That Was The Week That Was Was The Week That Was

From reflections to events, but that’s the way my week usually goes. Unlike other writers, I don’t just jump on the morning news, even in a big event, I let the story “season,” because first thoughts are never the correct thoughts. What happened is never as important as why it happened, because if we don’t reflect, and learn, then we’ll just keep doing the same thing over and over again, and, as you probably know, that’s the definition of insanity.
I began the week with an idea of the eventual breakup of the American Dream, i.e. set up a government to steal everything, and try to cram it into the Beltway. In “God Bless Americans,” I said, “As we all know, the American government has been overreaching for years, and part of this is because of the artificial definitions of who’s who, and what’s what. Most of the time Federal mandates, and decisions are mandatory, and arbitrary. States make laws, but why? All Uncle Sam has to do is make His law, and the state legislature becomes a complete waste of time. K. C. Massey can carry a gun under Texas law, Sammy says, “No,” K. C. goes to jail. Someone can fire up a joint in Malibu, DEA doesn’t like it, guy gets arrested and has a criminal record. Fundamentalist Mormon wants to marry twin sisters and the Fed can’t seem to find the ink to put one more square on a tax form. See where this is going, folks?”
From there I let old Brother Greed get ahold of me and penned, If I Had Won The Powerball. I ain’t even gonna lie to you. I had that money spent, and I listed all my dreams for the public to see. “If I had won the Powerball. I sat up last night waiting for the Powerball drawing. I didn’t get a single number. You’d think there would be a prize for that! Anyway, like practically every other fool who invested in castles in the air, and purchased a Powerball ticket, I had big plans. I’d like to list them here. They ranged from the sublime to the sub-slime, but here goes.” Well, as you probably figured out, I didn’t win, and had to rush down to pay the light bill the next day.
Politics raised its ugly head next, ugly being the key word. Hey, for the record, I understand why Bill cheated on Hillary, ok. I kept having images of Arkansas politicians, ugly women, and cornbread swirling around in my head and out popped, Dead As Cornbread. “From White Water to Benghazi, Hillary has danced on a razor’s edge for years. Other people in the public eye can commit just a smidgen of what she’s pulled and they’re thrown out of the Army, charged with a crime, end up with public ridicule, and Alex Jones accuses them of leading the New World Order. Hillary could pee on the White House steps and the Liberal Left would say she had found a new way to fix global warming. Am I the only one who thinks there is something wrong with this picture?”
Where Everybody Knows Your Name was next. I have no idea where this idea sprang from, but I suspect it was a bar tab. “Places like this never last, and that’ sad. Just a place where seasoned men come to relax and compare lives. I gain more there than any other place I go. I listen more than I talk, and I learn. These guys view things like ISIS with a very jaundiced eye. And everybody knows your name. I like that.”
That night I listened to my friend, Scott Binsack, reflect on his belief in an Eternal Creator, and wrote, In God We Trust. “God got expelled from school, His commandments from the courthouse square, and from the halls of Congress, and we wonder what ever happened to the country. God is a nice guy. You don’t have to throw him out, just ask Him to leave, and he’ll oblige. And, when He does leave what do you have left? Bruce Gender, Hillary, Obama, and Imam whoever! Children don’t say prayers, or the Pledge of Allegiance in school anymore. They learn how to do drugs, and different sexual preferences, depending on the gender, or cross-gender of the teacher. Welcome to a Godless world!”
I’m very TexCentric, and it showed in Olga vs The American Dream. “This was a big heads up to the third world. While Washington wasn’t invaded, America, for once, had to stand down. We, of course, put the spin on it. We were like Putin recently said. We were like playing chess with a pigeon. We knocked over all the pieces, pooped on the board, and then stomped around like we won. Still, we had the dream. Or rather, Martin Luther King had a dream. Our dream had caught the last train for the coast.”
Seems I was drawn to the past a lot this week. During lunch with some old friends, we got to talking about our high school days, and a few things came to mind. In The Last Picture Show I wrote about things that would make kids in New York, or California would cringe at. “I didn’t have a pickup. I had a ’54 Chevy. The good thing about it was you could get four friends in the trunk when you went to the show. That meant for you, and the girl, it cost about seventy cents to get in. That’s right, one girl, five boys. Hey, we weren’t Muslims, she was safe. Also, if you were lucky she would be an Army brat and have five dollars or so in her purse, which would turn into buttered popcorn for everybody. The way you convinced her to give up the money was a gift, usually flowers, which meant a swing through the graveyard on the way to pick her up. They didn’t show that in the Last Picture Show either!”
By the week’s end I was blowing through pretty good. Still reflecting on Scott’s broadcast, I did a commentary on my first book, Sharon. “The Muslim community has got to come to the realization that the volatile section of Radical Islam is so dangerous to the rest of the world that they, the “good” Muslims need to handle it, or we, the rest of humanity will have to handle it for them.”
I was flying so high that I began to generate “doubles,” by this time. When I get an idea I just write it, no waiting for later. After listening to a Trump speech I resurrected Little Red Riding Republican with a nice 2016 update. “Well, that’s where Little Red Riding Republican comes in. She had been raised in the wisdom handed down from generation to generation. She had eyes of blue, and flaxen hair that fell down around her shoulders. She would take long walks in the country, and one day, during one of these walks she became lost and a figure appeared out of thin air. It was a black knight!”
And, last, but certainly not least, Black Lives Don’t Matter! Actually, I’ve toyed with this title for months, but I just couldn’t take the edge off enough. When someone came back with ALL Lives Matter, I thought to myself, “Heck, why don’t we just join hands and sing, “We Shall Overcome?” Finally, I came up with a perfect second line. For the record, Black Lives Matter is the epitome of Liberal Stupidity. You simply have to have the guts to put it out there. Everybody knows movements like this are stupid, and the originators laugh all the way to the bank. Unfortunately for them I write for the Tea Party, not the Pot Party! That’s why they call me Bill the Butcher! “Black lives don’t matter! My life matters! In the words of Billy Joe Shaver, “When you have no way to go you’d better know I’m gonna get my share of mine.” Yeah, yeah, yeah, I’m a racist. More than that, I’m a Texan. Texas wasn’t built on a food stamp. America has evolved into a welfare state. In Texas we have a thing called a “51% sign.” Now, it’s supposed to refer to the amount of food vs alcohol that forbids the carrying of a gun within an establishment. In America it is the percentage of citizens working every day, as opposed to those lining up at the welfare office for their daily bread.”
Sunday is a day of rest. Well, maybe for some, but for me it’s a day of reflection. They don’t rest, so I don’t rest. I have been called, A Simple Ol’ Boy From Austin, and that’s good, because when the libtards pounce on me I can always say, “Hey! I told you I was stupid from the start.” Have a blessed week, and keep looking for America. It’s somewhere out there.

