Shots Fired

Shots FiredIMG_2467! Last night I had plans of doing an article this morning about the event in Minnesota. I had watched the Facebook live feed several times, and was particularly taken by the woman being forced to her knees crying out about the whereabouts of her daughter after her boyfriend had been killed during a routine traffic stop. I planned to rip and tear at the police there, and compare them with the steady eye of Wyatt Earp. After last night in Dallas, you will never see that article.

Black Lives Matter does about as much good in relaxing racial tension in this country as throwing gasoline on a fire. If you will note, the march in Dallas was a peaceful one. That doesn’t surprise me. Last year, when we had the “swimming pool” scandal, complete with a pretty teenage girl in a yellow swimsuit, agitators, who came down from Chicago to orchestrate the event, saw their plans for anarchy evaporate in the Texas sun as the local teens showed more interest in summer break than sitting in the street disrupting traffic. During the Ferguson flap no Texas cities were burned, and there were no repercussions after the death of Sandra Bland. Texans simply don’t do that no matter what color they are.

Texas DID have an active KKK in time past. We have fought wars on our own ground, lived through Bonnie and Clyde, Indian raids, Waco (twice) Charles Whitman, Luby’s and Fort Hood. We are well seasoned in Tom Foolery. It is fashionable to point at Texans, the guns, the hats, the music, and allude to the population being a form of Neanderthal. What you saw in Dallas last night will show you that you need us Neanderthals!

When a Muslim kills, and Donald Trump raises the option to oust all Muslims, there is always an outcry from organizations such as C.A.I.R. citing that one person does not define an entire people. I’ll guarantee you that before the day is over you will hear Hillary Clinton suggesting that the best solution to last night’s event will be to disarm America, and most especially Texas! I want you to know that when the shots rang out last night one protester, a black Texan, immediately surrendered his AR-15 to an officer, showing he was not involved, and was not a danger. Please further note that the Dallas officer did not shoot the man, who was carrying the rifle as a demonstration of his second amendment rights, and a visual protest to the shooting of the man in Minnesota.

During the last eight years the dividing line between black and white has grown more solid. I’ve seen, and heard things that I haven’t seen or heard since I was a child in 1950’s Louisiana. Groups such as Black Lives Matter cause events that funnel people into the streets, and money into the pockets of the organizers, but they overlook one simple fact. The majority of Americans simply want to be left alone, and allowed to go about their lives in peace. They long for the day when they can teach their children that if they become lost, find a police officer, and he/she will get them home.

There will be no “race war.” In the 60’s the term “race war” was always in the air, while the bulk of America punched the time clock and went on about their business. While the image of the fire hoses still comes to mind, last night police officers died . . . protecting black protestors! Shots fired! I have a dream. I have a friend, Kent Frank’s. He’s black, and, yes, he’s a Yankee. He comes from the same era that I do. I want to meet him one day. I want to fly him to Austin and take him to a bar and grill I frequent on 6th street. My friend will not be in any danger. He will enjoy the Austin nights the same as anyone else, and maybe, just maybe, the sound of “shots fired” will become fainter, and fainter, until music is all we hear.


The Farm Boy, The Angel, and the Religion of Peace


We were entertained today, yet again, by the “Religion of Peace.” With thirty dead, and more than two hundred injured, ISIS claimed another victory for Jihad. Three of the injured were Mormon missionaries, and I don’t know the extent of their wounds, but my thoughts and prayers go out to their families. Now we have a new wrinkle in the cosmic fabric. The farm boy, the angel, and the religion of peace. Muslims can come into the United States, and raise hell in a café that serves bacon and eggs, but we can’t even use the term, “radical Islam.” Like my friend, Doc Greene would say, “On what planet does that make sense?”

Folks, it’s high time we get down and dirty with these people. I’ve said that if there are moderate Muslims then they’d better stand up and be counted, because if they don’t, the day will come when America will show them the door. A trap door with a sack over their heads. Oh, my bad, their ladies already have a sack over their head. Yet another cost cutting angle from Bill the Butcher.  In another life I was a devout Catholic. I used to love to go to confession if only to see the look on the priest’s face, and hear, “Gee, Bill, why’d you do that?” Naturally, I was anti-Mormon. We’d cite the passage by Paul about a “different Jesus,” but friends and neighbors the Muslims don’t represent a “different Jesus,” they hate Jesus. Oh, they give lip service, saying He was some kind of a “messenger,” and all that, but when they finally control an area they eradicate all forms of Christian worship. Every manner of vile statements about the Lord, but we can’t even draw a picture of their “prophet.”

