Neighbors

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Getting to know the neighbors can be daunting. It seems that in the poorer neighborhoods people mingle a lot better than they do in the more affluent ones, and I’ve been in both. Berry Creek, in Georgetown, Texas was the upper end of the top end. Even the “garden homes” would shame most of the homes in my native Killeen. Now, to be sure, I was certified white trash. I grew up in a little town in Texas called Simmonsville, later absorbed by Killeen. We were so poor that the people on welfare were the cream of society because they had a check. That put them right up there with the civil service in the eyes of the little town.

So, as luck would have it, I won the real estate lottery, and the Beverly Hillbillies moved to Berry Creek. We ended up owning three homes there. My hand would literally shake as I wrote the checks for the mortgages each month. Our homes sat on the golf course, the main house, a recreation of Elvis’s Graceland,was positioned on the twelfth green. I was a gold member of the Berry Creek Country Club, with unlimited golf privileges. Please note that I can’t hit a golf ball, but I can drink beer, and drive a golf cart like nobody’s business.

We had NO contact with the neighbors. Their shorts were in such a knot that it amazed me they could go to the bathroom. Since my roots were back in Killeen, and my friends couldn’t afford the gas for the fifty mile trip to what was basically North Austin, nobody came a calling. When we went to the club for dinner we sat at a large, round table. No one sat near us. We were the turds in the swimming pool. (They didn’t like us going to the pool, either!)

As luck would have it, I ended up divorced, living in the main house alone. I had this friend in L.A. Lance had met me on YouTube. I admired his videos. Lance was, well is, a video genius. He did it all. He used Final Cut Pro, and was a wiz at blending story, sound, and special effects. He had this dream of coming to Texas. One day I got a call. He wasn’t COMING to Texas, he as IN Texas. Right down the street at the bus station. He had no idea how hot it was here so I had to rush to pick him up before he had a heat stroke. Poor guy showed up in a leather jacket during the summer. Hey, he’s from SoCal, ok?

After he settled in we hung out on the porch and got to know each other. Now, this guy is like Bob Denver from Gilligan’s Island, complete with the Dixie Cup sailor’s cap, and he even played a flute. My son, and his wife, Jackie moved in along about this time, and we had a rather comfortable little group. About a week or so after he arrived, Lance received a package that he had mailed himself from California prior to hopping on the bus. Several quart jars of his “prescription” to help him get through the summer. After we saw him unpack we just waited for the cops to show up. I’ll never understand how Lance got away with that. While I, myself, do not partake, suffice to say everybody else did, including the cat, and in short order the house on the twelfth green became the Yellow Submarine. This was a very laid back group. We didn’t mind that the neighbors didn’t have anything to do with us, we barely noticed that there were other HOUSES in the area.

One Sunday afternoon we were setting up a cookout on the back lawn. We put meat on the grill, I got beer, wine, and cheese, and we commenced our own private party as the golfers played through. My son and I looked up, and here came Lance with a water pipe I’d gotten from Afghanistan. And brothers and sisters, he was open for business. My son rushed over and let him know that he WAS in Texas, and law enforcement frowned on such action, whereupon, Lance corrected the situation by returning to the house, and emerging with a bowl. Not the bowl you think, but a real BOWL! A soup bowl you could put an entire serving of Campbell’s soup into. Like the Lord said, “Filled and pressed down!”

As the golfers played through, Lance fired up, and enjoyed the view. I jumped off into a pitcher of martinis, and I must admit, the view wasn’t bad. As luck would have it, it wasn’t long before the smell permeated the atmosphere, and drew the attention of two rather distinguished looking gentlemen who drove their cart right up onto the lawn to inquire as to just what did wet think we were doing. They  had a bottle! Well, there was no getting out of this. Lance, being Lance, simply showed them the bowl, and then astounded me by asking them if they’d like to “hang out!” As I tried to construct my legal defense, to my amazement, they sat down. Lance rolled a “Fat Boy,” and passed it around.

