Twitter. Twitter alone gave me 13,000 reaches just since midnight last night. (Zuck you Zuckerberg!)

Another problem is my drinking habits. I like Jim Beam and Martinis. Both I take straight. When I see some girly-man pour Coke in a shot of Beam I wonder why he’s drinking at all. Same with my writing. When I put something on Facebook I have to include two shots of water to dumb it down for the Facebook police. Now, I’m not going harp on that old “freedom of speech” argument. It’s their little sex site and they have a right to run it as they see fit. I mean, I’m not a communist. But, when I have to edit every other line for political correctness so as not to offend some freaky looking school kid that got lucky on the internet I just get madder, and madder, and madder.

And, if you are white, and Christian the rules change all the time. You never know if you’re in-house, or out-house. One day you can post a Richard Pryor joke and it’s all cool, and the next to type the word “Muslim,” and you do ten days in Facebook jail! And I’m not even a good Christian! If I get into heaven it’ll be because Saint Peter fell asleep at the gate. As you might imagine, all this is extremely perplexing to a political satirist who used to write adult country comedy in Nashville. Oh, did I mention that I like women? That’s a Facebook No No, too. You gotta be gay. Heterosexuality is the new black. That and baby killing. And if you’re gay and pro-choice? Shut the front door! So you got two sets of rules. If you’re a liberal leftist with a same sex friend you can post most anything you want. Just call yourself Muslim, and , well, shucks. . . over coffee a week ago I got to look at a picture of a formerly lovely young lady who championed the cause of the refugees in Sweden. Well, she has looked better. The picture I saw was her body on some rocks, naked, with her head bashed in and her legs spread like a baked chicken. But Facebook is offended by Leatherface waving his chainsaw.

So, here I am stepping gingerly through Facebook barbed wire, trying to water down my stuff enough to not get slammed and getting about twenty or thirty consistent reads. That’s like the girl that loads up your Visa and takes the bartender home. Now, before you think I am an unsuspecting victim I baited Facebook, ok? Last night I kept pushing the envelope until they popped. To be honest, I’m not totally leaving. I will maintain contact with some friends, and my granddaughter who reads my stuff on her iPhone while in college. I began the migration away from Facebook about a year ago. I didn’t rely on it for any distribution of merit.

I have several places that I can be found. Google is one. Now I don’t understand Google. I’m everywhere there. I started several blogs. At one point each article was a separate blog. I wrote for Angel Eyes Over Texas for a while (still do) so you can find old stuff that I don’t even remember writing. There is a subscribe button, and you can click it and get that blog emailed to you as it updates. WordPress is my workhorse. Even the Tea Party Tribune uses it as a foundation. Actually, I was coming out of the Tribune and most of what went to Facebook was links back to that publication. Its sister site, Patriotic Warriors, gets mirror images of the articles. The Dam Good Times is my brick and mortar. I’m there monthly in a section called “Wilbur’s Corner.” Crystal Lee Larimore runs that, and she’s nice to me so long as I don’t cuss. You might want to consider subscribing that that paper. Good Texas stuff that you won’t find anywhere else. Then there is Raging Elephants Radio. Doc Greene made me what I am today. You can go there, but you can also get the station on the TuneIn App on your smartphone. On the site there is a chatroom where you can interact with the hosts (and yes, they will really chat with you) and express your ideas.

My articles go worldwide. Just like my books, I get copied, and distributed by people I never met, and will never know. I’m not hard to find. What I realized was that I was short changing all of these outlets by licking the boots of Facebook, and that’s why I made the decision to move away from that medium. I submit to two other quite well known talk show hosts, but I won’t name drop here, suffice to say my move will not affect that in any way. Both men have had issues with Facebook themselves, and who knows, I may start something here.

Ok, publicity! Ring the bell, school’s in. Yesterday I did an article about little Ahmed the watch maker up in Irving. Now, you have to understand, I’m sixty-four, on a back porch in Hotterthanhell, Texas, over my first cup of coffee and a cigarette. I check the news and here’s this story about this kid bringing a clock to school and gets jacked up by the cops. Well, I am leery of cops, and I really don’t like school teachers so here I go. Then I published it, and then I had a second cup of coffee and began to peel the onion. Do you know how hard it is to get publicity? You could set a puppy on fire on main street and get maybe thirty-five views on YouTube. You could write an article proving the existence of God, and have photographs of the Big Bang and if you’re lucky your mother might read it. Sooooooo, little Ahmed brings his contraption to school and the east and west coasts light up. Now just how do you suppose that happened? Could there be some organization with an agenda lurking behind the scenes? You betcha. It’s called CAIR. CAIR is the organization that supposedly tries to reconcile Islam with USlam, by putting the Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders in Burqas. Ok, students, there are two kinds of Muslims in the world. The radical Muslims who want to kill you, and the moderate Muslims who want the radical Muslims to kill you. On the surface some kid getting slapped for a clock seems harmless enough. What about the next clock? See how that works. Ever wonder why all those guys getting their heads cut off on the ISIS show seem so calm. That’s because they’ve been put in that position so many time they think it’s just another dry run. In every science fair I ever saw in school the students were assigned a project by the teacher. The teacher was fully aware of what was being done, indeed, maybe even assisting the kid along the way. Then along comes Ahmed with this briefcase sized “clock” and walks in with the digital display running. If this punk was so smart, why didn’t he redesign the Apple Watch?