Donald Trump’s idea of deporting and/or detaining all Muslims is entirely legal. We did that in WWII, we suspended flights right after the Twin Towers, and I don’t recall any flights coming over from Berlin during 1941 to about 1945. That’s called common sense.  And the great Imam in the White House claiming Islam contributed to the building of America is absolutely false. What have they built? I was recently in Salt Lake City at Temple Square, and I didn’t see one crescent moon anywhere. The religious garb being worn by the most devout consisted of a shirt and tie, and everybody was polite. No tongue wagging, no explosions, and plenty of help for me to see their Temple.

Now, I’m using the Mormons because they are the most organized group I know of. They carved out a home in the desert, solidified their religion, and eventually came into the mainstream of America, and ladies and gentlemen that was no easy task. They assimilated. They compromised. Ya’ll know what I think of organized religion, so I’m not going to be a hypocrite here, but if that religion improves someone’s life, gives them purpose, and doesn’t hurt anyone, what’s the beef? We all have that “God hole,” in our heads I talk about. Muslims want their God to put a whole in your head. Islam is alien to Western thought, and you wanna know why? Because Muslims aren’t Western thought kinda people, that’s why! They do not believe in “We The People,” they believe in the king of the camel jockeys, and folks, that’s as simple as I can put it.

I touched on the Utah-Texas connection last week, and I’m gonna drive home that nail right now. Utah! When ISIS came to Texas we killed them! We baited them, waited for them, and left them on a parking lot in Arlington drawing flies while we popped corks and laughed our cowboy butts off, and brothers and sisters, we got some flies in Texas. We have roaches so big that they turn on the light and watch you run! While Obama was wiping that politically correct tear out of his left eye we were hosing the blood off the parking lot, and planning yet another art contest. That’s how you answer Islam!

Mormons! You are a big prize. If these people can bring you down what chance do the Southern Baptists have? Other Christians! When they come, we all look alike, even you black folk out there. We may have come over on different boats, but we’re in the same boat now! After we dispense with these interlopers we can argue about which heaven we go to when we die, but until then they need to have a ‘talk with Jesus. Our job is to arrange the meeting! Like my buddy Scott Binsack would say, “Bada Bing, Bada BOOM!”

Can’t Touch This

Years ago, in another life, I was a devout Catholic. I wasn’t kidding. I was a fired up believer, complete with holy water, Rosary, the whole nine yards. I met a girl named Susan. Susan was a mystic. She had visions, wrote prophesy, and smelled like roses. I was enthralled. By and by Father Ev talked to me about her, asking if I knew her. I told him that I did. He asked if I’d been with her during her visions. Of course! Then he asked if I’d seen Mary, or heard her voice, and I had to admit that outside of a few rose smells I had not. “Good,” Father Ev replied, “because that’s schizophrenia!” Thus began my decent into heresy.

I frequently write about my views on organized religion. Now, I’ve been accused of being an Atheist, which I am not. I’m very aware that for all of our technology, science, and study, we simply cannot make a leaf. There is simply too much involved in the universe to ascribe it to chance. You can’t blow a tornado through a junk yard and come out the other side with a Mercedes. I believe that if Jesus were not a real person that we would have invented Him.

I cannot call Islam an organized religion. Let’s look at the source. An old man, in a cave, in the desert, who saw an angel. Please note Father Ev’s idea cited above. First off this man was illiterate. As his “revelations” continued they seemed to follow the course of his life, i.e. the Satanic Verses where he gave credence to three “goddesses” and later decided that they were massagers of the devil. Having been through a few little she-devils myself, I totally understand this. After Mohammed’s death there was a split in Islam almost before his body was cold. His words, and even casual conversation over dinner were collected and codified into the Qu’ran, and the Sayings of Mohammed. Of course you can’t understand any of this unless you know Arabic, which Muslims believe is the most perfect language, a view they share with the Jews in their view about Hebrew.

With the passing of over fourteen hundred years, and the little dots representing inflection, vowels, etc, the understanding of the Qu’ran is solely in the hands of whomever is interpreting at the time. Then, you have to wade through the explanations of little issues like marrying little girls, making love to goats, and of course stoning beautiful women for looking good in a swim suit. Even the Nazis liked pretty girls! There is no theology in the Qu’ran. If I borrowed as many passages from previous publications as Mohammed did from the Torah, and the Bible, even the Greeks, I’d get my shirt sued off. Now that’s a fact, people. This guy wasn’t even a good writer, and it took his followers almost four hundred years to untangle the Suras and put them into a book. I know this rubs Muslims wrong, but I’m going to be blunt. If you’re going to be a “Prophet” you have to be quicker than a drunk guitar player from Austin, ok?