Then another golf cart showed up . . . and another . . . and another, until we had a lawn full if people I’d never met in my eight years at Berry Creek. There was also a traffic jam on the twelfth, with a couple of carts just going in circles. The course Marshall didn’t mind because he was sitting with Lance! The day melted into the evening, and soon it was gone, as if it never happened. Lance went home after that, but he left his mark. I go there now and then, pause in front of the house on Oak Tree Drive, and wonder what became of all those people. What I do know is on one Sunday afternoon, for a little while, we were all neighbors.

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What We Burn in our Crazy Minds

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The prophet, John Fogarty once said, “What we burn in our crazy minds.” With this in mind, last night I must have sat through four hours of various conspiracy theories concerning the Boston Bombings. Like layers of an onion, as I peeled back each part more complexity was exposed. I shared a lot of this on my Facebook page. The people behind this have a whole vocabulary that goes with the show. Things like, “New World Order,” and “Drills,” and “False Flags.” They fit their scenarios together like pieces of a vast mental puzzle. With the bombings, the running theory is that the two bombers were embedded CIA operatives who were sacrificed for the purpose of forwarding more power shift toward Obama, and the proliferation of gun control. Since they used pressure cookers, shouldn’t we have pressure cooker control? The mother and aunt and father have all come out ranting and raving about this, complete with those horrible Russian accents, and the “alternative” media is lapping that up like hound dogs on spilled gravy. One theory even tied the Boston bombing with the event in Waco. The guy continually looks into the camera and repeats, “Fertilizer?” He obviously has never blown stumps on a ranch. Yeah kid, fertilizer!      Then the surviving bomber scribbles on a pad the he and his brother did the attack all by themselves with no help, no finance, and no problems with the FBI, police, or even the zoning commission. They picked the marathon because it was in the STREET! No doubt the conspiracy theorists will respond with the idea that the kid is protecting his comrades so that they can continue the fight. Yeah, right!  Ok, first off this kid is a pot head. Look at him. This little nerd crawled right out of a yellow submarine and followed his lunatic, religious nut brother to hell. The theorists claim the FBI, CIA, whomEVER was feverishly trying to kill this punk. I personally have never seen a more restrained bunch of cops in my LIFE!  What, with robots, helicopters, and heat seeking cameras, I personally would have lobbed a REAL grenade in there, collected the pieces, bought the guy a new boat and called it a day.     I have a theory, and a prejudice. In my life I have never seen our government successfully carry out anything. I mean look at it. We couldn’t invade Cuba, could conduct a burglary that a crackhead could pull off, and couldn’t get a favor from an intern with the secret service watching for the wife at the door! Now, if you want to be alarmed about the government? Well, there you are. Now, under Obama they are proving they can’t add, can’t slap a fat kid in Korea, and can’t negotiate the price of a call girl in South America. I learned how to do that in Mexico in the tenth grade! We catch fish off Alaska, send them to China to pay the interest on our debt, who in turn, bring the fish right back to us and sell them to McDonald’s. We import avocados from Mexico, covered with dung, while thousands of acres of them bake in the sun of Southern California. All of this courtesy of the federal government!  They are STUPID!     The congress and senate are as useless as them things hanging off a boar hog, and the Supreme Court, OMG, don’t get me started, we would do better letting rulings be handed down by Judge Roy Bean. You begin to understand why we here in Texas just want to leave. I’m not going to say anything about Obama because if you criticize him you’re labeled a racist so I’ll just say he has a white dude for vice president.

If our government could pull off one conspiracy, just one, I would feel more secure. Maybe invade Indonesia, after a major quake and tsunami, and WIN the war, then I would feel a whole lot better. But don’t hold your breath. We have to beat them Arabs who presently are holding their ground with pipe bombs and fried goat before we can even think about taking on any country as formidable as say . . . Mexico!     And the conspiracy buffs are all up in the air about the law passed allowing this same bunch of Keystone Cops to spy on the Internet. Don’t worry about it. I’m sure they’ll do that job with the same fervor they had when they checked out these two kids who were constructing LAND MINES in their freaking DORM ROOM! And when you watch a conspiracy theory pay close attention to what they are selling. That’s right, they have ads. They sell everything from packaged food to how-to books on hiding in a hole in the ground. Follow the money, folks. Just follow the money.     The strength of America is not the government, it’s the people! If the government would just get out of the way and let the American people work we’d all be a lot better off. Forget about the FED, get Fed UP! Look at it, folks. On what planet does Hillary and Sanders even think about being president? That’s like making El Chapo the school nurse. Most people are like sheep, and will follow the sheep dog, but remember, there’s always a black sheep. Or is he president. What we burn in our crazy minds.

