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.

When Things Get Quiet

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Always be on point when things get quiet. I don’t know about everyone else, but I grew up in a family that had four children. My siblings and I were a pretty rowdy bunch, and occasion my mother needed mad parenting skills to get her through the process of raising us, managing my father’s career and looking damn good while she did it. One of those skills was an instinct for knowing when her focused attention was needed; the dreaded “eyes in the back of her head” that all successful parents are able to convince their children they have. She knew, for instance, that if things got real quiet she needed to come look; she didn’t ask us what we were doing, she knew we’d lie about that if we were up to something. She didn’t send one of us to look; they were just as likely to be in on whatever sneaky plot was afoot, she just came looking; on light feet too.

 

Folks, things have gotten real quiet down in Mexico lately. Oh, I know The Donald’s kicking up a fuss about that wall and all, but what that’s done is distract us from the fact that information, real information is not coming out of Mexico. Now, we’re all going to have good reason to wish that wall was there, and real soon too; but more about that in a minute. What I’d like to ask you is what exactly do you really know about Fast and Furious? Not the movie, the guns for drugs operation initiated by the State Department (aka Hillary). Until recently I worked for what some

would call an accounting firm. One of my functions was to find creative ways to get people to fulfill promises they had come to regret making. It was an honest living. More honest than the lives of those I was regretfully called upon to influence. In recent times my company’s portfolio began to include more and more work for an umbrella that you know as homeland security. My division had the unfortunate task of looking in on other contract obligations. I could write a book about it all, but for now let’s get back to what you know.

 

I’m a different kind of guy than my friend Bill the Butcher. I am not a writer, and I believe that people should work for what they get. Consequently, I’m not going to put everything I know in front of you. For one thing, why on earth should you believe me? No, if you are the sort that cares about your country though, if you care what happens to your family, you ought to launch your own investigation into what happened. Form groups, divide up the tasks of uncovering what’s been sloppily covered up. Make it a part of whatever community you are a part of, for you are all going to need each other as surely as you are reading these words. Times coming when you will not have any protection under or from the law. if you live in Texas, New Mexico, Arizona, or Utah you’re in for some trouble.

 

Back to that wall for a minute. I spent several days held in a federal building in El Paso twice because ICE had picked me up coming across the border illegally (I’m a legal citizen, but hey). The reason for this attention was that I carried a SIM card in my pocket that belonged to a person of interest in the so called investigation into the Fast and Furious project. It appeared to my employers that a rogue element of the vast Homeland Security conglomerate was operating down south and I was dispatched to coordinate with one of our offices in Chihuahua. What I found was that every rank and file element of the Mexican army (yeah they have private contractors too) knew about the guns for drugs plan way ahead of it, and that eventually those guns would wind up back in the good old USA in the hands of what we call gangs, but they call private contractors.

 

Fantasy? Vile racist lies? You’ll have to decide for yourself. Poke around a little yourself though before you decide; for your family’s sake, or just to save your own hide. The evidence is all around you like gold nuggets in Eldorado. Remember those poor folks who are murdered in the ever increasing massacres that are the plague of our modern world, and how they probably wished they had a gun…just a little too late.

Teddy Bear

We Don’t Need No Stinking Badges!

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We don’t need no stinking badges! Funny line from a movie that got unfunny when guns began to flow across the southern border like someone was running a gun show. In September of 2009 John Dodson with the ATF stood back in snake amazement when he traced guns being given to Mexican cartels, and he subsequently became a whistle blower. This article in the New York Post detailed this so I’m not going to bore you with the taco count, just read it for yourself.

We all know the story. I even made a joke out of it when I was out in California citing that the first thing you learn in grade school if you’re a Texan is not to give guns to the Mexicans. The paradox is that Mexico has mucho gun control, unless you’re in the cartel, and then you get a pass. Mexico is a perfect example of what happens when you “regulate” guns. Ever hear the statement, “If guns are outlawed then only outlaws will have guns.” Mexico has a lot of outlaws, world class outlaws.