Simple Ol’ Boy From Austin


So, What Makes a Writer?

So, what makes a writer, or rather, a blogger? Well, beer helps, but experience does, too. I’ve been writing since 1962, but if I’d been making shoes since then, I’d probably be a fairly good shoe maker by now. It doesn’t matter what you do, so long as you do it long enough then, you’ll eventually become good at it. Basically, I’m a song writer. Writing a song is simple. Three verses, a lead riff, a chorus, and you’re done. Blogging is no different. Start with an idea, bang it, reinforce it, and you’re out. A lot of people don’t notice it, but I put a chorus in every article. Now, it’s not apparent, like it’s not like a song, but it’s there. A repeating logic to drive home the idea of the article.
A song writer is concerned with flow. Flow is like it has to roll off the tongue, and I do that, I mean, I really do. People see me talking to myself, and they think I’m crazy, but I’m not. I’m vocalizing my articles to make sure that they flow. The simple shift of a word, or phrase that makes an article flow easily makes it easy to remember. The article has to stick in someone’s head, just like a song. Like the word, “but” is harsh, but “and” is not, and they mean basically the same thing.
Original ideas are important, but more than that is the delivery. It isn’t what you say, but how you say it. And set the reader up to anticipate what you’re going to say. You open the gate and the reader willingly walks through it. Returning to the beginning is a biggie. I call that “circles.” You don’t want your reader to ask, “Where is this going?” because if they ask that then they’re already lost. Forget about all that crap you learned in school, except for spelling, that’s important, but spell check has your back. Talk to your reader in their language, because if you use all that elevated English some college professor taught you then you might as well be talking in Swahili. That comes back to flow, also. You don’t want the reader to be stumble bumbling over words that they have to Google.
I think that somewhere down the pike I’ve created a style, and even though it was by accident, it now has a purpose. The purpose is to get young people to read the article with the same enthusiasm they have when they listen to their favorite song, and that’s because that’s exactly what I do; write a song without the melody, but with the same spirit.
It helps if you have something to say, too. You have to have at least some conviction, and don’t lie! If you don’t believe in abortion then just say it! Don’t be jellyfish about it. Throw it out there, and there will be people who think just like you, they just can’t articulate it. Fly high above the issues. The higher you fly, the less likely someone is going to come along and stick a pin in your balloon. And don’t count money! If you are a writer, then be one. Just write. Reads are more important than money. If you court money, you’ll find very quickly that she is a whore, and she doesn’t love you. Stay true to yourself, draw the circles, and it’ll all work out. Ask yourself; how rich was Hemmingway when he died? Writers are thinkers and chosen to be so. So THINK, write, and open the gates to human communication.
Simple Ol’ Boy From Austin