Live Like You Wanna Live

When the Republic of Texas is reestablished it’s not going to be like everybody thinks. Texas has a combination of the spirit of liberty, and a little bit of common sense. We believe it’s the government’s job to pave roads, put out fires and leave folks alone! So many problems in the world could be easily solved if these concepts were adhered to.
In the Republic we’d have a simple tax. A nine, or ten percent tax on everything you buy would pay all the bills. Consider this; how much tax does a meth dealer pay? I mean, you can’t exactly put that number on a line in a 1040 form. Cash received: Ten million dollars. Expenses: One bottle of Drano, and a horse tranquilizer. Net profit: Nine million, nine hundred, ninety-nine thousand dollars and ninety-nine cents. Much easier to just tax the dealer on the new Mercedes he buys. See how that works?
“Oh,” you say, “but meth is illegal!” Au Contraire! Not in the New Republic. If you want fire up, just trot down to Spec’s and pick up a quarter bag, rock, or anything else you desire. We ain’t got no war on drugs, and all the former Cartel members are back mowing lawns where they should be. You see, that’s where wars lead you. You take prisoners, i.e. and kid puffing a joint, you gotta put ‘em in POW camps, (prisons) and you have to feed them. Soon, you got prisons full of pot heads and the guys in the Cartels are driving those Mercedes I was talking about. “But, Wilbur, dope is bad for you. “DUDE! So are cigarettes. So is McDonald’s for that matter.
Gay marriage? Since the Republic will not be issuing any marriage licenses we won’t have to worry about that. Marry a tiger to a chair for all we care. You have the Government Issue permission for a personal event, and then tell me all about separation of church and state. We’ll leave pimping to the whore houses. If you can find someone to pronounce the vows, live like you wanna live. You want to marry your same sex friend, and settle down in a neighborhood full of redneck Texans, HEY, who am I, right? Personally, I find all sex disgusting unless I’m directly involved.
Pro-Choice. No worries. If some girl gets pregnant and just can’t see having a baby we will provide free abortions. However, since the girl has already proved that she is a homicidal, irresponsible slut, we will also tie them tubes while we’re in there. Now the Republic doesn’t mind you being a slut, but you only got one get out of slut free card. After that, like I said, live like you wanna live.
Gun control. This one is easy. You see, we’re gonna correct the constitutions. Second Amendment: Uh, ya’ll can have guns, ok?” You don’t even need a Supreme Court for that one. They’ll be too busy marrying gays anyway. We’ll basically put that court back where it belongs. Wills, probate, traffic tickets, stuff that matters. We’ll leave making laws to the legislature. Balance of power? Shucks. If they give a ruling that oversteps their bounds the president will just go over and fire ‘em. See how that lightens the load?
Immigration. Now this is a tough one. Within thirty days of the formation of the Republic, seeing as we will have no corporate tax, every company in California will move to Austin, so we’ll have to be diligent about those people coming here taking jobs away from Texans. Also, since Texas produces the best of everything we will have to have standards on the hemp crop.
International relationships. Short and sweet: We’ll hire Putin.
Death penalty. We have to concede here. Texas will be a new Republic, and money might be tight for the first few years. We can’t have no long drawn out appeal process, so a thirty day limit on that stuff will be required. Also, we can’t afford no fancy-dancy lethal injection. We’re just a gonna hang you. That way we can reuse the rope.
I really think this is gonna work out. Texas will be the greatest country in the world. Oh, yeah, Muslims. . . QUICKIE MARTS! I should run for president, I really should.

Simple Ol’ Boy From Austin

http://www.amazon.com/Simple-Boy-Austin-Wilbur-Witt/dp/1503179540/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1422121598&sr=8-1&keywords=Wilbur+Witt

Baptize a Cat

Being a writer and achieving understanding is a little bit like trying to baptize a cat. Nobody that I know of starts out to be a writer unless they’re deluded. Oh, there’s all kinds of college courses you can take to learn the craft. Verily, verily, I say unto thee, you learned all you need to know somewhere back in grammar school. I run into these people all the time, one in particular who will count commas in my articles, and she and her mother roll in each “victory” like a dog in a dead armadillo. All them degrees hanging on the wall . . . can’t write a grocery list!

