Arrested For Driving While Blind


Arrested for driving while blind. Friends and neighbors, brothers and sisters, that old ZZ Top line is about the only thing I haven’t done, and I’ve done it all. If there is anything I missed, it’s only because no one told me about it. If you want to dig dirt on me, you’d better bring a dump truck. I have been in country music for forty plus years, and I mean the real music business. I wasn’t just hanging around some bar, hoping my family might drop in and hear me play a guitar, I was a writer, and I wrote my way all the way to Nashville. Unless you’ve been living under a big yellow rock you’ve probably heard something I have written.

My mother once told me that if I ever hurt a decent girl she’d beat me to death with an iron skillet, so for the first four marriages (yeah, I said four) I married sluts. Number five was a thirty year ordeal, where I kept trying to leave, and she kept following. We finally divorced, but she wouldn’t let me leave, so here I am. As time and tears went by I began to settle down. There were two major factors contributing to this: One, I got too damn old, and two, I got tired of making bail. Somehow I came through all of this with my health, which is a miracle, because I quit drinking when they invented the funnel. Today I will still take a little Jim Beam, but nowhere near my glory days. I’m partial to a martini.

So where am I going with all of this? It’s simple actually. I see people all the time living in the past. They had a bad childhood. Let me tell you about a bad childhood. I am certified white trash. The first time I saw a fruit display on a formal table I tried to eat the wax apple. I hear someone on Doctor Phil going on and on about an abusive father, but let me school you, my dad was a roofer in Texas for thirty years, and being a roofer in Texas is about as bad a job as you can get, if you don’t count being a slave. My dad wouldn’t whip us, he’d knock us through the wall. Good news was that we were quick, and he only had to knock us through one wall for us kids to catch on. We were so poor we thought the people on welfare had government jobs because they had a check!

Human beings become better through ordeal. Steel becomes stronger through tempering. What doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger. Texas has never been easy. This is hard country out here. Our wages are low, and our hours are long, but we know the deal. You really have to believe in God, because if you don’t then none of this makes any sense. I couldn’t understand a word of the Bible until I was thirty-five years old. We had that old King James Version, and with all the “Thees” and “Thous” I just couldn’t connect the dots. Life connected the dots for me. I began to realize that if you cast your bread upon the water you’d get back a sandwich.

Writers are a special lot. For me, writing is therapy. As the words form on the page I vocalize, and when I vocalize, I begin to see the logic, and understand not only other people, but my own situation. I don’t believe in all this psychiatry stuff, and theories, or drugs, or mind control. I believe that most thinking people, over fifty years, can figure out what hurts, and what doesn’t hurt. You begin to see that there is room in the world for other ideas, and just because you don’t agree with them, they are just ideas. When I hear a liberal expounding some whacky “Bernie Sanders” plan, I know it won’t work, but rather than go tit for tat I understand that it’s all fine because good Lord willing and the creek don’t rise, they’ll have the same fifty years that I had to figure it all out. It’s all so simple. This will put a meal on the table, and that won’t.

I do understand the Bible now, but there’s a lot of “fluff” in it. The truths that Jesus spoke of were down to earth facts. Don’t judge. I never judge! When someone does something that I think is bad, I’ll just remember back when I did exactly the same thing, and be glad the statute of limitations has run out. We have all fallen short of the glory, and I fell short the day the doctor said, “Hey,” and I said, “Huh?”

It all boils down to this: You get what you expect. If you dwell in the past you will always be there. If you set goals, no matter how remote, you may not get there, but you’ll be on the way, and the journey is half the joy. We all make mistakes. What seemed so serious back then, will just be funny as you recount it to a friend at a local pub. The sad part of life is if you live long enough to figure it out then you’ll come to the same conclusions that I did after you are old, and young people have it all “figured out,” and will not listen as they begin their journey toward “the truth.”

If you want to dig dirt on me, you’d better bring a dump truck, because I’ve done it all, and if there’s anything I missed it’s only because no one told me about it, and I’m man enough to admit it! I’ve found one person who totally understands me. She sleeps with me, eats with me, agrees with everything I say, and cries when I’m away. In the spirit of the recent Supreme Court ruling on marriage I have decided to marry my dog.


Time Was

Time was when you could write, or say anything so long as you didn’t threaten someone or incite violence. The idea of free speech was foundational to the republic. If you were out in left field everyone would just think you were stupid and ignore you.

Time was when every little Texas town had a homosexual or two and nobody cared. They stayed off to themselves and the lady’s garden society loved them. They didn’t march in the street, or jail little old ladies for exercising their conscience. We all laughed at Paul Lynn, and listened to Liberace.