I find it amazing that Trump talks about securing the border, Hillary skirts the issue. Trump supports the second amendment; Hillary is very clear on her stance on gun control. Heck, her own daughter just got up, and gave a snot slinging speech on that very subject. (She has a kid? Nobody told me that.) Hillary was directly involved at a high level with the government that opened this gun running operation. Do you think she was unaware? Well, I mean, she was unaware of an attack on an embassy, and loaded up state secrets at a local McDonald’s WiFi, but c’mon! Well, Teddy Bear ran a theory by me today, and I’m going to give you the basics. Of course, I can’t tell you details because that would be, well, dangerous. I mean we know the government would never take off after someone for busting it out, right?

Hillary is all tangled up with this stuff, and when confronted, she gives that little chuckle of hers, says something clever, and moves on. The agenda is to disarm the American people. It’s as simple as that. Imagine, if you will, how many people would be flocking over that border if they were reasonably sure those ranchers down there didn’t have any guns? How much restraint do you think the cartels would show if they knew that there would be no return fire? If you believe gun control will make the border safer then I have a bridge in Laredo for you, and, as usual, it’s on sale! Shucks, I’ll just run a two for one sale.  I’ll throw in one out in El Paso for free!

I’m not going to grind out all those tired old statistics about how many people got shot, or saved someone’s life because they shot someone, what I’m drilling down on is that Hillary and company want to make us all serfs in the Clinton Dynasty, and if they get their way we’ll all “die nasty.” She portrays herself as being “of the people,” but she hasn’t been anywhere near the people since she dated Yoko Ono! How’d she spit that hook, I wonder? Speaking of dynasties, remember when I made that joke about Chelsea following her mother’s eight years in office? Well, when she got up and gave that little rant about guns I almost dropped my beer. I’m beginning to feel like a prophet.

What you have below the Mexican border is an army, ok? This army has already sent advance units into the bread basket of the US. Hillary is very aware of this, and says, or does nothing about it. Thomas More said if someone were to attack a man with a knife, and you stand there doing nothing, that indicates approval. Hillary approves of this armed invasion of the United States. Hey, jus’ sayin’. The invaders feel empowered, knowing that the Democratic front runner is looking the other way, and they don’t need no stinking badges, or citizenship, or anything. They’ve been handed a silver platter with the US served up medium rare. Mexican Silver! Adios!

The Enemy Within

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The enemy within has been inside our borders for quite some time. Mexico, by its very nature, is always embroiled in revolution, lawlessness, and intrigue. If you were a boy, growing up in Texas, you had to take that obligatory trip to “Boy’s Town” when you were in high school, and the very reason you did that was because of that lawlessness that enabled you to buy just about anything you wanted. Now, I’m going to get racial here for a bit. When I say, “Mexican,” I mean Mexican! People of Latin decent who were born and raised here are American just like people from Germany, England, or Spain. Their ancestors came to these shores because the old country simply didn’t work, and they were looking for something better. These people are no more “Mexican” than Queen Elizabeth. Right down to the food they eat. For the uninformed, that stuff you get at Taco Bell is not “Mexican” food, that’s “Tex-Mex,” a blend of Texas cuisine with certain spices thrown in for flavor. The fierce nationalism now flowing up from the border is as alien to these Americans as an invasion from China. While they honor traditions of family they cling to America just as the Italians on Mulberry Street in New York had festivals, but were fully aware that they had made that long boat ride for a reason!

It is not a bad thing to honor your culture, but when that culture tries to replace the very fabric of society it becomes subversion, and that, my friends is the enemy within! Before I go on, I’d like to address the people of color out there on a fact. You may think that this is a “white man’s” problem, but in the view of these interlopers you are just the “black white man.” We may have come here in different boats, but we’re in the same boat now! These people have been coming up here for years. They pick the vegetables, mow the grass, and in our racism we think they are no threat. They lower wages along the border, but that’s of no consequence to the CEO of HEB as he reaps the benefits of cheap labor. That’s bad enough, but it really doesn’t touch mid-America that much, and the ante has been upped. These minions want to extend the border of Mexico through Texas to California and beyond. And there is no room in “New” Mexico for us!