You have to be able to achieve understanding, no deeper than that. The choice of words is a contract between you and your reader. Words shift change through the years, and understanding is organic. Take the age old “can” and “may” argument. You know the one, “Teacher can I?” You get that lecture about the implications of the two words, but anyone with a frontal lobe will understand the kid wants to go to the bathroom. Agreement of subject and verb can be cute, but anyone with common sense can figure that out. And don’t forget local dialect. British and English is NOT the same language, and Texan isn’t even in the same ball park, yet somehow we all seem to understand each other, mostly.

The art of writing is condensing complicated thought down to a form that MOST people can pick up on. When I use the phrase, “If you believe that, have I got a bridge for YOU,” is a clever way of saying, “That’s . . . stupid!” Apply this to political commentary, and it really takes on feathers. Just ask Hillary about emails. Politicians make their bones twisting words, and when they fall short they hire professional liars called “Press Secretaries.” You KNOW this guy is liar, but it’s become a game seeing how much spin he’ll throw in to make the story cook. That’s where the writer comes in. Forget about journalists, they’re out there a spinning with the press secretary.

I have an evil plan in my writing. I want to keep on keeping on, putting out MY ideas, MY way, hoping that if enough people read me maybe, just maybe, they WON’T give us another Barak Obama. I know, I know, when pigs fly. Oh, wait, can I still say pigs? I guess since the pig is flying that makes it conform to Muslim thought where horses fly. Trying to keep up with the ever evolving political correctness meter is like having lunch with an ex-wife. You’re never gonna be right about anything, so just give it up and eat your burger.

While grammar, punctuation and syntax are not overly important in the world of SMH, LOL, and OMG, delivery is still job one, and you REALLY can’t learn THAT in college. Picking the right moment for the insertion of a hook is something you learn by DOING! The public can be a hot chick that everybody gets to date but you. You have to develop that “feel” to where you know the connection. It’s really quite simple, actually. You re-read your stuff a dozen times, and after that, if it “cooks” you’re good to go. Do the math; if you’re fairly normal at least half the people out there are on somewhat the same sheet of music, and if you’re crazy, well that’s the other half.

And speak your MIND! It’s fine to pick up new ideas and agree, but never lie about what you really think. Now, I’m all PC about Gay Marriage, but really, I think they’re all as crazy as an outhouse rat! Hey, I’m from Texas, you just gotta deal with it. I’m mixed on the border. We will always have people trying to sneak into a better life, but shouldn’t we at least have the CIA declare the cargo on all those 747’s bringing in all that COKE across the border? You see, there’s no doubt where I stand, so when some chick out in India jumps my butt I just blow her off.

And racism? Don’t worry about it. The University of Wisconsin just published a list of things that if you say, or do any one of the above then you’re a racist. My initial response was, “Wisconsin has a university?” Is THAT racist? Writers fall into that trap all the time and resort to phrases like “The ‘N’ Word,” to dilute the real thing, but when you use that it just makes people think the real word. I don’t think we have thought control YET. I’m still allowed to THINK the “N” word.

If you don’t get all tangled up in high English, political correctness, or “N” words you’ll probably pen something that people will read and understand. And that’s the key, understanding. If you rattle off a series of five syllable words and no one understands you, then you have basically said nothing, and there you go. . . baptizing that cat.

White Trash and Skinny Texas Girls

When people ask me how I get my unique perspective on things I always tell them I’m just a simple ol’ boy from Austin, but really there’s another level that remains hidden. I’m poor white trash. Moreover, I’m TEXAS poor white trash, and that’s the whitest, trashiest trash there is! I actually grew up in a little village called Simmonsville. Old drunken Harry Simmons bought the old Killeen city dump, and built his Texas version of Shangri La right on top of it. Of course he had the biggest house in town, and even had a handy man, Bob White. When Harry mysteriously died, Bob married his widow and assumed the estate.

