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.


The Unanswered Door

It’s been eight months since we lost Joe. I still remember that night. His request for his dog, Cleo, and an order of chicken wings. It had been a long year. Feverishly rushing to Salt Lake City for one treatment, and back to Austin for another. He resisted using oxygen, and hated the Hoveround. I finally convinced him to use the motorized chair by showing him it operated like a tank. After that he, and New Baby would do figure “8’s” in the living room.

He’d sit on the back porch. There wasn’t much room, and we had to put a little ramp down to accommodate the chair, but he’d find his way out there most days. There were good days, and bad days. Bad days he didn’t leave the couch. Good days would see him sitting on the porch. The neighbor behind us was building a shed. Joe had a wood shop at his house. Before his illness he would spend hours working there. Joe wasn’t a carpenter, he was an artist! The front door of his house didn’t come from Home Depot, he carved it from Redwood. He carved portraits into wooden planks. His brother in New York had sent him all the special woods. They didn’t look like much, about the size of a floor tile, but when he was done something would be immortalized in the grain. He explained the grains and different woods to me, but I was clueless. He wasn’t, though. To him wood was forever alive.

As he fed the wings to the little dog, I wiped my eye.

“Men don’t cry,” he said. I did, though. To see this man, with three bronze stars, a silver, and a purple heart feed that dog at the VA was a little much for me. Joe was missing in action in Vietnam. Reported back for duty in black pajamas and sandals. Now he thought about his little dog, and yes, I cried that day.

The priest came in to administer the last rites. Joe didn’t have any sins to confess, and within the hour it didn’t matter anyway. I had taken the dog home, and was about to return to the hospital when I got a simple text, “He’s gone.” I stared at those words for a very long time. I still have a screen shot on my iPhone. How ironic for a man’s life to boil down to, “He’s gone!” In his last moment he looked at my ex, his wife, said, “Oh baby,” and just left us.

The months went by. We watched all his “Buddies,” to see how his death had affected them. You know, you can never tell what’s in a child’s mind, or what level of understanding they have, but sometimes it shows and will humble you. Joe’s favorite was “New Baby.” When he finalized the adoptions, New Baby took his name. Joseph Steven Tarajos. With all the ups and downs, the funeral, the probate, and all the rest, no one paid any mind to Joe, Jr. After all, he was just the baby.

Christmas approached. There were two more trips to Utah between Joe’s death, and then. The kids were back in Texas, setting up the tree and playing in Joe’s yard. Joe would usually be in his wood shop making toys. I heard a tap, tap, tap in the distance. It was then I noticed New Baby knocking on the door of the shop. A knock that would never be answered. He stood there perplexed staring at the unanswered door. I wiped another tear, but, men don’t cry.

Simple Ol’ Boy From Austin

I’m Contraversial

I’m controversial. I suppose that goes without saying. I actually do not have a stated course, or agenda, other than Texas Freedom. Sometimes I will research an article for days before it jells and I know which way I’m going. Good case in point was this weekend where I watched dozens of documentaries, reviewed hundreds of news stories and read the works of Josephus. In addition to that I reviewed James Randi, Aron Ra, and a couple of Rabbis I know over in Jerusalem, all to boil it all down to six hundred words on this morning’s posting. That’s another of my tricks. If I can’t make my point in six hundred words I have to research more.
I fly high above the subject. Trying not to get tied down with useless argument, or commentary, I go for the human understanding we all have. That’s why I call myself a Simple Ol’ Boy From Austin. If a waitress can’t understand what I’m trying to say, I rewrite. I scatter shot, i.e. one day I’ll address the ISIS situation, and the next day will write about my first kiss from Pam Burns back in high school. If there is a common thread in my work I’ve yet to see it. Maybe fifty years after I’m dead some professor will figure me out.
I handle criticism well. Well, I handle it well if the person criticizing me is of note. If it’s some former in-law who can’t compose a grocery list I get pissed off. But if it’s a national talk show host I consider that on the same level as a kiss from Ivana Trump. This simple fact of the matter is that if you only write about polka dots and pink shoe laces no one will ever read you. You never know what will set someone off. I do not deliberately try to offend. On a one to one conversation I never discuss religion. I’ve tried. Always ends with someone sending me to hell.
I’m developing as a writer. At sixty-four I’ve just about got this thing figured out. There’s a girl out in Nolanville who screens my stuff for grammatical errors. Consequently, I make sure I include one in every article. Also, I put one mistake in every one. A little tease to see if someone catches it. I’m crazy like that. I’m a free-lance writer, in that there is no money in blogging, or at least it has eluded me. But, that’s no surprise. I couldn’t sell a condom in a whorehouse. Sales is not my calling.
Sometimes a subject will evade me. This morning I had all intentions of dissecting “Clock Boy.” Even had the picture ready. Then, I looked at this little nerdy kid and thought, “Gonna give him a break.” He’s beginning to figure out his parents are whacked. Kid wants to come back to Texas. I can’t hate that. Buy that boy a Taco. Beef taco!
I hate abortion, black lives mattering, Bruce Gender and Vodka Martinis. I love Gin Martinis, fine cigars, and any girl stupid enough to hang around me. I believe in God, but not religion. Religion is man’s feeble attempt to explain the unexplainable. The reason I believe in God is we still can’t make a leaf. I listened to hours of atheists this weekend trying to find out how to make a leaf, and those idiots didn’t even have a formula for a dry martini.
So, until assassination, I will continue to write. Entertain both myself and the public. Having said that you’ll note I’ve reached six hundred words.