Time was when you could swat your kids on the butt in the grocery store and everyone approved you as a good parent. Your kids weren’t taught sex in school, and daddy was still the greatest, because he was dad, and every little girl wanted to grow up, and marry someone just like him.

Time was, when stopped for a traffic stop, you would get out of the car and take out your driver’s license as you walked back to the officer, who appreciated your courtesy and respect. Police got free coffee and food because merchants wanted them to come around. An officer rarely raised his voice, and he was almost always right, because he really did serve and protect.

Time was you could carry your guns in a rack in your pickup and nobody but the deer cared. The very idea that you couldn’t defend your family and home because black lives mattered was alien. Your family’s life mattered, and that was that. Your home was your castle and the fourth amendment meant exactly what it said.

Time was when the president said something you respected it even if you didn’t agree because he was the president. Everyone knew politicians would put a spin on things, but in the end they knew that America was America, the flag was the flag, and they worked for the people of America, not the UN. If they’d ever heard of a “Benghazi” they would have thought it was a James Bond movie.

Time was when a teacher sent a note home you sided with the teacher simply because she WAS the teacher. The first words out of your parent’s mouths would be, “What did you do?”

Time was if you missed church everybody knew it and one of the routine questions you asked a new friend was what faith they followed because there simply wasn’t anyone who didn’t believe in God.

Time was when you found that your favorite movie star was getting a divorce you were shocked because personally you only knew one person who ever got one and everyone treated them as if they had tuberculosis.

Time was if you stood on the constitution in court or anywhere else it was a no brainer because everyone knew the constitution was the constitution and that was that. The language in the Bill of Rights was so simple that any farmer could understand it.

Time was when a woman stayed home and took care of the kids she was known as a good mother, and raised her girls that way, too.

Time was when the preacher would drop by if word got out that a family was having difficulties.

Time was when a dollar was inscribed “Silver Certificate” and stood for an honest dollar which would buy enough gasoline for three days work.

Time was if you didn’t have a job you just went to jail until you figured it out. This is the world I lived in in 1957 in Shreveport. Time was…

Simple Ol’ Boy From Austin


Relationships are difficult to understand. What sets off attraction is a complex maze of chemistry, psychology and desire. You have no control over these factors but you do have control over how you react to them. Chemical changes in the brain have been supported by studies that can be verified. The heart can only be verified when it is broken.

You’ll never get over love. The pain you feel at separation will never go away. I fell in love with someone a long time ago and even today the mention of her name will mist my eyes. One so loved becomes larger than life and they become a very real part of your being.

No medicine, no philosophy, no religion will save you from this. They are all empty words that will not quiet your passion nor sooth your soul. If there is betrayal or if the love is unreturned you will seek oblivion. As time passes this too will pass but the feeling will always be there just below the surface.

Man has an intellectual ability to understand this and if not rise above it at least live with it. These feelings fulfill you. Great art comes from these feelings. That’s what makes us human. There should be no guilt because you loved a woman. Love is never wrong, it’s what you do with it that makes it right or wrong. Good love will build you up and a bad love will tear you down.

There are those who will try to reason you away from your feelings but their words will fall upon deaf ears. You, and only you will make the choice to walk away and it will hurt. Willie Nelson wrote, “If guilt is the question, then truth is the answer, and I’ve been lying to me all along.”

There is no rhyme or reason to love. It is something you must work out for yourself. The good news is that one day the sun will rise and though the one so lost will always cause you a moment of reflection it will sustain you not destroy you and you will in fact be stronger for it.

You may never find another or perhaps you will but the most important thing is to find yourself. Once you discover yourself you will understand that no woman, no religion or no mantra can make or break you. Be YOU! Everything else is only commentary.

Check out Wilbur Witt at

You Wanna Nother Beer?

I’d like to expand on an idea here. I was talking about stupid people, and I apologize. It’s rude to call people stupid. Everyone tries to adapt to their circumstances. I think I’m on the ball, but if you out me in the Outback of Australia with a boomerang I might not fare so well. The Aborigines would be pointing, and laughing at “Stupid.”

That having been said, I want to share some things. I was talking about a certain girl I know the other day and she’s a real person. I’ve been trying to reach that stupid bi . . .there I go again! Ok, I’ve been trying to school this lady without much success, and it exasperates me. Did you ever have a dog that simply refuses to be housebroken? Ever try to walk a cat in a leash? Well, she’s like that. But, you try. The beautiful thing about trying to bring someone like that up to par is that the very act hones your own skills. By explaining to them, you in effect explain to yourself! But, this has to occur within yourself. No one else can do it for you. It’s like going to a psychiatrist, and they try to tell you things about yourself that YOU don’t know. Of course you agree because you’re paying this clown to talk, but that doesn’t mean it works. Still, I’d like to throw a few tid bits out there.