It is interesting to note that the cartels don’t do dope, they sell dope to Americans, line their pockets and laugh all the way to the bank. Yeah, there’s a drug war, and El Chapo is winning it. And looking down our elite noses, still covered with cocaine at people like him will be our demise.  You look at all the great criminal enterprises down through the years and are amazed at people like Al Capone, or Dillinger, just look at El Chapo. This guy constructed a subway under a federal prison, with air conditioning, waved “bye bye” to the cameras and rode to freedom, and if you think the local people didn’t help then I’ve got a bridge for you, and it’s on sale. This is not Carlos Mencia cracking jokes about his unemployed cousin mowing his lawn, this is a man who is organized, focused and rich! This is the enemy within.

A wall won’t fix this. New immigration laws won’t fix this. Resolve will fix this. You need to listen to people like George Rodriguez. He, and other Americans of Latin decent know this issue, and will school you. So stop grouping these Americans with our real enemies hidden in plain sight. They are not funny little brown people with accents, they are a force to be reckoned with. They are the enemy within.

Estúpido!

Estúpido! Ok, that’s our word of the day. When Joaquín (El Chapo) Guzmán broke out of a Mexican federal prisión I laughed my testículos off! This guy had the resources to construct a subway under Altiplano Prison, complete with a tram, waved adiós to the cameras in his cell, and rode to freedom. Folks, you can’t make this stuff up. All that activity, not to mention dirt removal, and nobody noticed? This cat should be president of Mexico! Not to mention he’s one of the riches men in the world, undoubtedly the richest in Mexico, sells more drugs than Johnson and Johnson, causes traffic jams at the border, threatens ISIS, Trump, and mom’s Apple pie, Tweets daily, and most likely has a Facebook page. Pancho Villa must be spinning in his grave. Oh, the tunnel had ventilation. . . AIR CONDITIONING! It extended more than a mile. We need this man to renovate the rail system in Austin.
So how did he get caught? Save your fork, it gets better. Joaquín had a dream. He wanted his life story to be told. I mean, with holding up at least three quarters of the Mexican economy, I think he should, don’t you. He had this idea of a huge epic about his life, and Sean Penn chimed in to make it happen with the happy support of Rolling Stone Magazine. El Chapo, Sean Penn, and Rolling Stone. Now, folks, if that’s not the three stooges, I’m not a white boy from Austin! That’s the meat, not let’s mix in some cumin and chili powder. It seems Chapo wanted a certain Mexican starlet to play in his flick. Soooo, he sets out to arrange a meeting, oblivious to the Mexican authorities who were all over him.
His location was not a secret, people, don’t fool yourself. Go back to paragraph one. I grew up in Texas. I’ve TAKEN the obligatory trip to “Boy’s Town” in Nuevo Laredo, and apparently, so did Joaquín. Star struck, he was caught sleeping in bed with his drop dead gorgeous wife, when the Mexican Marines crashed the set. Now, surely the biggest dope dealer on the planet wouldn’t get caught chasing movie stars, right?
So El Chapo is right back in the same jail he strolled out of. Of course Interpol has served him with “formal” extradition, opposed to the more kínder, friendly type, I suppose, announced by the Mexican Attorney General. They have one of those? The Mexican authorities say it’s unclear how he escaped, but they “suspect” prison guards may have been involved. You think? This guy is estimated to make three billion dollars a year, and he’s in a town dealing in Pesos. Do the math! They don’t know how he got out. I submit it may have had something to do with that mile long super transit installed under the prison.
It seems too simplistic to think that someone who makes that kind of money could make such a stupid blunder, but I have seen pictures of Hitler staring across the English Channel at the White Cliffs of Dover, so I don’t know. Now, as my Puerto Rican friend, Jay, would say, I ain’t even gonna lie to you, I admire this guy. If I was the President of Mexico I’d give El Chapo a full pardon and put him in charge of the Mexican economy. Let’s see, he gives people products that they don’t need, makes tons of money, has outlets all over the world, millions of customers, pays his employees in pesos, has a virtul monopoly. I give you El Walmarto!