Surprisingly there weren’t any trailers in Simmonsville, but there sure as heck were claptrap shacks and adobe huts everywhere. Now, the Ellises actually had land down along Nolan Creek. The Ellises were crazy, but the Mitchells, a little farther down the draw, were crazy-ER! Before you get this iconic image in your head of Nolan Creek being a babbling brook with beautiful trees hanging lazily over the water, we hadn’t invented sewer systems yet, get my drift? The water was oily green, so full of soap that suds towered over our heads, and instead of quick sand we had something along the banks of a slightly different consistency, and smell. And we SWAM in it . . . naked!

On the east side of Simmonsville was a sprawling cattle ranch called “Springer’s” because a man named Springer owned it, and about five miles down the highway on the west was the metropolis of Killeen! Of course Fort Hood was on the other side of that, but we didn’t know anything about them fellers. They were too far away and they were Yankees, anyway.

Race was real simple in Simmonsville. There were us white folk, of course, and just across the highway was a place called Marlboro Heights, named after the cigarette I suppose, where the black folk lived. Uh, we didn’t mix a whole lot. About the only time we mingled was when they stuck us all on a school bus and sent us off in a vain attempt to teach us to read. I never saw an Asian, except on TV, and EVERY brown person was a Mexican. Now Mexicans back then were different than what we have now. There was a certain pride to being a wetback. A Mexican who was actually an American citizen was a dehydrated Mexican, and a Mexican national was a Mexican with a pedigree. That’s why I refer to Muslims as Mexicans to this day, and it filtered down to my kids. My son, the Chief, when I expressed concern as to his many tours of the Middle East, told me, “Shucks dad, ain’t nobody over there but the help!”

And we had law enforcement on the form of officer Jackson. Now, officer Jackson didn’t have a Taser, or mace, or any knowledge of the law. What he did have was a Colt Police Special, and a big ol’ can of “WhoopAss!” We NEVER considered shooting at Officer Jackson. We might hit him, and that would just make him mad! By and by, when Simmonsville was incorporated into Killeen, they sent cops to arrest all of us kids for some kind of “investigation.” They had it in their heads that we were some kind of “organized crime.” They brow beat us all for hours, and to be honest, none of us crackers had any idea what they were talking about, but then they made a critical error . . . they FED us! We didn’t know anything about the Mafia, or any of that Yankee nonsense, but we knew what bail was, and we didn’t want any part of it! There was beds, and food, and DOMINOS! They finally threw us out of the jail house, and we stumbled back to Simmonsville, and Officer Jackson’s waiting arms.

There’s this mythical image of the beautiful Texas girl in jeans, blonde hair, beautiful curves, breath smells like Carnation milk. Verily, verily I say unto thee that such a creature never existed. That girl in the pool in the picture, “The Last Picture Show” was a California actress! Real Texas girls wore sack dresses and all looked like Olive Oyl. They never wore jeans because jeans didn’t come with legs that skinny. If you wanted a girl who looked like a girl you had to find yourself a Mexican. It wasn’t until Monsanto came along and screwed up the food that white Texas girls had any kind of shape at all. But MEXICAN chicks? They were ready to be married at fourteen, and ready for Social Security by twenty! And some of the rules still stick, I met Crystal Lee Laramore down in Austin recently. Beautiful woman! Poised, educated, got some money, breath smelled like Carnation milk. I still caught myself looking behind her ears, because a girl with clean ears is the mark of a lady!

Nobody had any kind of education. Most of us eventually learned to read, I say most because reading was not required in order to run a still, or make beer, and yeah we did that, deal with it. I don’t know to this day how I learned to read, I just know that somewhere along the eighth grade or so I no longer had to look at the pictures on the cans to know what I was about to eat. And we could eat rotten meat. In a place filled with tortillas and beans meat was a delicacy, fresh or otherwise. There have been times when people would be throwing up the soles of their feet after dinner and I’d just be going for seconds.

When I reflect back on my youth I’d like to tell you I wouldn’t want it any other way, only I’m not crazy! I have a timer set so as to take my blood pressure medicine on time every day, whereas in Simmonsville, if you stepped on a rusty nail, and your jaws didn’t lock up in ten days you were good to go. I crappith thee NOT!