When you step onto the world stage, and start making statements for people to live by you’re always going to get a guy like me who will jack you up. You can’t cut everybody’s head off. The west is positioned against the proponents of Islam, and I don’t buy into all this end of time stuff, but I do believe that the world has just about had enough of the daily videos of people being burned alive, little girls being sold into slavery, people just walking across international borders because they can, and having to bow down and kiss the sandals of all these wetbacks. My eye is on the Germans. They still have the ovens, people, and they’re still German. Don’t forget Putin. The entire west is waking up. America needs to wake up. I could make this article ten more pages, but it will only become redundant. When it all comes down it will be terrible. When it’s over the Arabs will be back selling rugs where they really belong. Between Texas oil, and Russian oil Saudi Arabia will be as broke as M. C. Hammer, but his words are profound. Can’t Touch This!

I Have a Dream

I have a dream. I see an America where you can go into a restroom at any time, regardless of gender, and indulge in any act of depravity that suits your fancy, I have a dream. I envision a time when you can have relations with any person, of any sex, anywhere, anytime, and if that person is a child it will be understood that you are not diseased you are only “minor attracted,” I have a dream! A world where only the most disenfranchised, the most confused, the most sociopathic are allowed to have a gun and the rest are secure in gun free zones oh, I have a dream today.

I can clearly see a time when the Statue of Liberty will welcome the tired, the poor, the huddled masses yearning to take everything they can without even a bubble gum wrapper of paperwork allowing entry, and their culture will supplant the Constitution because a goat herder talked to some angel in a cave fourteen hundred years ago, I have a dream! I see a beautiful vision where a man is voted woman of the year, and Christian churches throw open their doors to the devil. In this brave new world the Qu’ran will be revered and the Bible will be against the law, where women wear sack cloth and high school cheer leaders are assaulted for being beautiful, oh, Lord, I have a DREAM!!

I see a world where entire cities are turned over to anyone who needs a “get out of jail free” card until those cities are degraded to the level of a war zone and no citizen is safe to even take a bus to the mall, what a glorious dream I have today. I see women being killed while having ice cream on a pier with their father and Judges at a loss trying to decide if it is a crime because the killer is not American.

In my dream I see a school system with standards so low that the Russians laugh at graduates from it who can’t even write their own names, I have a dream today. I see an economy so degraded that the Mexicans start jumping the border to get back into Mexico after they rob, rape and kill, and no man may say anything about it for fear of the god of political correctness, I have a dream today.

I dream of the day when all of God’s children, should they survive abortion, will not be judged by the content of their character, but by the content of their pocket, I have a dream. A day when they run down the middle of the street, under the Rainbow Flag screaming, “Free at Last! Free at last!” I will not be there with you. I shall not cross over. God has not chosen me. Do not be disinherited, however. I’ll be in Canada! I have a dream.

The word you’re looking for is “Facetious.”