It’s All Going To Pot

Sat back this weekend and had a beer (or two) watching the news and regrouping. I call it, “Letting the well fill.” I have ideas flowing in my mind all the time. I’ll start watching YouTube and get on a run of videos that leads just about anywhere. Yesterday’s big push was Facebook addiction. I crappith thee not! There is an actual condition called “Facebook Addiction Disorder!” It has SYMTOMS! No, for real, and I have every one of them. I’m real good at dodging a drunk test, but this caught be a bit unawares.

As you know, I pulled back from Facebook about a week ago because I was putting a huge amount of time into it for virtually no return. Over the weekend I refined my ideas and I’m still going to post on Doc’s page, and a small private group. What I’m not going to do is sit on this porch “liking” Cob salads and dogs dancing the cha cha! My original contention was correct. Much ado about nothing. I did find one major flaw, stemming from the videos. They go on and on about once you put something on Facebook it’s there forever! You can’t really delete anything, and millions upon millions of people will see it. LIE!! Ok, lookee here. . . I’m a writer. I WANT millions of people to see my stuff. That’s my complaint! Nada! I could put a picture of myself naked on this porch typing this article and maybe, just maybe I’ll get one “like” from the gay guy around the corner.

But that’s not where the addiction comes from. That is where you check, and recheck your status, likes, news feed, whatEVER, hoping something will break. The only thing that ever happens is when you make an honest comment someone takes offense and you’re off to “Facebook Jail.” While sitting in my cell last week I came to realize that I was just as goofy as those thirteen year old airhead chicks with their pink iPhones and their “BFF.s” My granddaughter, Kylie, is cooler than I am. My other granddaughter, Jordyn, not so much. After three days in solitary I got over the shakes. Facebook reinstated me, but I didn’t go back for my fix. I pulled completely away. I did set up some rules. No more scanning the news feed. Other than my secret group, and you must be invited by an existing member to get there, I don’t comment on squat! You have to have people you really know! I once made a comment to a girl in Arizona that she was still pretty, even though she was pregnant. She was having an issue, thinking she was fat, and I was driving home the point of beautiful motherhood. Well, I’m sixty-four, and she’s twenty-one, and all her friends jumped on me calling me a creepy stalker. I un-friended everybody in Arizona and searched for a way to block anything I ever write from going there. Stalk that!

That brings me to another subject I got into this weekend. If you type in “Facebook danger” you’ll get a virtual instruction manual on how to lure teen-age girls to a city park and pick them up. It’s all in the guise of “saving the children,” but the bottom dollar is that after you watch a couple hundred of these videos you realize that teens are semi-retarded. When I was young the rules were simple; don’t talk to strangers, look both ways when you cross the street and eat all your spinach. Now you have kids who “friend” just about anybody and the first time they get invited to a face to face their only response is, “I have to wait until my parents are asleep.” Kylie would never do that. Jury’s still out on Jordyn. Matter of fact she did sneak out at least once, but we don’t like to talk about that around here. What I’m trying to say is we, as adults, seriously need to reinforce simple survival rules or the species is not going to make it. The world is changed. When I was seven a rite of passage was to be able to get on a trolley, go downtown, see a movie, and find your way back home. If you tried to teach your kid that nowadays you’d have the CPS case from hell! Like ol’ Willie said in his last song, “It’s all going to pot. . . best I can tell the world’s gone to hell, and we’re sure gonna miss it a lot!” God, I hope Trump makes it.