Simple Ol’ Boy From Austin

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

Cowboys and Fairies

Utah just keeps coming up aces. I was looking for something to chew on today and lo and behold the right honorable Judge Scott Johansen of Price, Utah just handed me a daisy. He raised the concerns of The Utah Division of Child and Family services when he removed a baby from the foster care of two lesbians and placed it with a more, shall we say, normal couple. The two faggots, or rather fagesses were in a routine hearing when the judge brought the hammer down. They are part of a group now allowed to foster stemming from the SCOTUS ruling allowing rainbow flags for everyone. I told you people about Porter, didn’t I? First the Mormon prophet clarified the Church stance on this kind of thing, and now a judge has cemented that position. The lawyers up there are saying that they believe the judge’s religion views may have influenced his ruling. You think?
Nobody wants to call this what it is. Well, that’s my job. Doc Greene said I’m an equal opportunity offender so here goes. Homosexuals should not be raising kids. Why? Because their homosexual, that’s why. What kind of life is the kid going to have? Go to school and all the other kids have a normal home, and they’re the one with two mommies, or two daddies. You know, the couple no one looks at during a PTA meeting. The Mafia hit man, Ice Man, once got next to a victim in a crowded night club by dressing gay because he’d observed the previous night that no one would look directly at a gay couple dancing. Popped the guy with a needle and his death ruled a heart attack until years later with the Ice Man told about it on an HBO special. That’s how weird gays really are! And a kid is saddled with that?
Utah is a great big pool of common decency. The liberal left is so into PC that when a man stands up for that decency, and calls it what it really is they lose their minds. I’d marry a girl from Utah except for two things; I drink whiskey and smoke cigars. Of course the Gay Alliance is all over this. It remains to be seen how the judge’s ruling holds up, but please note in my humble opinion 99.99 percent of the population up there is on the judge’s side, but we’ve already seen the will of the people means absolutely nothing to the Obama administration. If he had two daughters they’d look like the foster parents. Wait, he does have two daughters, but I digress.
My former sister in law got married in Utah last night. She married a man, which was very politically incorrect, but a woman officiated so I guess it’ll pass in the whacked out world of LGBT order. There is a fight coming, and brothers and sisters, them Mormons ain’t gonna back off on this. We’re about to play cowboys and fairies. There is a lot at stake. Just like I said last week, Utah is a great prize for the gays. Remember when Wendy Davis tried to turn Texas blue? Well, the LGBT is trying to turn Utah pink. If you think that’s going to happen have I got a temple for you, and it’s on sale!