Anyway, I am constructing an alternative to Facebook. That’s the plan. I will tweak things along the way, and invite advice from everyone. I have to figure a way to sell my latest book, A Simple Ol’ Boy From Austin. I have another I’m working on, “I Crappith Thee NOT!” I live in Texas, so I don’t have to make much money, that’s why the book is so cheap. I have one thing I like to do that costs a bit, and that’s trips to California to drink wine and watch girls swim in the ocean. The view is free, but the wine is a bit pricey. Thank you all for your support, and I will continue to attack liberals with the jawbone of an ass.

Simple Ol’ Boy From Austin


Stupid is as Stupid Does

I’m real good at pointing out stupid, and I get into a lot of trouble when I do it. I try to analyze stupid, and explain how it comes to be. There are different levels of stupid. There’s the teenage girl in that video recently who thought thirteen pounds was the weight of something. That’s a harmless stupid. Pretty girl, air head, well, you do the math. Then there’s the IRS agent that simply can’t fathom that if you buy a stock high, and sell low, you lose money. They’re a bit more bothersome. Then there is Police Chief Larry Boyd of Irving, Texas who takes stupid to a whole new level. Now, he had help. He didn’t do this all by himself. He had a bunch of Texas school ma’arms to assist, and brothers and sisters, that’s DANGEROUS stupid right there.

Having had many encounters with schools here in the Lone Star State, I’m fully aware that I’m dealing with the intellectually challenged. I don’t have any real stats, but I suspect most teachers are liberal democrats. What gets funny is when their butts are on the line they act just like right wing republicans. I give you Ahmed Mohamed, terrorist extraordinaire, the bane of life, liberty, and mom’s apple pie. Kid brings a clock to school, and everybody’s poo poo goes to Ozarka Spring water.

Two factors created this. One, the main stream media, while touting liberal viewpoints they never miss a single head ISIS lobs off. We’ve seen so many beheadings that we’re beginning to critique style. Oh, and there’s always a “disclaimer,” letting us know what’s coming, but that just makes you watch. After watching a couple hundred executions along comes little Ahmed with his clock and everybody’s butt falls off.

Then there is the second factor. Weak, mealy-mouthed, wannabe Muslims who never stand up and say that things like ISIS do not represent them, and their interpretation of the Qu’ran is not the way they understand it. Simple rule of law via Thomas More: If someone does something and you do nothing to stop it, or at least stand against it, then it can only be construed that you agree with said action. A pack of fools spill out into the streets of Paris, turn cars over and “moderate” Muslims just sit in their shops and say or do nothing then they become part of the problem. Never mind the guy who just sold you a pack of cigarettes down at the Quickie Mart, all you remember is someone’s head coming off in Syria.

As for the police chief in Irving? Well first off ya’ll know this just had to happen in Texas. I mean we don’t look redneck enough, we have to handcuff school kids and march them out in full view of the Klan, right? The teacher took the device away from the boy. Ok, ok, maybe the teacher wasn’t trained in bombs, but the police are. I believe to blow something up you have to have some kind of explosive, right. I mean I’m just a simple ol’ boy from Austin, but don’t they have, like, DOGS for that? Maybe one of those little robots with a camera? And, oh yeah, his dad ran for president of the Sudan twice. I don’t believe we gave Sudan a bomb with a one hundred and fifty billion dollar tip, now did we?

Just like Kim Davis made her statement, little Ahmed made his. This country has to move beyond knee jerk reactions. Not all Muslims are bomb wielding terrorists and not all Christians kiss snakes. I think all Californians are gay, but then, that’s just me. If there’s any justice little Ahmed will turn into another Steve Jobs. Oh, did I tell you he was Syrian. Jus sayin!

Simple Ol’ Boy From Austin


Donald and the Ten Dwarfs

I had a dilemma today in naming this article. I was going to call it “Donald and his ten bitches,” but this is a family show so I opted for “Donald and the ten dwarfs.” Well, we had the big debate last night. Between all the one-liners and quips I don’t think anything of substance was discussed. Challengers to the next POTUS were Carly Florina, Rand Paul, and Ben Carson. Everybody else was there for the photo op, and the free dinner at the end. There was some guy named George Pataki, I think he was once a governor someplace, and of course Jeb Bush, looking all “presidential” for all the good that did him. There were so many RINOs up there I thought the “Donald” was on safari.