Over the last couple of years I’ve taken several tests, just for the fun of it. It has been pretty well ascertained that I have an IQ of around 180 or so, and my literacy and comprehension is in the top one percent, but for God’s sake keep that between us, I’m trying to construct an image here! You aren’t born smart, you GET smart. If you have the moxie to absorb and retain knowledge over the years, and enough intelligence not to step in front of a bus, at some point in time you get old enough to at least present the illusion of wisdom simply by the act of having survived for so long. In the light of this fact I have made several astute observations.

I never try to talk “down” to someone. I avoid confrontation and heated debates. My reasoning is simple. When a heated debate ensues it only goes to follow that each side is firmly entrenched in their position, else there wouldn’t be such a discussion in the first place! Neither side is going to budge. Now, when one side has absolutely no foundation for their position you are spitting in the wind trying to change their mind because they don’t know where they are in the first place, so how in the world will they have an inkling as to where they are heading, especially in a debate?

When talking with this person, or persons, I naturally base my discourse on life experiences. You will note that when your opponent is without foundation they HAVE no life experiences, and if they had any then they certainly didn’t learn anything so they fall back on two things ; some untested theory they burn in their own crazy mind, or some theory another person, with equal savvy deposited into their brain that made absolutely so sense when it was dreamed up, and makes even LESS sense when recited by the recipient thereof! Since you are arguing with Mickey Mouse you will never win, and they will never change their mind. If you are having this type of discussion with a woman my advice is to keep pouring her drinks until you both arrive at what she’s really good for. THAT’S a theory she’s got pretty well figured out. Yeah, I know, Mothers Against Procreation . . . deal with it!

The ideas I try to impart result from having lost my butt so many times that it is a miracle I can even use the toilette anymore. I should be on one of those bags they sew onto your side. I’ve honestly made three fortunes, and lost them all (now who’s stupid?) and I’m working on the next. I’m playing a numbers game. I out lived the first three. I’m hoping, at my age, the next one will outlive ME! You see, that’s what retirement really is. You hope you’ll cash in before the money does. And I just love life insurance. Some insurance company is betting that you’ll never die, and if you do, you win! I have made tentative preparations for my funeral. I want to be cremated, and pulverized into a very fine powder, and mixed with the body powder used by the Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders. Anyway, I digress.

One must be very careful when trying to school a fool. Yeah, I really said that, but hear me out. First of all, you must avoid three syllable words and don’t even consider four. This Texas girl has key phrases that she can process quite well. “You wanna nother beer?” That always assimilate that quite well. “I think you’re real smart,” is another. That works because with all those Loony Tunes swirling around in her head she thinks she’s a GENIUS! You have to know what you’re dealing with. Never ever tell her she’s stupid. You must remember that she has everything figured out, and should she become confused she will always text the boyfriend who is riding her child support like a biker on a new Harley, which very well may be what the boyfriend is anyway.

You also must understand the culture, and that is a dynamic which changes with each generation. I am particularly amused by the relationship categories that evolve. Time was you had wives, ex-wives, and girlfriends. The girlfriend most likely being the reason you now have an EX-wife in the first place! Now we have a new designation. “My baby mama!” No, I did not make a typo, there is no “s” behind the word “baby,” that’s how they say it. So, we have a man married to a woman. He has a girlfriend, BUT he’s got someone else on the trot line solely for making babies. “My baby mama!” Figure THAT one out, ancestry dot com!

Another lengthy debate I have endured is adultery. I have had one of these critters look me dead in the face and try to convince me that when she’s married to one guy, SEEING another guy on the side, it’s NOT adultery UNLESS she gets pregnant! Your response to such an assumption? “You wanna nother beer?” Now mix in the circumstances of a military marriage where she says while the above rule applies to her, if HE should stray even the Nth degree it is ALWAYS adultery and, of course, SHE gets his entire paycheck for a period of three years which leads us to another legal axiom.

The “contract” marriage. Lo das, lo das, tu jour Lo das! Let me educate you a bit on this one. The area around any military base is filled with people who have absolutely NOTHING on the ball. They spend their days making their living from the military payroll when is as steady as a clock. In this group,there is a subset. If a service member is married he (or she)’gets a little bonus on payday. Basic Allowance for Housing. Now, if the marriage is for all the right reasons there is nothing wrong with this, but enter another variation. A couple gets together and arrives at a plan. Service member gets the BAH, and spouse gets military benefits! Talk about capitalism! Now they’re not, like, in love. This is a “contract” between them to milk the system, AND like my little misguided friend will quickly point out, THIS is the reason that SHE is not committing adultery with previously mentioned boyfriend. I’ve actually been told that one of these little jewels was planning to tell a judge to his face, “We had a contract marriage and HE broke the deal!” I crappith Thee NOT!