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

Avenging Angel

The Gay Alliance has taken dead aim at the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. As usual the three percent of the population has the opinion that their opinion is the opinion, and the rest of us must kiss the glove, or whatever else they wish to have kissed. They have chosen this course of action because it has worked so well with other Christian denominations in the past, such as the Episcopal Church, who caved in to the God of Political Correctness, so, naturally, they believed that the Mormons would follow suit.
The current prophet of the LDS Church Thomas S. Monson, while conceding to the right of all Americans to own property, enjoy a peaceful life, whatever that life may be, followed up by letting everyone know that same sex is not the behavior of the brethren in any shape, form or fashion. Here come the Rainbow flags in full regalia. Now this works most of the time, most recently in Kentucky, where the modern response to any resistance by the LGBT is met by complete capitulation. The image of the two young men at the door, elder this and elder that gives an illusion of tranquility. Boys and girls I give you Porter Rockwell.
Porter was known as an Avenging Angel. As a child he knew Joseph Smith, and reportedly was one of the first to hear of the vision Joseph had concerning the golden plates, the angels, and all the things that would later find their way to the Mormon belief set. Porter was illiterate and believed every word Joseph said. Joseph told him to never cut his hair, and that would make him invincible. Looks like it did because Porter demonstrated his ability many times and survived gun fights, one after another. It is a matter of debate if Brigham Young actually ordered him to do his job, or if he was just a loose cannon defending the church his childhood friend started. He did take it very personal that Smith told him not to come to his side in the Carthage jail on June 27, 1844. Suffice to say if Porter had been on the other side of that door the results would have been decidedly different. Porter made the Outlaw Josey Wales look like an altar boy.
If you remember, in my article “Quarters in a Cup,” I allude to something I call “Mormon Culture.” While, as you know, I have a field day with religion, I have no issues with that culture. They saved my grandchildren, and that puts them on the “friends” list. To put it in Killeen vernacular, the Mormons are “down” with family, family being boy meets girl, make baby, raise baby in their home, baby goes on mission, comes back to Salt Lake and goes to work. They don’t understand boy meets boy, and whatever happens next, which is not what Joseph Smith came up with on the Hill Cumorah, and have no intention, whatsoever of letting Rainbow Flags fly above the temple in Salt Lake City.
So, what’s the connection between Porter and the LGBT? Porter was the chief of the Danites. Don’t ask, just know that the Mormons believe in tribes of Israel and the Danites are like, well, Joshua. The Church has absolutely no intention of diluting their entire mindset to accommodate a complete bastardization of everything they hold to be holy and true. While their theology may be different, their focus on mom’s apple pie is quite clear.
The Gay Alliance has drawn a line in the sand in Utah. While churches such as the Episcopalian go through multiple con-fag-ulations, trying to fly under the radar, and the Bible, and the Christian thought of two thousand years, the constitution, not to mention common sense, the Mormons will have none of this. Boys are boys, girls are girls, God is God, and Bruce Gender is a freak. Case closed. You will never see an LDS sanctioned same sex marriage. You know, when you’re right you’re just right. Could it be, if there really is a God that he chose a people with a heart for America, and the steady hand of Porter Rockwell?

Simple Ol’ Boy From Austin

He Lived!

It was a cold Saturday morning when I got the call from Pat. “Don’t go to the store today, come out to the ranch.” Pat had a party ranch just south of town, with horses, hogs, a big corral and a full bar. Although he would entertain at his place in town, indeed one of the three clubs he had, he preferred to have guests meet him at the ranch. The people he associated with liked the privacy. This particular day Pat had a family tragedy. His son in law had slipped at his job in a candle factory and fell into a vat of boiling wax.
“Netta’s all upset,” he said, “We’ve got her at the house, under sedation. The boy don’t look good.” So, me and my brother drove out to the ranch. We made sure the bar was serviced, the horses ready for the little girls, and hosed the hogs down. Soon concerned friends and family began to show. Pat had an awning set up near the horses with a table under it and one by one the guests expressed their sympathy for the unfortunate event.
Netta and her husband had a rocky marriage. Money was tight, and tempers flew, sometimes there were physical events and she’d run home for the weekend, whereupon her husband would follow, have a family meeting and all would be resolved, until next time. Lately the boy had been putting his nose to the grindstone and trying to climb out of the financial hole. He was forbidden to work for Pat, but strings were pulled and the candle factory was indeed a good lick.
All through the day, and into the night friends came out to the ranch to stand by Pat. Some were ladies, and more than a few children, but more than a few wore cheap suits and looked like someone had mismatched their nose in a botched plastic surgery attempt. As midnight drew near my brother and I drove Pat in his Cadillac back to his main house. He invited us in and made drinks in the little bar room he had set up. Then a call came, and we braced for the worse.
“Hello, yeah, you’re sure? No, I’m ok. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
As Pat hung up he had this look on his face, as if he was trying to absorb it all. I asked him if there was anything I could do. He took a drink, looked at us and said, “He lived! Five full minutes in boiling wax and he lived.” Daddy’s little girl is always daddy’s little girl.