Simple Ol’ Boy From Austin

How To Be A Writer 101

During a get together last night someone posed the question all writers dread. “How much money have you made?” This will throw the unseasoned off, and result in everything from excuses to outright anger, but I’ve been doing this a long time, and said, “Not a cent.” I’m not a real writer, I’m more of an accidental tourist. My entire writing career has been backing into a corner, and writing my way out. My patent advice to beginners is if you are writing for money stop, and sell snow cones. You’ll make more.

You must write because you enjoy it. If the dollar signs are before your eyes composition becomes laborious, and that will work its way into your material. For me writing an article is like painting a picture. You do the whole thing, and then go back putting a dab here, a dab there, until you get what you want. The whole picture must fit. When I dream up a subject I pretty much have the entire concept in my head, and the resulting article is the summation thereof.

You have to learn the craft. I wrote music for years, and finally got that down to where I could churn out a fairly good song, but I’ve only been in political satire for about two years. I’m still in training. That, and I have a high school education from Killeen, Texas, and that’s just about as illiterate as you can get and they still let you drive a car. I know absolutely nothing about composition, subject-verb agreement, proper English, or adjectives. What I do know is how to turn a phrase, use sixty-four years of common sense, and poke fun at liberals who don’t know what sex they are.

You all know the famous writers, King, Hemmingway, and Grisham. Those are rare. If you are going to be a successful writer, i.e. write every day and get read you have to be successful in your own right. Mine was real estate. By dumb luck I formed a company with my wife and sold a boat load of real estate. In the process I became versed in real estate law, and brothers and sisters, I ain’t kidding. I have sat before the Texas Real Estate Commission, representing brokers twelve times and schooled them! The only time I ever lost was when we used a lawyer (Ted Smith) and his brilliance cost me forty-six thousand dollars. The fact is, if you are going to write you must experience life else you have nothing to write about. In Nashville all beginning songwriters go on endlessly about “paying dues,” and the life of a songwriter. I just wrote songs about loose women and bad whiskey because I knew all about that, and couldn’t find the Grand Ol’ Opry with a GPS!

All my stuff is original, right off the top of my head. I write “off the cuff,” and call myself “A Simple Ol’ Boy From Austin.” That way, if I foul up I can always say, “Hey, I TOLD you I was stupid!” Like I said, I was a song writer, adult country humor to be exact. Although I’d written three books I didn’t consider myself to be much of a prose writer. I put one or two little comments up on Doc Greene’s chat room. I’d always had several Facebook pages, but never developed them. As you may have seen yesterday I have divorced Facebook, but, just like a real divorce, she keeps coming around, so we’ll see how that goes. Facebook is worthless to me, but I want to bring my reader base over to more productive formats. Anyway, I kept making comments on Doc’s chat room and little by little I began to expand the comments to articles and put them up on various pages and groups.

A friend of mine suggested I do a blog. I’ve always considered a blog to be a poor man’s publishing, but it took little effort so I ran one. Then someone suggested that I string the articles together and do a book, so I did. I published through Amazon, which is another poor man’s effort, but the price is right. I wasn’t particularly happy with the layout, and getting them to accept the cover was an ordeal, but the words were all there. That, and the fact that I wrote the book on an iPhone. Published it from an iPhone too. How cool is THAT? I just love it when someone gets on me about my punctuation, not realizing I write mostly on an iPhone, in the morning, with dirty glasses. Go Figure!

I began to attend political events, and drawing upon what I was writing I actually had something to say. The stats began to pile up and I realized this was working, which was never my intention at all. Bear in mind I was retired after a career in Nashville and Austin. Divorced, I had been living with my son out in California and hanging out near Ocotillo Wells. My ambition was to have Martinis with co-eds and play guitar on the beach. I migrated back to Texas, and ended up taking care of my five grandchildren which my ex had adopted and actually looking after her husband who had been diagnosed with Agent Orange and cancer. He actually subscribed to my blogs and began to discuss Texas politics with me. The man has three bronze stars and a purple heart. When I would tell him I was “thinking” about going to some rally he’d rush out, buy me a new suit of clothes (I’m a desert rat) and insist that I go! They eventually moved up to Salt Lake and left me to care for the two houses back in Texas. (So much for retirement.)