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

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

Ten Stood Up

The killer entered the classroom, and ordered everyone to lie on the floor. After they did, he asked, “Who in here is a Christian?” He told those people to stand up. And ten stood up. Asking the first one again if they were Christian, he received an affirmative answer, whereupon he said, “Then you’re about to meet God in about one second.” Then the gun went off.

Of course Obama, and all the liberals wrung their crying towels, lamented about how long we have to experience scenes like this. There’s a simple answer, actually. We will see this again, and again until people realize it’s not the gun, it’s the nut behind the gun! In a state that has actually very good open carry, I’d venture to say there was not a pistol in that classroom, save the one in the hands of a mad man. More sheep slaughtered before the altar of political correctness.

Hillary, and others would ban guns altogether. I hate to be the one to tell you people this, but crazy people are just that. . . crazy! If there were no guns (which is an impossibility) the killer would just come in with a knife, just like they do in China, where they have excellent gun control, so you take all the knives. What’s next? Rocks? Cain slew Abel with a rock.

And it’s always some nerdy looking kid in a school somewhere that nobody suspected of being in the frame of mind he was in. The facts are still filtering in so I don’t even know what the final body count is, but I’d be willing to bet there’s a pill bottle somewhere. You just don’t get that crazy on a Miller Lite! I don’t know the exact gun laws in Oregon, but a quick look told me that they are far and above Texas, yet I suspect there was some law, or rule about campus carry, so there you go. Classroom full of unarmed kids, standing up.

I have never been in a more tense situation than when I picked up my granddaughter from her school and suddenly realized the security was non-existent, and no one had any guns. All those babies milling around, and people coming and going. My gun was still in my car, because Texas law forbids one in a school. So who’s crazier, the gunman, or the legislators who pen such nonsense and march us all out to the killing fields?

The liberals are right. We have to fix this, but kneeling before the lion is not the answer. Ask yourself this; If CJ Grisham had be having one of his gun walks there, advocating campus carry, just how far do you think the killer would have gotten? He would have never got out of the car! And that’s a fact, children. . . class dismissed.

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

The Ghosts of Mount Carmel

I spent a huge investment of time last night trying to get a handle on this Twin Peaks thing, and I think I’ve just about got it. Now, to read this, you’re gonna have to open your mind a little bit, liberals don’t worry about it, just read the latest on Bruce Jenner instead. First off, remember that we’re dealing with human beings, the bikers, not the cops. I’m gonna just come out and be up front with you, the cops are out of control. At some point they became militarized and we the people became them the targets. That’s one factor in the equation.

The other factor are motorcyclists. Just like all Italians aren’t in the Mafia, all motorcyclists are not in a gang. We’ve all seen the Hollywood version of Biker Clubs, tooling up and down the freeway with names like “Animal,” running station wagons of nuns off the road and raping everything in sight. Of course you get the image from the loyal opposition on the other side pointing out Christian Bike Clubs and the Patriot Guard. The truth is somewhere in the middle.

The most violent Biker “Gang” is far and above the vermin running around the streets of Baltimore. I dare say “Animal” would make a better Mayor than that city has right now. Most, not all, are Veterans. The fundamental belief of all motorcycle enthusiasts is freedom. The idea to pick up and go on the spur of a moment. The problem is that when you lay a foundation you invariably construct a building, and the idea of biker freedom becomes clouded with rules, imposed to maintain some sort of “order” which is the main reason for getting on a Harley in the first place.

The oxymoron is that people who have basically rejected American Corporate culture would lay out rules and territorial claims, diving right back into the very quagmire they rode away from in the first place. Laying out standards for jackets, and symbols, charging fees for registering clubs, and the more dominant of the clubs ruling with an iron fist over late comers. Time to move farther west, Cowboy Bob!