So, anyway, I continue to work with these people. Why should I do this. Is it for the edification of mankind? Is it because I’m driven by a sense of duty to try to raise them to a standard by which they may eventually succeed and become good, prosperous members of society? Naw! The way I see it if some chick is that whacky, and there’s no changing. . . . “You wanna nother beer?” Hey Dudes and Dudettes, I have told you if you’re going to dig dirt on me, better bring a dump truck.

God Moves In Mysterious Ways

God moves in mysterious ways, but sometimes a little Head’s Up WOULD be nice. Life if a roller coaster and the trick is to get to the end of the ride withOUT going off the rails, or falling out of the cart. There is no “formula.” I just love it when someone tells me they have this method, one size fits all non-sense on how they and everyone else should run their life. I always watch them and save my fork because I know this comedy of errors is going to get good!

I heard God’s voice once, I really did. Back in the day, when I had testosterone, I took off on a blind date to New York City. I really did this, folks, you can’t make this up. I’d met this girl over the phone during a call to a help center about my computer, and we’d become fast friends. How do you like that term, fast friends, After that, I needed a third floppy drive and the ONLY way I could get it was to fly up to Long Island and pick it up personally . . . from HER! ( See where this is going?) Now, I kinda had this wife and two kids at the time, but I didn’t let THAT stop me, oh no! I made this whore-hunt look like a business trip. There really WAS a floppy drive, and I really DID develop a rental management program using the BASIC language, but I also really DID hang out at her place on Long Island for about ten days. Oh, one side note; my wife left me and took the kids. (This is my surprised face.) Combine this with the fact that I had a business partner who ate me butt first so my head died last. I’d flown out of Austin in a three piece suit and returned with my hair parted in the middle and an “I Luv NY” Tee-Shirt.

It was pretty much downhill from there. I can’t tell you what my assets were when I landed at JFK, but I can tell you a year later I couldn’t even pay child support. Back in the day, and this was ’81, there wasn’t any of this Yankee-fied Attorney General crap. There was just Judge Black! I appeared before his Honor and he told me if I didn’t bring him three hundred dollars by Monday he was a gonna throw me on the rail road tracks! I told him I was so broke that I didn’t have a place to live and he let me know if I didn’t pay him on Monday he would FIND me a place to live!

Well, the next night, Saturday, I acquired a bottle and stumbled out into the Texas semi-desert to die. See, I had this theory. I could just keep walking until the Beam was all gone and then be too drunk to find my way back. Oh, I’m sorry, you’re wondering about the girl in New York? She dumped me, but I digress. Anyway, here I was walking across the prairie and I saw this oak tree. I sat down beneath it and began to finish the bottle. Now bear in mind this was a Texas suicide. I didn’t really intend to kill myself, but I was really at my wit’s end, and that’s going it a bit because I’m a WITT! I never prayed. I had tried to read the Bible but none of it made any sense. Anyway, sitting there I looked up and asked, “Why ME?” In the wind I heard a voice. It may have been just circumstance, or the Beam, or a combination thereof, but I distinctly heard it say, “Because you had this one coming!”

There was a Horney Toad crawling along and I picked him up. Now, I’m drunk at the time, so work with me on this. I asked the Horney Toad what I should do, and he told me I should go to Mexico. Let’s see, Judge Black, Mexico? Well, that was a no-brainer. Before Monday I was in Nuevo Laredo. I can’t tell you how many years it took me to get my boys back, but I did rebuild my life. Of course God does have a sense of humor and I went into the music business, but I’ve never cheated on a wife since, and I’ve had several.

The end result of this is I have a positive attitude. When I lose everything. and I’ve lost my butt so many times it’s a wonder that I can take a crap, I just look at it like taking a flight without having to worry about luggage because when hard times come I know there’s something right around the corner. That’s why I love people who have it all figured out. Here’s your bottle, there’s your tree, and heeeeere’s your sign!

There was a father who had a son
He longed to tell him all the reasons for the things he’d done
He came a long way just to explain
Kissed his boy as he lay sleeping, then he turned around and headed home again.

God moves in mysterious ways . . .

Liberal Apples and Conservative Oranges

I just love it when people apply labels to me. Heck, better than that, I really love it when people put labels on themselves. You see, that’s the problem with labels. Once you subscribe to one you have to BE that label, and the definitions change so you have to keep abreast of the current status quo. A girl friend of mine, that’s girl FRIEND, not girlfriend, defined by touch, don’t touch, but I digress, a girl friend of mine tells me I am a conservative Republican. She considers me a gun toting, beer drinking, missionary sex type of guy who hates on everyone darker than me. I guess that means when I’m in California and get a tan I can include more friends. Also I simply must hate all immigrants. For the record I love half of the Mexicans because common sense tells me at least half of them simply must be women. I do drink beer, but prefer martinis. Uh, straight up martinis, not those apple juice concoctions the Yankees drink and call themselves sophisticated. I do have a gun. The missionary sex thing. Well, all depends on what she weighs. And I AM sixty-three now.