So, I began a routine of putting up an article a day on Raging Elephants and various groups writing blogs and sitting on the porch composing on my iPhone, none of which I took very seriously. I made the style simple so the average reader could understand. I would take an issue, step back, look at it, and ask, “What’s REALLY going on here?” Originally I made it salty. Since I was a song writer I made the articles “go ’round in ‘circles.” I used key phrases like, “Swat them bees,” and “Save your fork,” to alert the reader. I read a lot, but I don’t do research per sae outside of checking the correct spelling of someone’s name. After I wrote something I read it out loud. This is an old songwriter’s trick. The article must go around in circles. The human mind looks for conclusion. You start, explain, and end up right back where you started. Hammer that nail! The reason for reading out loud is to make the prose smooth. Forget everything some college English teacher ever told you. If they knew anything about writing they’d be in the New York Times list and not teaching in some Po-Dunk junior college out in Coryell County, Texas! I regularly use “don’t” for “doesn’t,” double negatives, and I’m real fond of the word, “ain’t,” because that’s what Bubba sitting in his F-150 with his copy of the Dam Good Times understands!

I learn by listening to people who obviously have more comprehension than I, and for the most part they have been very supportive. I never argue, and most of the time I’m not rude, unless you count putting up “Leatherface,” and making a racial slur, yeah, I done that. I’m very aware that I’m a beginner with absolutely NO training. I’d end up on a radio show with some guy who had more degrees than a thermometer, and I didn’t have the background to debate a brisket recipe, much less black history (I’m from Texas, so I simply must be a racist, right?) ! About the worse I’ve ever done is to ask a professor on Michael Bee’s show, who was expounding his theory of the black tribes in Africa civilizing Egypt and the western world, why I couldn’t find any great pyramids in the Congo. (He told me the Illuminati had “cloaked” them!) Being an adult humorist I originally used very salty language, but began to pull back as I realized people were actually READING my stuff!

My first book on this subject, “A Simple Ol’ Boy From Austin” was so so, but I’m now putting together a second book, “I Crappith Thee NOT,” in which I will zero in more on style, and content. I don’t expect to hit the best seller list. I am retired and between me, and my husband in law we have three homes. The old sarge was hanging on for dear life because he wanted to get a place out in SoCal and have me to take him sand railing across the Mojave Desert before he died. He always told me, “The best is yet to come.” Maybe he knew something I didn’t.

The way I look at it I will never get an honorable mention in the New York Times, but hey . . .I live in Texas! You can buy a lot of beer with 50,000 sales! I am always grateful for people who put up with me, and I learn from greater minds than my own. Simple Ol’ Boy From Austin is the personification of a philosophy. If you are going to write you must divorce ego. I am really simple, as are most people. I have no remote idea how many people read my stuff. I know my one reader, my mother no longer does because she’s dead. I have never in my life ran into someone at the supermarket that ever read anything I ever wrote. Pump up your ego and you’ll get your feeling hurt quick!

Once, when I attended a meeting where I spoke, when I emerged someone was asking me all kinds of questions about my opinions about this and that, and using words I didn’t understand. I told her, “Well, I don’t know nothing about all of that, but they sure got some good samiches in there.” Guess she didn’t like the cuisine, because she left.
Simple Ol’ Boy From Austin


For the past week I’ve been doing an extensive investigation. I didn’t even tell my associates in Houston due to the sensitive nature. I call it “StupidGate. I have looked into the world of cyber espionage. As you probably know the leader of North Korea, Won Hun Lo, was deeply distressed by the Sony picture “The Interview.” Now Sony is, well SONY! When I was a kid I didn’t think much of the company because back in the 50’s “Made in Japan” meant one thing, and one thing only. Little toy airplanes with bad paint jobs that the wheels fell off of on the first use. That, and we were still irritated about Pearl Harbor. The wheels didn’t fall off of THOSE planes! Well, Sony came of age. Actually became a standard in the industry. The little fat kid in North Korea with the funny haircut hacked Sony to pieces!