So let set the stage at Twin Peaks on May 17th. There were two main groups, the Cossacks, and them nasty old Bandidos. Then there were other groups, but they were really like that little prick hiding in the wrinkles of Jabba the Hutt back in the old Star Wars days. So, they all show up at this beer joint for a big meeting, the invited, and the not so invited. And who is out in the parking lot, but Barney and the twelve Fifes, loaded for bear, and hating anything on two wheels. It doesn’t MATTER what was discussed in the bar. It doesn’t MATTER what “territories” we’re “infringed” upon, what matters is a fight broke out between a bunch of bikers drinking beer in a Bresturant. Of course this has never happened before, and the police, taken quite by surprise but the event, we’re consulting their procedures and guidelines right up until the first shot was fired. Of course the snipers opened up and shot everyone who wasn’t smart enough to zig zag as they ran from the fire.

The police then proceeded to arrest everybody, save the priest giving last rights, and giving statements to the press. They DID find that in the manual, under “spin.” They then took all of the arrestees down to the jailhouse where a Justice of the Peace slapped a one million dollar bond on one and all to send a “message” to the populace, which it did. The good people in New York now have confirmation that Texas is overrun with Hell’s Angels, and redneck judges who look like Roy Bean. Oh, good job Sparky!

Fact: A biker fired the first shot. Happens! Happens here in Killeen all the time. Fact: Before this there was a fight. Fact: The cops ate donuts and watched said fight. Aren’t they supposed to serve and protect. There were OTHER people in that bar just eating. Fact: No cops were harmed, not even heat stroke. Now the cops will fall back on this so-called “investigation” they conducted in the preceding months constructing this picture of an enormous criminal empire, run by the Bandidos that controlled the flow of dope across the border. I’m not saying some bikers don’t do dope. Some cops don’t eat donuts. What I am saying is after the event public information was virtually cut off, even autopsy results and privately owned security video. PUTIN is more transparent!

What should the cops have done? Uh, move in and break up the fight? You think? Sometime BEFORE the first shot was fired. Wouldn’t this have been a better headline: EIGHT BIKERS ARRESTED YESTERDAY AFTER SCUFFLE AT TWIN PEAKS. We need to see where those bullets came from, we need to see that video footage, and we need a REAL judge to become involved, because I’ll assure you, every lawyer worth his salt is wearing out horses to book a room in Waco right now.

Waco has always been two bubbles short of plumb. If God were to give the world an enema He’d stick the hose right in the middle of Waco, Texas! I don’t like Waco. I won’t drink Dr Pepper to this day because it came from Waco. If there were a nuclear war and me and a girl from Baylor were the only two people left on the planet the human race would be doomed! You can’t even pray in Waco. A bunch tried, and they burned ’em up. The clubs involved that Sunday did so to be fair to the other regions. Usually they would meet in Dallas or Austin. Maybe should’ve sniffed the ground out at Mount Carmel before ordering that first beer . . . You think?

From The OK Corral to Twin Peaks

What happened in Waco? Well, the reports are coming in now. Of course, everyone has a spin, but some consistencies are emerging. Apparently SOME bikers had guns. (This is my surprised face.) The cops had guns too. (Another surprised face.) SOMEone got into an argument over a motorcycle. (Imagine that!) Bikers are allergic to bullets and cops are allergic to bikers. See where this is going, folks?

One thing that seems to be rock solid is some guy called “Chain” got shot dead between the eyes by a Bandido. That was . . . special. One witness claimed a majority of bikers went immediately spread eagle on the ground whereupon the police began picking them off one by one as the juke box played “Nearer My God To Thee.” Scratch and sniff this, folks, tell me what you smell.

Let’s do some numbers. Reportedly up to seventy Cossacks riding, uninvited to Twin Peaks, followed by about one hundred Bandidos. That’s a lot of carbon monoxide, folks. There was a little debate about parking. You think? The police were THERE! I’m going to revert to one of my earlier articles. At least one hundred and seventy bikers, different philosophies, meeting in a “breastraunt” drinking beer. Let me think, could this be VOLATILE? After “Chain” bit the dust a melee followed, and we may never know the whole truth of it, but apparently no police got hurt.