When I meet a young liberal chick the conversation usually turns to politics. Abortion, gay rights, guns, you name it, and what I really want to say is, “Hey, baby, we’re like, in a BAR, and you are a young, liberal minded, healthy DRUNK woman . . . aren’t you supposed to pay my tab, go to a hotel and rock my world?” They never do, of course, because for all the liberal nonsense they turn into rejuvenating virgins whenever you suggest they act like a woman. And with all the new twists and turns in rape laws these days I never have sex unless I have a signed contract and two witnesses in the room during the consummation.

Actually I’m not conservative or liberal, I’m just me. I wouldn’t date a man, but I’d probably marry three girls if I legally could. I support open carry, but I probably won’t do it because it’s uncomfortable doing so. Ever carry a gun on your hip? Well, there you go. I don’t wear cowboy boots either. I have many black friends but have never dated a black chick because I like short, white, young blondes. At the age of eight I fell in love with Tinker Bell and it stuck. Did you ever consider Tinker Bell being full sized and real? What to do with the wings during sex. Ok, I’m a little weird, live with it! Wonder if I can find a Tinker Bell costume . . .

Actually, I’m too old to chase women anymore. Two reasons: One, I don’t have that kind of energy, and two, I’ve already caught several in my lifetime and divorces are so traumatizing. I can’t get along with any woman for any substantial period of time. The reason being that I like to get up in the morning and do what *I* want to do. You get a girl and she says, ” What are you going to do this morning?” to which you reply, “I was thinking a cup of coffee on the porch, and reading the news,” and she says, “But you promised ME Starbucks!” Well, there you go. Half your freedom right out the window. And don’t EVEN try to have drinks on the patio. Bear in mind you picked this chick up in a bar, but the moment she moves in it’s, “Are you just going to sit there with a Martini all night?” Well, uh, YEAH!

Frenchi is the perfect girlfriend. First she’s street legal. Always nice not to post a fifty thousand dollar bond for taking a shower. Next, she is drop dead gorgeous, which is a plus at sixty three. Now I like older women, I just don’t like to touch them. She always has her own money, and that’s a biggie. Finally, she’ll hang around for a bit, and then she’ll get on Facebook, find some guy, pick up her backpack and she’s out the door until next time! The PERFECT woman. Oh, and she always catches the dishes before she leaves.

Now the above is as cock-eyed a lifestyle as you can get, but my friend still tags me as “conservative.” She considers herself to be a flaming liberal. One day I’ll run a few martinis through her and see what pops up. Until next time, same BAT time, same BAT channel . . . Boy! Did I just date myself with THAT one!

Well Fed Liberals

You know, solutions to complex problems are really quite simple when you step back and look at them objectively. It’s only when you inject legalese, or liberal thought do you get multi-layered psycho-babble that leaves the thinking person with exasperation. I am going to offer some of my solutions to complex problems, and please, bear in mind, I’m from Texas. (Save your fork, folks. This is gonna be good!)

Freedom of speech. This means you can say anything you want to say so long as you don’t threaten someone’s safety or life. You can get on a soapbox, in front of the White House and expound any cock-eyed theory of foreign policy you want so long as you don’t tell people to fire a pistol through the White House door. If you are stupid then only stupid people will listen to you. Come to think of it, you’d probably draw quite a crowd up there. There is no such thing as “free speech zones!” Right now we have the silliest set up the world has ever seen. Texas Patriots cannot talk about Texas independence outside a “free speech zone” at San Jacinto while some nut jobs can put a reward on the Internet for a police officer’s head. Am I the only one laughing here? Oh darn! My bad. The nut jobs were black. That explains it.

Right to bear arms. Did you ever stop to think how many hours have been spent trying to get around this one line amendment? It is simple. Translated into Texan it simply states, “Y’all can have guns.” The Constitution puts limits on the Federal government. In the so called Wild Wild West the local sheriff controlled guns quite well. And people don’t have to be told not to carry a gun to church. Now that’s CHURCH, boys and girls, not Mosques! You should carry a gun there. Bad people will always get guns. Good people need guns to shoot bad people. You’ll never run out of bad people with guns. Every now and then I say something profound. It happens. I sit here on this porch with a cigarette and a glass of Jim Beam and the spirit comes upon me. Once the spirit told me, “When you’re hiding under your desk as some nut is shooting everybody in your office, you won’t be worried about commas in the second amendment, you’ll be worried about your ASS!”