Then we find that the Russians have been leisurely reading state department emails for at least a year! Like an irritated ex-girlfriend you were stupid enough to give all your passwords to, and she goes up and tells all your friends that you’re gay. The RUSSIANS? Didn’t they just figure out toilette paper about ten years ago? Save your fork because this morsel gets sweeter. Yesterday the director of the FBI sat before a committee and freely admitted that the FBI, CIA, and homeland security weren’t smart enough to break encryption set up by a thirteen year old girl! He really did that folks. I I saw it on TV. And finally (drum roll please) the Russians came back and shut down the Pentagon! Aren’t those guys in charge of like, nuclear BOMBS? Reminds me when the theory came out about the Russians actually developing AIDS as an attack on Americans. “Comrades, we must develop something that will destroy America. We make virus that kills them when they shoot up drugs or do the anal thing.” Shows what they think of us.

In the midst of all this one eye has been steady, one mind unwavering, one hand firmly on the wheel . . . Hillary Clinton! NOBODY has hacked even her thumb drive! She set up her own servers and the Fed started screaming about “not secure!” Not secure? NOT SECURE? Dudes, you didn’t know what was on that server until she GAVE them to you, and even then you gave her MONTHS to sanitize them. Bill probably has kiddie porn on them. I’ve said all this before about the FBI. Now, I watch all those forensic shows where they find a pubic hair in a Snickers Bar twenty years after the fact and catch a crook. If you buy that have I got a bridge for you, and it’s on SALE!

If nothing else THIS may be Hillary’s long suit. If she wins she should set up her own servers in the White House. At least the Russians won’t know our every move. The Russian thing got me. I could see the Chinese doing it, I mean, they’re Asian for Christ sake, and you know how THOSE people are. But when the Russians do it, there’s a message there. Maybe we DO have something to worry about with the Iranians and their one bomb.

The Nortes have been walking proud and talking loud, but to be frank they lost it somewhere down the road. Remember Ebola? Yeah, that. Good run until it came to Texas. You can fly all over the country looking for a cardiologist, but if you want to live you got to go to Austin Heart. We invented breast implants! Hey, we have priorities, ok? The hacking of practically the entire federal system shows a flaw that’s been there for a very long time. Now, I’ll admit, I love to catch Yankees with their pants down. And then they go into the spin, which ain’t sex, but it’s close. I told you a long time ago we don’t have to secede. Just let the American’s do their thing and make sure they don’t export it down here. Meanwhile Hillary marches on. Hey, food for thought; it’s not very far from securing your server to fixing an election, but shucks, they’ve been doing that for years!

Simple Ol’ Boy From Austin

One Day at a Time

My decision to migrate from Facebook was based on many factors. First, it’s time consuming. It seems like the entire system is designed to keep you forever digging and posting with very little result. Like one of those bait and switch postings where the lead in is something like “Survive the End,” and you get this “voice!” By the end of this (30 minute) video you will be shown how to live off a banana for a month, and at the end they just try to get your credit card, and it’s always the SAME VOICE! I know that voice and I RUN from it. It’s like a soap opera, and Facebook is FULL of them.

Then there are “groups.” Everybody has a group, or two, or three, or hundreds. The bad ones are the ones based over in India. Now, I’ll be honest with you, all I knew about India was that it was hot, sweaty, and they came up with the Karma Sutra. I didn’t even KNOW they had politics. Well, they DO, and they’re IRRITATED! You’ll run across some chick who’s never been any farther down the street than the local fish market, but on Facebook she’s an AMBASSADOR. She has no informed logic, but she knows if you’re from Texas you simply must be a racist, and I guess I am because I found myself looking at her profile picture to see if she had a dot between her eyes. I’ll be honest, i was hoping she was wearing one of those see-through silk things, but that’s just me. I imagine India as being crowds of people, living in cardboard boxes, all standing shoulder to shoulder, HIV positive, dodging cows who roam the streets at will because Hindus are too STUPID to eat a Big Mac! Unless it’s at a beach party near Oceanside, with wine, groups solve nothing. They’re just as bad as that infomercial, only you really expect something to change. What they do is fill up your inbox with “So and so tagged you in a photo” and you rush over to see a picture of a CAT!