Massaginist

It’s been a rowdy week down at the ranch. Ok, let’s jump right into it. First off. Mr. ISIS, we’re sure ’nuff sorry we capped two of your Jihad warriors just because they showed up to kill a bunch of cartoonists who were drawing pictures of that Mexican you call a prophet. Y’all get downright irritated when you show up and don’t get to kill a bunch of folks. Now, I understand your religion and all, what with not liking naked girls, or ham and eggs, or any pictures of anyTHING. You want to straighten a bunch of infidels out, might I suggest a Nuevo Laredo whorehouse? You’ll find a lot of sin down there. Oh, just ignore them fellers with them dots tattooed over their eyebrows. Don’t pay them no mind. Just rush in there, guns a blazing, and see how that works out for you.

I actually ended up in one God awful debate somewhere over in India with the cutest little Jap I ever saw. And y’all know me, I was too busy looking at her profile picture for the first ten minutes, I wasn’t paying no mind to a word she said, but then she called me a “misogynist!” Now, being a Texan, I pronounced that “massaginist.” With the root word apparently “massage,” and her being Asian, I took that to mean she love me long time. Well, our relationship fell quickly apart right after that. I think basically she wanted to put me in a cage somewhere and set fire to me, screaming, “Aloha Salad Bar,” or words to that effect. God she was beautiful when she was mad.

From there we progressed to Jade Helm 15. Now, I’m just as crazy as the next Texan so I bought right into this. I don’t like AMERICANS coming down here, and when I found out it was gonna be UN troops? Americans are bad enough, but FOREIGNERS? Hide the women folk. My grandmother told me that all them people over there are BORN with an STD. They get it from their mamas. The men pee right in the street and their women don’t wash properly “down there.” I was all pent up, that was until I found out the whole story came out of Alex Jones. Now, I’m not saying Alex was wrong, I’m just saying. If you wanna kill a good conspiracy just let it come out of Prison Planet and right away the public thinks we’re all wearing tin foil Stetsons!

Of course the cops are shooting EVERYBODY! I almost wish I could have met them two boys up in Garland before they got out of that car. I would have told them, “DUDES! They shoot US for using a cell phone. What did you expect?” To be honest, Texas cops don’t shoot near as many as cops in states where the second amendment isn’t in place. Wonder if there’s a correlation?

Open Carry is moving through the legislative process. Hey, certain “people” open carry their UNDERWEAR! Why can’t we just carry a pistol. A small cute one. The libs say open carry “intimidates” people. Uh, why do COPS do it? They carry a gun, an electric chair, a knife and a STICK! You can’t carry a stick in Texas, did you know that? I was once arrested for possession of a stick. And don’t let a kid draw a picture of a gun in school. I wonder what the ISIS boys in Garland would have done if the artists were just been drawing pictures of guns.

Now this is satire. I feel I need to give that disclosure. Why do I resort to satire at times. Because when I use a lot of four syllable words and try to speak as an adult . . . Liberals don’t listen!

Texas Tutorial

Texans are a peculiar lot. Hey, I’m one of them, and I know! The rules of engagement are complex when dealing with a Texan, but the common denominator is always common SENSE. Texans don’t buy into political correctness in any form. Any time you suggest a course of action in order to “look good,” Texans will almost always go the exact opposite direction. This perplexes Americans, but it MESSES with people from other countries, and the farther east you get, the more it confuses great minds of ancient cultures.

Brits are fairly easy to get along with. They like “cowboys” for the most part, but as you work your way through Europe the opinions become, how would you put it, more “refined.” Take India . . . PLEASE! Now I like Indian people. I mean, any culture that could come up with the Karma Sutra can’t be all bad, but all it takes is one sour apple to make you consider the barrel. Now, they’re industrious, fairly intelligent, and God knows there’s a LOT of them! For the most part they don’t eat Big Macs, and tend to worship critters, but that’s cool, it’s their opinion in Texans that they take an off ramp.

I met this one particular person. She read a few of my articles, watched a John Wayne movie, and became an expert on Bill the Butcher. She’s ranting and raving about how ignorant I was, and I’m just studying her online pictures to see if I can get a look at her legs. Now, I don’t mind being hated, it’s my stock and trade, but hate me for the right reasons. First off, I’m not a racist, but that card plays so good she just had to play it. I’m white trash from PoDuck, Texas. Brothers and sisters, that’s POOR! I literally grew up on tortillas and beans, NOT from Taco Bell. I was fourteen years old before I saw my first manufactured hamburger at a place called Burger Chef. In high school we could fit five people in the trunk of a Chevy to sneak into a drive in movie because we could only come up with one ticket.