Presidents don’t make laws, they formulate policy. Now, work with me here, ok? Some guy gets elected based on ideas he has about how do direct the nation. He has goals. He takes these ideas to Congress. You know, that bunch of wine heads you pay a lot for nothing? He says, “I want some kind of affordable health care so folks can see a doctor without selling their first born. You guys work it out and send it over to my house and I’ll sign it for you.” Then the Congress draws something up. It can be as simple as the sudden realization that you can’t control doctors, and you shouldn’t, but you can put a leash on insurance companies. You see, there’s your problem. Some doctor comes up with a treatment and puts an astronomical price on it, the insurance companies say, “Heck we’ll pay that,” and they pass the cost right on down to Suzie Sweetcheeks working as a waitress down at Mel’s Diner. Just tell the insurance companies they can pay all they want, but they can’t gouge the public for their extravagance. The Congress does all the work, the President signs it, and he looks like a great innovator while hanging out at the golf course and kissing a few babies.

To have a country you almost must have borders. I think the rules to enter the country should at least be as stringent as the ones governing admission to a biker bar, ok? I mean, you set up a country, draw a circle around it and say, “We be here!” Then you put people in charge of that and tell them, “Shoot anybody who climbs over that there fence.” Now, there will be a little bit of an outcry from the climbers for a few days, but eventually they’ll figure it out. I am not unfeeling. When they start throwing their kids over the fence, spank their asses and throw them BACK! Shoot the parents. And drug smugglers? No problem! When you catch them just make them eat their fill of whatever they are bringing into the country and burn the rest. Uh, don’t burn marijuana. That doesn’t work. Send that to Austin. Them boys will take it from there.

Welfare. Wow! Where do I start? Ok, don’t have it. In all my years I’ve never seen a skeleton lying in a ditch by the side of the road. Know why you have riots in Ferguson? Them people have too much energy and too much time on their hands. They don’t have to work and dinner is always on the table. Michael Brown stole cigars, not Little Debbie cakes, although from his picture I know he’s seen a few Little Debbies in his time. Hey, news flash. Necessity is the mother of invention. Hunger does away with a lot of tootie fruity ideas. I used to have a lot of pie in the sky theories. Then I went to Nashville and them fellers simplified all that nonsense. Pie in the sky got reduced to pie in one lesson.

Separation of church and state. I love this. Three kids get reprimanded for praying in the corner of a school yard while some Imam prays over Congress. You can’t make this stuff up, folks. Here’s the Congress of the United States sitting there blinking while some raghead babbles on and on about Allah. And not one of them, even got up to go to the restroom. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I said “Raghead,” get over it! I told you they were wine heads. Hey, it’s not just up in Washington, we got a few of these idiots running loose in Austin. A few years ago a congressman down here introduced a resolution acknowledging Albert DeSalvo’s contribution to birth control and the Texas congress overwhelmingly approved it. He let the resolution be all printed up with a pretty bow around it before he told the voice of the people that Albert was the Boston strangler. Like I said, you can’t make this stuff up! You cannot separate moral teachings from government, or maybe that’s the problem here, hmmmmm? After years and years of trying to sterilize the human soul we have a congress full of, well, wine heads.

And last but not least, Gay Marriage. (May I have a drum roll please!) This all stems from licensing. Let’s look at marriage license. Billy Joe Jim Bob falls in love with Suzie Sweetcheeks. “Gee, Suzie, I sho’ Nuff would like to jump in your drawers.” “But, Billy Joe, you know we’s got to go down to the court house and gets us one of them marriage licenses afore we can do that. And they’s rules!” Billy Joe scratches his head, “Rules?” Suzie continues, “Why yeah. First I gotta be a girl, and you gotta be a boy” Now, Billy Joe already had already figured that part out so there was no problem there. “Then, Billy Joe, we gots to go to the doctor so’s you don’t give me the Clap like your cousin gave Miss Elderberry the school teacher.” Billy Joe agrees to that. “Then, we’s gotta find twenty dollars, cause that’s what the government charges so we can say the words over to the church.” Well, Suzie and Billy Joe do tie the knot and live happily ever after. Billy Joe even becomes a pillar of the community, he and Suzie get a mortgage on a double wide and raise their boy to be a great leader. Suzie, and Billy Joe Abbott were very proud of him. Now, that was a pretty good poke at Texas white trash, and I am qualified to do that because I’M Texas white trash. Kinda like some black folks using that word we crackers can’t even write in a letter to mama, but we all know how that goes, now don’t we? Ok, now remove marriage license from the equation. See how that works? Then people so inclined can just trot down to the church of the Pink Flamingo and get hitched. Oh, and by the way, if we have this “separation of church and state” how’d a marriage license get through the church doors in the first place. I’m confused. And tax credits for fellers marrying fellers? Just add a square to the tax forms. Shouldn’t take much time or ink to do that. They printed up ObamaCare, didn’t they? One added feature. If you have to license something then just license it! All licenses must be renewed from time to time. Say after two years, things just aren’t working out you just don’t renew and go your merry ways. No more divorces!