Should you finally bow up and call the girl from India what she really is you find yourself in “Facebook Jail!” Whatever you say is not going anywhere ANYWAY, but Facebook has designed a system to make you yearn for it. The one steadfast rule is that if you state your mind you will eventually wind up in Facebook Jail. You can look through the bars but you can’t reach through them, and the most amazing thing is that when you parole you actually curb your tongue so you don’t go back there again! REAL jail should work that good. There are similarities to real jail, such as random attacks by homosexuals. You still have to put up with that. I’ve been in Facebook Jail for one day, and caught myself acting like everyone else! Post Traumatic Facebook Jail Disorder!

If you think that what you post on your wall flows out to all your friends on Facebook, have I got a bridge for you, and it’s on SALE! Facebook filters, sells, promotes or suppresses whatever it wants just like the corporate conglomerate that it is. I don’t know what the criteria is, but I do know that Mylie Cyrus shaking her butt is more important than a cure for cancer. Oh, that’s another infomercial, “Cancer Will Come!” And all I have to do to save myself is endure thirty minutes of the “voice” and get my credit card out! This is the most irritating part of Facebook for me. If I am “friends” with someone, i.e. said person has voiced an interest in what I have to say, and you have the HUGE servers out in California or someplace, the very least you could do is pass my messages through! But NO! Mark Stupidberg filters or censors at will, as he tries to micromanage every syllable on the planet! This makes Facebook absolutely worthless to a writer. The bottom line of BEING a writer is that your material simply must be available to be read, even for free! Once the flow of information is filtered, even among consenting adults the value of the service is reduced to that of the ingredients on a gum wrapper.

The addiction. Now, this is weird, because I found myself suffering from it. You catch yourself reaching for the iPad, or iPhone, and forgetting the iBrain! You end up hanging on it, believing in your heart that there simply must be something of value there because there’s just so much going on. If you throw a pound of seed in a garden, and nothing grows but chickens what does that tell you? There ain’t nothing THERE! It’s all cotton candy. You find yourself staring at the iPad, slowly reaching for it, maybe, just maybe there will be something, anything there that will change your life forever, then you touch the screen and there it is! CANCER CURE! Get your credit card out! How do you beat an addiction? Any twelve step program will tell you to first stop taking the drug! Facebook is a drug. Once you break the cycle, and take your life back you can do this experiment; don’t even look at Facebook for a weekend, and then, on Monday, do a quick check. You’ll be surprised. Nothing’s changed, nothing happened, and all the people you normally see are still at the feeding trough hoping “Massa” will throw them some slop.

I have decided to basically divorce Facebook. The only contact I will maintain is passing my articles to Doc Greene’s morning show because I promised him that I would, but virtually every other point of reference will wither and die. I like Twitter because it’s short, sweet, and you don’t expect much. This gives me time to write better articles and send them to places that DO matter such as The Dam Good Times,, and Anyone who truly wishes to read what I have to say can find me at @wiiiilbur on Twitter with links that flow back to blogs NOT Facebook. The proof is in the pudding. Instead of fretting over my latest message on Facebook I wrote THIS article when I had basically taken the day off. How bout THAT? One day at a time, folks, one day at a time!

Stand By For News!

I spent an entire day yesterday watching the furor over the Confederate flag. I could have put my time to better use, I can assure you, but every story, every note, every status on Facebook had a flag on it. The GAYS even have a flag! I didn’t know that. I personally think it should be pink, but what do I know, right?

Then came a story that ISIS has invented a new way to kill people, three new ways, actually, and if you know me, I made a tuna sandwich, a pitcher or martinis, and went looking for that! Then, of course the story about Obama selling Kansas to the Chinese, Hilliary has dated Yoko Ono, and Bruce Gender had her first period! Then, a great light appeared unto me. It was exceedingly bright, and I was sore afraid. And a voice came from the light, like a thousand trumpets, and the voice said, “Come here!” So I put down my martini, and went unto the voice, and the voice got holy, and powerful, and resounded-duh . . . And the voice said, “Gimme some of dat samitch!”