You take a childhood like that and it kinda puts you on point. I’m direct, simple, no nonsense, and highly suspicious of ANYONE not in Texas. You bring that to a conversation with some kid from Buglety Bugelty, and you get, well, misunderstanding. So I’ve decided to give a little Texas Tutorial for folks who have never really stopped to consider the art of Texification.

Texas is NOT part of the DIS United States! Oh, they think we are, and we let ’em believe that, but just try to collect a judgement in Texas. For that matter just try to enforce ANYTHING from an out of state judge. I’ve SEEN it folks, I crappith thee NOT! Gays get all bent out of shape about the validity of their California marriages coming into question, DUDES, Texas doesn’t recognize some Arkansas marriages and NO Mexican ones. We aren’t trying to secede, we’ve BEEN gone, just the Yankees can’t accept it.

We have freedom of religion in Texas. You can be anything you want, Baptist, Southern Baptist, Mormon, or Methodist. Yeah, that just about covers it. We don’t get along with Moslems because they’re always screaming and waving heads around. Now we don’t mind cutting off a few heads, but we prefer it to be in the board room of Dell Computer. We don’t mind men in dresses, or riding camels so long as its “over there!”

We support the second amendment. If you kill one of us, we will kill you back. Texas passed a law speeding up death penalty sentences. If certain conditions are met you go to the front of the line. In the words of Ron White, “While other states are trying to abolish death row, Texas put in an express lane.” We believe in everyone’s right to self defense so long as they’re a Baptist, Methodist . . .well, you know. John Wayne didn’t RIDE no camel!

In Texas we have well developed arts. There is two kinds of music, country AND western. I hear down in Houston they listen to rap. We’ve never really accepted the Grand Ol’ Opry, unless you have Willie there, and he prefers the Austin Opry House to any pretenders. Willie’s a little bit liberal, but he’s getting on in years so we understand. We like Rock so long as it’s Ted Nugent. Stevie Ray was cool, but he made the mistake of getting into a Yankee helicopter.

We support the president, George Bush. We haven’t accepted that new guy in the White House yet. Watch the race cards start flying, folks. After the war of northern aggression we had a reconstruction governor. When we finally voted him out we had to go to Austin, grab him by the collar, and throw him out of the Governor’s mansion, and that’s pretty much what we’d like to do up in Washington IF we were involved, which we’re NOT!

We don’t understand European Unions, NATO, or any other things girly men from over there come up with. We view the world on two levels, Texas, and NOT Texas. We don’t need Agenda 21 or anything else that has to be translated into fifty different languages. You tell us we can’t drive our pick ups downtown, and we’ll just run over you on our way to Walmart.

We respect our women folk. We particularly like the fact that Texas weather tends to make our ladies wear the least amount possible, up to and including that naked lady sitting on the steps in San Antonio recently because Texas women are the most beautiful in the world. California girls are cute, but you gotta make sure they ARE girls. Anyway, Cali girls are stuck up so they ain’t good for much. Surfing, I guess.

We have no race problems in Texas. Stock cars abound, and our horses are faster, leaner, and better trained than any other in the world.

Our liquor laws are unique. We still have “dry” counties, but they’re situated among “wet” counties so as to ease Texas nerves. Oh, we still have “Blue” laws that forbid whiskey on Sunday. You can buy beer after noon to give the Baptists time to get home from church and change clothes. If you just HAVE to get a shot you can go to a honky tonk like everybody else.

There are many other aspects of Texan behavior, but these should get you stated. Texas welcomes everyone with one rule: FORGET about where you come from, and don’t try to change us. Since Texas is the best place to be in the whole wide world we figure that should be enough.