I was worried about how Trump would come out, but I shouldn’t have. This guy could sell the Chinese a rice cake. The discussion between Florina and Trump centered around how ugly she is, and how nobody wants to talk about it. Donald opened up on Rand Paul. Now Paul is hanging onto the edge of the stage. They let him on for comic relief, in memory of his father’s many failed attempts to mass produce tin foil hats. Paul called Trump “sophomoric,” which was . . . special. I suppose that was the word of the day, as Trump gave him the “bum’s rush” for the door. He mentioned that Rand Paul looked peculiar. Maybe in the end we can breed him and Florina and get something like Whoopi Goldberg, you think?

And then along came Pataki. I’ve honestly never heard of this guy, but I’m from Austin, and I do miss some things. Trump made mention of his bid for dog catcher. I didn’t pick up on the response. I’m developing a theory that some of these cats get on these debates to promote speaking tours or book sales, because they sure ain’t getting the nomination. The only serious contender was Ben Carson, and this is sad. Good man, educated, articulate, the whole package. Only problem is Obama has sealed the fate of any black candidate for like the next two hundred years. Carson will be remembered as a Ben Franklin figure, wise, but no votes. I think Trump may put him on the cabinet. In all honesty he would make an excellent Surgeon General.

The only sure thing is that one of the guys will be the next president. The Democrats are making sure that two by four is shoved up Hillary’s butt far enough to at least keep her standing until the general election. Early on they put all their eggs and some bacon in her basket as the president designate, and now that the scandals are rolling out they have to play it through and just pray she doesn’t get indicted before the election. Wouldn’t it be funny if the FBI finally downloads all the stuff on her server and it’s filled with Bill’s kiddie porn? The liberals are in full denial as their “Shirley Temple” becomes Mylie Cyrus, and twerks across the country in an orange jump suit. Appropriate. Some guy on Facebook even said something about “fake polls” yesterday. Yeah, buddy, just keep telling yourself that. They’re going to keep the blinders on until Donald puts his hand on that Bible January 20th of 2017, and then their world is going to go from cream to crap in about three minutes. It’s becoming fashionable for liberal celebrities to say if Donald Trump is elected they will leave the country. Might I suggest. . . Syria?

Simple Ol’ Boy From Austin


Just a TV Star

The attack on Donald Trump has taken a twist. Trying to shout him down about illegal immigration failed as the police worked the crime scene in San Francisco. It didn’t fly when he took on McCain. Of course there’s his hair, his daughter, his wife, his helicopter and never forget, his money. Every time the liberal left takes a swing it falls short. Now, he’s just a TV star. Well, no, he’s not! He’s a very successful real estate developer from New York City. He buys low, sells high, and constructs enormous buildings coast to coast. He manages his companies with a firm eye on the bottom line, and feeds thousands of employees who happen to think he walks on water. Now that’s what he really is.

When Donald Trump took on the reality series it was based on business. He gleaned and groomed subjects. When he uttered t’he famous words, “You’re fired!” he told the person why he/she was fired and how they could do better in the future. Advice from a successful American who made billions. Democrats don’t like that. They like food stamps, Obamaphones, burning cities, streets named after tramps, and police officers being killed while gassing their car. We don’t have enough illegals pouring over the fence on our southern border, they want to ship in more from Syria. Gay marriage isn’t enough, they want to force the First Baptist Church of Jonesboro, Arkansas to do the vows. Dead unborn babies don’t quite give them the warm fuzzy as does selling their little lungs to the highest bidder, but Donald Trump is just a TV star, what does he know?

He knows that under Barak Obama the United States has gone to hell in a handbasket. He knows that the unemployment rate is so high Obama has a complete staff to cover that up, and he knows that Hillary is a lying, murdering, transsexual who once had an affair with Yoko Ono. He knows that the former Republican party has long since lost touch with the people and will try to completely ignore the grass roots support this Yankee clipper is garnering as he blazes a political trail into the history books. But then, he’s only a TV star.

Ronald Reagan was just a TV star, too. Arnold Schwarzenegger was just a body builder, and Harry Truman was just a haberdasher. Kim Davis is just a county clerk, and Kris Kyle was just a good rabbit hunter. We are all “just.” Trump has an ego. Ok, I’ll give you that. Obama has one, too, but it fades away when he bows and scrapes before the King of Saudi Arabia, or foster adopts Trayvon Martin. Someone voiced concern about that ego when dealing with foreign governments. Ok, Iran wants a nuke. Obama paid them one hundred and fifty BILLION dollars to have sex with us while she paved the way for them to bomb Israel off the map. Our only real ally in the Middle East. Donald would give them a nuke, maybe two if required, and he wouldn’t pay them a red cent for the pleasure.

Just a TV star? How about the “View?” Every time Goldberg opens her mouth I want to stick a banana in it. SHE’S just a TV star, and a poor one at that! Practically every liberal commanding media attention is “Just a TV star.” Good news is for every Michael Moore there’s a Clint Eastwood. The real good news is the American people are fed up! This proves out at every event. Trump has a problem. He can’t find a stadium big enough to hold all of his supporters, but he’s just a TV star. I guess he’ll be very good at televised speeches from the Oval office.

Simple Ol’ Boy From Austin