Life’s most difficult challenges become so simple when you just step back and look at them. And while you’re laughing consider this. All my suggestions would work. Well, they’d work until the liberals got involved. But they’re too well fed and just have too much time on their hands. Good day!

Don’t Give A Damn Itus

I was reading Dr. Phil’s book, Real Life. Going through the last two years have been real life for me so I thought, “Good old’ Dr. Phil will show me the way!” I settled on the chapter called Adaptability Breakdlown. As I read through the chapter I couldn’t find anything that applied to me. I read the chapter on anxiety. Nada! Tried fear, mental disorders, and existential crises and there were no matches, but I KNOW I’m messed up! I mean, who the hell loses a wife, five grand kids, three mansions and a Mercedes and walks away with a martini and a silly grin on his face? Then it hit me. Now, work with me here I’m blazing new psychological territory. Just like when they changed shell shock to PTSD, I have a whole new disorder, born of the recession, customized for the 21st century. Don’tgiveadamnitus!

The way I see it a lot of us are so far gone that we know it just wastes time worrying about it. We’ll probably not live long enough to ever see a dollar worth a dollar again, and forget about employment. Hell! Even bank robbers can’t find gainful employment. The banks are full of Federal Reserve Notes. Want a big nice car? Forget about it. Good luck filling the tank. So you get a don’t give a damn attitude.

The only constant is women. If you’re a standard issue heterosexual (which I am) you can use some pretty moldy, time honored lines on younger girls to achieve at least a conversation. To wit:

1. “I’m really a homosexual and just want to be your friend.”
2. “I have ED but I like to cuddle.”
3. “I am afraid of contracting an STD so I will only like good conversation.”
4. “It’s called a Martini, and the beautiful thing about it is the Vermouth neutralizes the gin. The more you drink, the more sober you get”
5. And last but not least, “My God girl! You’re young enough to be my grand daughter. What kind of a man do you think I am?”

Older women are actually better, but they’re too blamed smart! You can’t EVEN whip any of the above lines on them. The best you can do is compliment their cooking. Young girls don’t cook. Ordering at McDonald’s has been developed into a fine art, don’t let a young girl order for you unless you like salad!

But, a healthy, young woman will generally relieve Don’tgiveadamnitus because at least the relationship between a man and a woman in private has remained unchanged unless you’re in California and we know where that went. The cure for the syndrome? Well, there is none. Sadly it’s terminal. Once you fully realize the futility of worrying about stuff that you can do nothing about nothing can ever pull the wool over your eyes again. You actually become, well, FREE!

So Dr. Phil needs to add a chapter to his book. Maybe two. A chapter on women and martinis would be nice.

You Got A Beer?

There are things peculiar to Texas that makes life interesting. You can’t drink a beer in an7/11. Oh, and don’t forget you can’t even BUY a beer until noon on Sunday. Where did that come from? They have to wait until the Baptists get out of church? Drinking laws in Texas are so weird you have to be drunk to understand them.

Once a law is on the books it’s there forEVER! You can’t check into a motel with a chicken with the intent of having sex. You can get married under common law here by just announcing out loud that you’re married. What would the law be if you were married to the chicken?

Marijuana is illegal in Texas. Well, kinda. Personal use plays a big part. That works with Meth, too. If you look on the jail roster you’ll see dozens of arrests for controlled substance under a gram. NObody in Texas apparently can afford more than that. And dope dealers. I saw one get arrested for possession when he ran out of gas in the police parking lot. Cops thought it was Christmas!

There are good cops, and there are bad cops. The good cops are all apparently in Killeen. The rest of the state is screwed. Houston cops are so crooked that when one of them dies you don’t have to bury them. You drive a stick through their ears and screw ’em in the ground. All Texas police departments have at least one “hottie” cop. Body armor with a built in bra. “Hey baby, I got a gun down in my pants. You better frisk me.”

If you shoot someone innTexas there’s Fifty-Fifty chance you’ll walk, depending on where the body fell, but if you SAY you’re going to shoot someone you’ll do time EVERY time! Back in the day if two men got in a fist fight and the cops showed up they just went to jail. SOMEbody let the Californians in and now we have more lawsuits than just about anywhere. You don’t realize the intricacy of Texas law until you wake up in jail one morning, like I did for “Talking Back!”