Simple Ol’ Boy From Austin

One Little Old Lady

All it took was one little old lady standing up, and the entire gay community got its panties in a knot. Let’s just call a spade a spade, and we’re not talking about Al Sharpton here. Homosexual behavior is unnatural. Dry hole vs wet hole. (Who said that?) The average life span for gays is sixty-two years, and the leading cause of death is suicide. Now, we’ll always have gays. Some people are just weird, but a small percentage of the population cannot rule the country. I’m not saying they don’t have rights, but marriage is, well, marriage!

Ok, here’s the rub. It isn’t just the sexual divination. The gay agenda is a war on God. Hey girls, if God doesn’t exist how come you fighting so hard? If Kim Davis had said she didn’t want to sign those papers because she considers gays to be a bunch of Sodomite maggots that would have been one thing, but she invoked God’s name and that can’t be tolerated. There is an all-out frontal assault on Christianity occurring right now. It’s everywhere. Just last week I exclaimed, “JESUS!” and one of my grandsons told me, “Don’t say that bad word.” Some school teacher had told him that.

When the gays chose the marriage issue they dove for the very heart of Christian belief. They sliced right through common decency to the family, which is the core of America and told us it means nothing. They could pollute it at any time. All that good Americans hold sacred got washed down the drain of a San Francisco bath house. And most Christians turned the other cheek. The gays showed us BOTH of their cheeks and told us to kiss them!

And all it took was one little old lady to just stand up and walk into the coliseum. Same as it ever was. Jesus does things like that, and He does it to make a point. The Devil mixes truth with lies. Gays are citizens, right? So, if you believe that then you simply must believe its perfectly fine for two men to come together as man and wife, right? WRONG! When you lie with a woman there is a fair to midland chance a baby will come out of it, unless Planned Parenthood gets involved and then it becomes inventory, but when two men lie together you just get AIDS! There is nothing prolific about the gay lifestyle. Oh, I’m sure there are nice gays out there. I’m sure a Nazi SS officer gave a candy bar to a little girl at some point, but it is like having an affair with your sister. Feels good at the time, but that don’t make it right!

What you will see is now that as straight people have seen one person stand up, more and more will come forward and not try to argue details about the constitution. They will just cry, “Foul!” Gay marriage is on the books. They have crammed that up our butts, but the Christian MAJORITY will now put the gay community BACK in the bath houses where it belongs. These rump rangers will go to the back of the bus. Ain’t democracy wonderful? If this article isn’t politically incorrect for y’all, it’s early yet, and I’m on my first cup of coffee . . . .with FRENCHI!
Simple Ol’ Boy From Austin

The Pineapple Upside Down Cake

Texas is not the only state fed up with the Fed. A recent survey revealed that one in four Americans would be perfectly fine with divorcing the Federal government without alimony. The remaining simply don’t know what the structure of the government is, or they are buying into Abraham Lincoln’s lie. Back in the day, right after we sent the British packing, each colony ran its own show. The fine folks in New York didn’t know squat about growing cotton, and people in Virginia had never seen a bagel in their entire lives. The people ran the towns which ran the county which ran the state. Somewhere along the line they invented some body that would loosely represent all the states, which is what the colonies morphed into so that they could all get together for things that may be of interest to all combined, such as the British coming back, which they did in 1812.

It was always understood that the government you had to be concerned with was “right here,” and whatEVER that other government did was “over yonder.” They were VERY aware of the old days when the crown was WAY over yonder, taking money and taxing tea. While everyone understood the Bill of Rights (a lost art) the central government was confined to the rather short to do list called the constitution. The constitution was craftily designed that way. A bunch of rather clear, but limited rules with the understanding that the day to day affairs would be handled on a local level.