Turf wars are not uncommon for bikers. They live in a violent world where safe ground is highly prized. While most are law abiding if you believe they all are have I got a bridge for YOU! Still, you can’t judge all by the actions of a few. I will agree with Chris X. To have a situation such as the one in Waco explode and having no police is unthinkable. As brutal as it sounds the gunfight was a natural outgrowth of a lifestyle, both biker and police. This is NOT an open carry issue! People have a right to defend themselves, even bikers and yes, policemen.

As we weigh the evidence I am drawn back to the liberal rants about the second amendment, and all the Wild, Wild West, and yes, that moldy old OK Corral. Did you know there was a coroner’s inquest after that incident? Did you know the Earps and Doc Holliday sat in jail waiting for the results of that inquest? Did you know the Clanton’s story was alarmingly similar to what we hear coming out of Waco? Jus Sayin.

You Wan Meet My Seester?

Jade Helm is looming on the horizon. I want to examine this with a critical eye. There are two extreme positions. On the one hand the idea is out and out martial law, with closed Walmarts being used for detention centers and everyone from Tea Party activists to WWII vets are going to be rounded up. The loyal opposition, of course, claims that this is not true, and it’s all a training exercise designed to teach soldiers about urban warfare so they can patrol Iraq. The truth is somewhere in between. I have several questions. With Fort Hood, Fort Bliss and a whole freaking DESERT from El Paso to LA, why all this “hostile state” nonsense? But, we’ve NEVER seen the government throw good money after bad on some nonsensical project before, now HAVE we? I mean, we’ve got a president who never held a job in his LIFE!

Training is always a dangerous thing. I mean, look what we’ve got for police. It doesn’t matter if the intended purpose is to learn to secure neighborhoods in Stupidstan, the training sticks. One size fits all. It doesn’t matter when you learn to kick in a door if Billy Joe Jim Bob, or Ali Baba and his forty wives are on the other side, the song remains the same. We don’t NEED to train in the streets. That’s what we have places like Fort Hood for. I saw an exact replica of Mount Carmel at North Fort Hood after the Waco fiasco . . . Wait, those were civilians, but I digress. Now, where was I? Oh yes, Fort Hood. They don’t need to be patrolling the streets of Killeen, what they need to do is keep Islamic nuts from blasting them to kingdom come in their own back yard.

The Walmart thing puzzles me, I’ll be honest. I don’t think the cartels are mixed up in all of this or they’d be closing Home Depots. Maybe they are. STOP! Now I’m getting nutty! Walmart has been talking loud and walking proud for years, shorting employees their hours, selling products specifically designed to fit THEIR business model, and “supposedly” the largest retail operation in the world. There is always a curve, always a turning point. What seems too good to be true, usually isn’t. Anybody out there remember Gibsons?

I know for a fact down here in Texas we have a grocery store called HEB. Now, they’re just as bad as Walmart, what with having no problem using illegals and product from Mexico if need be. Haven’t seen an American avocado there yet, all Mexican. (Don’t eat those, folks. They’ll make you go poo poo!) Fact remains an HEB can open up right across the street from a Walmart and rain death down upon it. Large stores, good meat, and the employees actually know where the MILK is! Also they specialize you young, cute girls at the check out counter, which is always nice. On a smaller scale we have a convenience store here in Killeen called Mickey’s, started by a school teacher after his wife died. In his depression he cranked up about thirty of them. And this is a PoDunk town people! Ran practically ALL the 7/11’s out of town. And they did it with chicken livers and gizzards! Walmart has perpetuated this myth of invincibility, but could it be there’s a leak in the dyke? All this is speculation, of course.

What I ask is if we’re going to spend all this money putting this exercise together, and they really need to train in urban warfare might I suggest the border? They could use real bullets and have real terrorists, hiding in ice cream shops shooting back. And, hey, they’re brown like Iraqis! Added bonus you can meet their seester, she virgin! You want to have a bunch of people smoking dope, cutting people’s heads off? I give you the CARTELS! They’ll never buy into that, though. Makes too much sense, and not near as much fun as practicing an assault on TCBY in the Killeen Mall!