I can’t really say anything about anyone else. I was called up one day by a deputy, we called him “Deputy Dog” because he was so blamed ugly, and asked if I had called some woman after she told me not to. When I explained what had happened he said, “Well, there’s this new law says you can’t talk back to someone on the phone after they say shut up. Now Wilbur, it’s too hot to come over there and pick you up. Arrest yourself and come on down to my office!” and I DID it! Duh!

It seems odd in a state where women wear guns, and the men wear heels and large hats (with feathers) that folks would get so bent out of shape about gay marriage. But, at least they have sex with chickens under control. .When I was about twenty the age of consent was fourteen. That was …special. They finally raised that to eighteen, seventeen if her daddy says it’s ok. And have you ever looked at a REAL cowgirl. You look a girl in the face who really rides a horse, and if that’s not an argument for gay rights I’m not a white boy from Austin!

Still, Texas is a great place to live. Weather’s usually nice, except for summer. Texas is hot AND humid. The biggest day of the year is the first “cold snap” when a front blows in and you can finally breathe again. And don’t EVEN go to San Antonio in August. I did that once. There was a REASON Santa Anna attacked the Alamo in late February. And drought? All the Yankees get all pent up about drought. Texas IS a drought.

Typical Texas organized crime: Man shows up at the house to extort money. Owner meets him in the yard.

“I’m here for my money!”

“Well, I’m not going to pay!”

“I got a gun right here.”

Homeowner whips out a pistol, and immediately the intruder sticks his hands in the air and yells, “What’s that all about?”

“You said you had a gun!”

“I ain’t go no gun!”

“Then why did you say you had a gun?”

“So you’d give me some money!”

“Look, if you’re gonna rob somebody you need to get one of these. (Shows him the gun.)

“Man I can’t afford nothing like that.”

“I think you’d better go.”

“Uh, ok . . . Say, you got a beer?”

Y’all have a wonderful day!

September 11

September 11

Today is my birthday. When you get up around my age, birthdays tend to come a lot faster than they used to. I have noticed that I’m looking a bit older these days, but I’m happy that I’m aging like Sean Connery. I seem to have accumulated some knowledge about women, too. In high school I was a nerd. I was the only one who went on the obligatory trip to Mexico and couldn’t find a date down there, and I HAD the five dollars. Now THAT’S a nerd, folks!

I had an interesting chat with my granddaughter, Puck, yesterday. She’s seven, and I told her today was my birthday. She asked me if I was going to die. Now, you first reaction to a question like that from a child is to wonder what she sees that you don’t. Then you find yourself staring into the mirror for the longest time while you brush your teeth. And about that, how did I end up with “old guy” mouth? My teeth are all healthy, but just old!

Anyway, Puck told me she loved me. Then she said that if I was to go ahead and kick the bucket today she wanted to have me cremated so I could be with her always. As an added feature she would give a scoop of me to her four little brothers so I could be with THEM, too. I feel it’s only fair too mention Puck’s real name is Carrie.

I used to be a good Catholic, but as I learned more about women I strayed from the party line a bit. You know you’re over the hill when you can legally date a woman who was born after you got your first divorce. One thing I’ve learned about young women is they can’t drink, and that flaw has served me well over the last few years. (Lord, I’m sorry I did that, I’ll try not to do that in the future.) One girl I’d like to get drunk is Wendy Davis. I mean, with her views on abortion you KNOW what she likes to do, right?

About the only thing of historical significance that ever happened on my birthday until 2001 was Patton disobeying orders, invading Germany ANYWAY, and sending a picture to Omar Bradley, taken from behind, of him pee peeing in the Rhine. There was some saint who’s feast day was my birthday. He had a limp like me, but never really did anything. Guess he was a nerd, too. My birthday is starting to be called, “Freedom Day,” which, after four divorces I can totally relate to.

My physical, and lab work came in last week and I’m fit as a fiddle. In former days, I would rise in the morning and say an “Our Father,” maybe throw in a few “Hail Mary’s,” for good measure, and charge into the morning. These days I sit on the edge of the bed, wish my shoes weren’t so far away, and just say, “DAMN!” My memory is intact. (DAMN!)

I detest birthday parties, but a few gifts drifted in. One was a box of Oliva cigars. I got a thirty pack of beer to go with them. Frenchi sent me a note saying good things come to those who wait. I’m so glad she’s of age! There was no cake. (I hate cake!) About the most exciting thing coming up this week is the arrival of a cold front on Friday, and if you’re a Texan you can appreciate that. I ran out of Aleve, and I need to address that situation, but I’m regular, and that’s always nice.

I remember my old business partner, W C Dorrill, who died at eighty-nine or so. If there was ever a type number one capitalist it was him. When I asked him how he viewed getting so old he said, “I wake up each day, reach for the paper, look at the obituaries, and if I don’t see my name, I get up!