And the Bill of Rights was just a laundry list of things they already knew. They knew people had a right to pray, speak, eat dinner, protect themselves and not become their own prosecutor. The eleventh amendment should have simply been the word “but,” because after the Bill of Rights there was really nothing more to say, BUT, a lot of room for “interpretation.” Take, for example the freed slaves. You don’t have to add an amendment giving them all the rights outlined in the Bill of Rights, they already HAVE them! Nowhere in the constitution does it outline how to own people, so addressing that issue isn’t needed. We fought a war, slaves were freed, and that was that!

The reconstruction era created a whole new critter. Remember that bunch of guys down on the Potomac eating dinners and watching for the British? Well, they found out that when you free a bunch of people you create a vacuum. They just filled that vacuum with the ENTIRE south! We got “reconstructed!” And you Yankees out there rubbing yourselves suggestively, when OUR reconstruction was finished they just reconstructed you too! At this time the structure of government became one big pineapple upside down cake. Every wonder why we even have a state Capitol anymore? I mean, pass all the laws you want, but Washington DC (Damn Communists) just says, “Naw!” and you need to take your butt back to the house.

Funny thing about power is its like a potato chip; nobody can eat just one. Think of our rights as a bag of potato chips, and the Federal government as Fat Albert. The Bill of Rights is still there, but it’s just an empty bag. Simple understanding has flown out the window, been replaced with legal mumbo-jumbo and the men in black have the guns to make it count.

Some things were skipped over in the Bill of Rights. Things like boys marry girls. You see, boys and girls are different. Velma Prigmore pulled her dress up and showed me that back in the eighth grade. Get your heads out the gutter, all I saw was her underwear. Nobody thought it needed to be explained in the constitution how to make babies. Somewhere down the line the states did explain that you should keep your shenadagins to a dull roar, i. e. one girl at a time.

Now, some groups got a little frisky and figured out that it was real cool to have a bunch of wives, and I’m down with that. I, myself, would love to be having martinis on the patio with four or five Dallas Cowboy cheerleaders at my every command. I’m too old to do them any good, but the thought is nice. That makes me a creepy old pervert. Confession is good for the soul. Remember that bag of potato chips? Well, once the Fed got done with that bag of chips they were looking for a fresh bag. The states had this marriage thing down pretty good. They’d gotten into a little light pimping on the side and called it licensing. That’s where you’d run down to the courthouse and pay them to do what you’re gonna do anyway. The states never DREAMED that the big ol’ government never met Velma Prigmore.

The Supreme Court is supposed to arbitrate between litigants concerning questions about the constitution. The constitution is fairly direct, but sometimes you have to have some guys in authority say, “Uh, y’all can have guns.” They don’t MAKE laws, they EXPLAIN laws. There is no marriage laws in the constitution that I know of, but I’m just a simple ol’ boy from Austin, and I could be wrong. Don’t matter . . . SCOTUS PUT it there and we were all entertained by two rump rangers strolling into a courthouse in Kentucky and asking a little old hillbilly woman to let them get married. I’d always thought Kentucky was a fairly straight up place, but after seeing all the Nancy boys in the courthouse building that day I resolved to never drink Jim Beam again!

Well, as you know, this lady got jailed for refusing to issue the license, and the happy couple got married, skipping off to wedded bliss or a variation thereof. Oh, she was a Christian, too, and that’s never good. Before you get your Bibles and prayer beads out she’ll get a huge book deal, and be on TV more than Mylie Cyrus. The bottom line is the country’s going to pot. If I had them cheerleaders I’d be a pervert, and if you marry the same sex YOU are a pervert. Swat them bees. If the condom fits, wear it.

Where is this gay lesbo thing heading? Well, it won’t destroy the country in and of itself. It’s just a symptom of a very sick society. I’m going to lay the blame for this squarely at the feet of Christians. To be sure there are some very vocal Christians standing up, one’s in jail, but for the most part the majority just sit back and cede authority to that pineapple upside down cake. From Mormon to Methodist they are praying when they should be throwing that judge out of the courthouse window. The arrested county clerk should have a GoFundMe filled to,the brim, and dozens of lawyers, pro-bono and otherwise just foaming at the mouth to get the case. This is the only GOOD thing about Muslims. They have a distinctive remedy for homosexuality. The underlying aim of this entire mess to to destroy the morality of America. Once we’re all squabbling about what restroom to use the Chinese, Russians, Mexicans, and Californians can just come in and scoop it all up. I’ll be in Tijuana with them cheerleaders I told you about.

Simple Ol’ Boy From Austin