#texas #humor #satire

Blue Eyed White Boys

Lament the blue eyed white boys. On one side we have Jade Helm, and on the other, religious nuts trying to shoot up art shows. We can’t be sure of which rest room to use, if indeed we’re allowed to use any. New Black Panthers marching up and down the streets wanting to shoot us all right between our blue eyes, and fifty million Mexicans pouring over the fence down there trying to take what’s left of the jobs, money, and beer away. I know what the Neanderthals felt like when they saw the first Cro-Magnon Man drawing a bird on THEIR cave walls.

Blue eyed white boys have only been around around six to ten thousand years or so. I think we’re aliens actually. That’s why all the other races hate us so bad. We smell funny. There are some blue eyed black folk, but I think God is just trying to be politically correct, and they don’t count for much. I haven’t quiet figured out exactly how that happened, but I suspect there’s a cracker in the wood pile somewhere.

Except for Chuck Norris and Arnold Schwarzenegger, blue eyed white boys are pretty much useless. Quarterbacks are generally white because SOMEbody on the field HAS to be. All other races can out run, out jump, out think, and . . . well, I made Crystal Lee a promise, suffice to say, “If you ever try black, you’ll never come back,” yeah, they beat us in that, too.

And we’re dangerous. The last blue eyed white boy who took over a country, had too much power, and did exactly what he wanted to do was Hitler, and we all know how THAT shook down. We crackers are fighting an uphill battle, and we ain’t gonna make it. I’ve never had a blue eyed wife. I prefer Mexican girls, actually. They’re generally short, well rounded, and cook quite well. I think the reason that I’ve never married a blue eyed girl is that they’re all with black guys.

There’s no fixing this. We’re a dying breed. Oh, we’ll rant and rave, and talk about the Romans, Greeks and Germans, but we’re pretty much done. There will be fewer and fewer of us, all sitting in bars, drinking Lite beer, like a bunch of dinosaurs, just waiting for that comet to come on in. I’m stuck these blue eyes, but I do have a nice beard.

Cannon Ball and a Feather

I was on the radio with KC Massey last night. He was detailing his arrest on the border. I’m not going to go into the whole thing, but it was two hours of one flub up after another by our United States Government. Then, like a bolt from the blue it hit me. The Lord appeared before me in glory and asked, “What did you expect?” The last thing the American government did right was . . . was . . . was, well, they’ve been in business for over two hundred sum odd years so I know there HAS to be SOMETHING there.

Let’s just look at the stuff that goes, “bump” in the night. Get drunk the night before and get the president’s head blown off the next day by a warehouse clerk. Get run out of Vietnam by a bunch of kids in sandals and pajamas. Screw up a burglary a CRACKHEAD could have done better. Solicit oral sex from a school girl and too STUPID to pay her dry cleaning bill. Go into two wars looking for one old man on a walking stick who basks away sipping iced tea in a condo thirty five miles away, and last but not least, elect a president that makes PUTIN look good! And you pay money for this, people. Matter of fact, you paid money for this TODAY!

We need to change a few things. With our sterling record in the Middle East we need to retire the bald eagle and replace it with a yellow bellied sap sucker. Need to make Old Glory flame retardant, and we need to appoint Bill Gates secretary of the treasury. Now we have Jade Helm. While I was concerned at first, I’m at ease now. The American Government is doing it! Now, if it were being headed up by the Mexican cartels I’d already on my way to Canada. Don’t think so? How’s that Jimmy Hoffa case working out for you, huh? Proof POSITIVE the government did NOT have a thing to do with it. I think that the president had a secret meeting and asked his cabinet, “Who can we make war on and win?” John Kerry said, “Ourselves?”

About the only thing they ever fined tuned was extortion, when they dreamed up the IRS, but heck, the Hell’s Angels can do that. Embargoed Cuba pretty good. Yep, fixed THOSE cigars didn’t they? I happen to be a cigar smoker and lifting the blockade of Cuba is about the only thing I agree with.

The DisUnited States of Illusion keeps limping along with its porous border, funny money, and politically correct president, and we’ll keep paying for it hoping the Chinese don’t foreclose the mortgage. Oh yeah, we did that too! In a thousand years some kid’ll ask his teacher what happened to the ancient empire of America, and the teacher will say, “Oh, they started marrying goats, calling toilette paper wealth, and all got strung out on pot. Mexico finally annexed them.”

From a Simple Ol’ Boy From Austin