Simple Ol’ Boy From Austin

Crazy Old Man on Laurel Street

Religion is man’s feeble attempt to explain the unexplainable.
I hammer this nail over and over again. When I was four years old my grandmother took me to the Baptist church on Laurel Street in Shreveport, Louisiana. I’d sit in the pew and the preacher would scream at me, saying that I was hell bound. I’d try my best to crawl through the pew to get away from God’s wrath, even though I couldn’t see God. I didn’t have to see Him. The man screaming was enough, and I reasoned in my little head that if this guy was that mad at me how much madder could God be since this fellow was only an employee.
My grandmother bought into all of this. She wasn’t evil, she was a Louisiana grandmother, and that’s what you did to your grandkids back then to set them on the right path. If you’ll note I didn’t say my mother was with us, and most certainly my dad wasn’t. I would only learn after his death that dad had been very religious in his younger life, with people telling me he would often come walking through the pines singing gospel songs. That is until his little Baptist girlfriend turned out to be a whore. He walked away. He never talked against religion, he just didn’t buy into it. My mother, on the other hand, was a member of a street band for the Salvation Army. She went from Shreveport to the east coast playing her clarinet and collecting money in a bucket. After granny scared the hell completely out of me, I’d come home and mom would set me straight.
My mother belonged to something I called the First Church of the Human Brain. She believed that the Jews completely screwed up the Old Testament, and Jesus came down and put everything back on track. There were no Adam and Eve, the Red Sea never got parted, pork chops were just fine, and don’t listen to that fool down at the First Baptist Church on Laurel Street. She did feed me catfish on Friday, but we were Cajuns, and Cajuns do that stuff anyway.
After my accident that blessed me with my limp, and a terrible marriage to my first ex-wife, I went down to the Memorial Baptist Church in Killeen, Texas and got saved. Now, I didn’t understand a word in the Bible, couldn’t even recite the Lord’s Prayer, but I was saved! Didn’t save my marriage, however. My wife took off with her sister’s husband. The last time I saw her car at Fort Hood, I noticed a white Bible on the passenger’s seat in the front. I took comfort in that.
Time, tears and ex-wives went by, and I finally settled on a woman I couldn’t run off. She had two boys, and I had two boys. She insisted that we go to Memorial Baptist, and we did. For some reason she put a lot of stock in Rosaries, and by and by I met Father Ev. Father Ev was All American, Notre Dame 1954 and had almost exactly the same views my mother had. I was confirmed on December 26, 2008 at St. Joseph’s Catholic Church down on Rancier Ave, Killeen, Texas.
Brothers and sisters, I was a Hail Mary Catholic. I was a defender of the faith, and would argue tooth and nail with anyone who dared to challenge me. I wrote a book! In “Sharon” I intended to expound the towering theology of Catholicism and its dominance over all other faiths. Didn’t end up that way. Mom’s ghost and Father Ev’s conversations kept coming to me, and that led to the closing scene of the book. In the book a Bible beating revivalist preacher meets a girl, Sharon, who exposes her beliefs to him in a series of five meetings, under a tree beside a church. I intended these meetings to be a huge revelation of the truths of the Catholic Church. The only problem was that Sharon wasn’t talking to the preacher she was talking to me!
In the end of the book, as the preacher lay dying, she comes to him one last time. When he tells her that he still doesn’t understand, she responds with, “The Greeks called me ‘Sophia.’ The Rabbis know me as ‘Shekinah.’ Ibn al Arabi met me during his circumambulations around the Kaaba, and he called me ‘Nizam.’ I whispered into Solomon’s ear when no one else could hear, and I’m the one who knelt before that angel in that little room in Nazareth. For I am the Wisdom of God, and anyone who seeks me with a pure, and diligent heart, may hold me in their arms.”
I have no idea where that statement came from and it only took me twenty years to understand it myself. I began to have questions. I have been called an atheist, but that’s not true. I believe in God. I just don’t believe in man! When man takes quill in hand and tries to reduce God to the pages of a book it never works. If you will note, Jesus didn’t write anything. He spoke! Only centuries later did men take it upon themselves to write those words, and by then the words were shrouded in opinion. Same thing happened to Mohammed. Man couldn’t write a grocery list, but there were enough fools around after his death to codify his desert ramblings for posterity. Joseph Smith could write, and write he did. Got himself blasted out of a window in a county jail by other devout believers with their own book of rules.
If you insult Mormonism you get an argument. If you draw a picture of Mohammed you get your head cut off, and if you insult Born Agains they show up at your funeral and call you a queer. Christians can be obnoxious, but Islam is crazy. Yeah, I just said that. Wanna know why? Because Arabs have not evolved to the same point as Western Culture that’s why. Racist enough for ya? Day after day I see ISIS coming up with new and inventive ways to kill infidels. I’ve seen so many I have begun to critique style. From simple beheadings to suspending the elect about a fire and slow roasting them into eternity, ISIS is the master at human misery. The end product of man putting words in God’s mouth! The only difference between them and that crazy old bastard at the Baptist Church down on Laurel Street in the fact that we in the west have developed a frontal lobe, something Muslims simply do not have!
Wanna irritate a Muslim? Just say the name Aisha. She was Mohammed’s little five year old child bride. Now, I’m not getting jellyfish about this. Marrying a five year old is a little left of center, but folks, let’s admit it, all Arabs are left of center, ok? They don’t play with the same cards as the rest of us, and they certainly don’t play with a full deck. To be honest with you, little Aisha was probably the only Arab in history who had a frontal lobe and she proved it by advising and leading the Muslims to the compiling of the Qu’ran. Do I approved of marrying a girl in diapers? Of course not. Do I consider the society that allows this sort of thing? You betcha!
When people try to explain what they do crazy things where marriage is concerned It gets well, crazy! Actually, I fully understand political “marriages” between tribes of Neanderthals trying to weld a connection that will stop continual fighting. Arranged marriages between royalties happened, also. Do I understand a wedding night with Shirley Temple on the Good Ship Lolly Pop? Uh, I’m from Texas. We hang those people down here. I am a product of my culture.
I don’t try to make fun of little religious traditions. From funny little boxes on foreheads, to holy underwear, to beanies in heads, It’s not what’s on the head, it’s what’s inside it. That fella, Jesus said something about that. Whited tombs, I think. Seems He was always right. Just Him and Rush Limbaugh. If your attire makes it for you, fine. Wanna stone a Dallas Cowboy Cheerleader for looking good in shorts, problemo!
I break down Bibles, Qu’rans, and Books of Mormon like this: If it’s stupid, or mean, then God had nothing to do with it. Man did that. God created man and woman to support and enjoy each other, and make children. Does God hate homosexuals? Why? They’re not making any babies. If you think they’re an abomination then they’re going to hell. Abortion? God creates life. It’s not man’s providence to judge, or destroy. Seems that same guy from Nazareth said that, too. I can never bring myself to say that there is no God. We still can’t make a leaf! As we discover more about the universe we see that something was involved a bit smarter than a man wandering in the desert, a farm boy, or a crazy old man on Laurel Street in Shreveport, Louisiana!

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