So I gave the voice the sandwich, and I was filled with wisdom at that point. And the wisdom was this: The Mainstream Media long ago lost ALL credibility. Gone are the days when Patton strode onto the beach, or Kennedy stared down the Russians, or Dr. King walked fearlessly down the streets of Selma. Now some guy says he’s a woman, cuts his Johnson off, and the world stops turning. The big bucks news will pump any story, no matter how stupid until you’d think that was the only thing happening in the entire world at that given moment of time. LEAD story,too! JESUS CHRIST could return, and He’d be upstaged by some transvestite tripping, and spilling a Coke on a parking lot! Oh yeah, did ya’ll know the Pope is a communist? There was even a story about Miley Cyrus poking fun at the Bible. Like that’s a surprise? Have you checked out her little dance step. I liked when she was Hanna Montana, but what do you do when you grow up, and lose your contract because you’re basically ugly, and a slut? That’s an old word my younger readers need to get used to. Slut: Prostitute who’s too stupid to charge for it.

And, of course, everybody’s looking forward to the race war that’s coming. A few kids with their pants sagging sit down in the street and “IT’S A RACE WAR, IT’S A RACE WAR!” We already HAD a race war back in the 1860’s. Oh God, here come the flags again! I found ONE story worth reading, and that was the one about the one-legged vet who had to put his dog down. The dog was trained to sniff out seventy different bombs, and had saved many lives. The whole town turned out to accompany him to the doctor, and go to rest. Uh, didn’t see any Confederate flags in the crowd.

Then I caught Chris Green, Alternative TV, and of course he was ranting and raving about that flag flap. Then he turned on Col. Allen West. He showed a clip of some black, bearded fanatic, and kept calling him Col. West. I was reminded of an old George Carlin line; Seems fairly intelligent . . . Ah! He’s full of s . . . .!” You have to watch conspiracy theorists just about as close as you watch Main Stream Media. Right before Green regurgitated his dialog he did a commercial trying to sell body armor to all the nice folks out there waiting for Jade Helm to kick in, oh don’t get me started! We are going through that flap down here in Texas right now. I’m sure there is SOMETHING there, because even Governor Abbott is putting armor plating on his wheel chair. (You’d think that after getting the Governor’s office he’d have picked up a Hoveround somewhere along the way, wouldn’t you?) it’s a nice fantasy, I guess. I have a fantasy. Me, locked away in a bomb shelter, hiding from Jade Helm, with five Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders and a case of Jim Beam. Do THAT math!

So, I found myself having coffee this morning, waiting to see what’s next. Will ISIS invade New York? Will the Jews take over the world? Will Bruce Gender become pregnant? Will global warming make California a bigger desert than it’s always been? Will we have to read yet another story from Roof’s stepmother (another slut) telling us what a “nice boy” he really was? Will Alex Jones sell yet another water purification system? Stand by for NEWS!

Simple Ol’ Boy From Austin


Communication is a living, organic thing, born in the mind of the writer and nurtured in the heart of the reader. It’s not fair to call someone ignorant, or illiterate simply because their form of communication differs from yours. Ignorance is subjective. Put a Harvard law professor in the Outback of Australia with a sharp stick and a boomerang and then tell me who is ignorant!

The intelligence of a writer is twofold. First it is within. You can sit on a porch in Texas, such as I do, and formulate dozens of ideas, but to be able to communicate these ideas, now there’s the trick! Very simply put, to make another person understand what you understand is where the art of writing resides. That’s the second, and most important thing! To embed your thoughts into someone else’s mind is a skill that you develop over years, and cannot be taught, it must be lived!

I learned how to do this in Nashville as a songwriter. To be a songwriter you must be able to reduce complex and emotional ideas to sixteen lines, and they all have to flow, and rhyme! If you “reach” for it you’ll never get there. When it becomes cumbersome you must step back, take a breath, and ask, “What am I really trying to say,” and more importantly, “Is it WORTH saying!” It helps if you miss a meal or two along the way.

You never make a point by argumentation. An argument is just two people trying to discuss something on which they will never agree. The moment your reader senses such an approach you will lose that reader. There must be at least a semblance of agreement, a meeting of the minds, before you can effect communication. You can almost never win anyone over to your ideas who is adamantly opposed to everything you are, and disagrees with everything you say. In effect, you must always, “Preach to the choir.” The secret is to find YOUR choir, and preach to THEM!

If you agree that trying to sway an inflexible mind is a daunting task, don’t YOU be inflexible! Let your mind flow, embrace ideas. Quite often I will begin an article with one thing in mind, and before I’m done the piece will go an entirely different direction altogether. Never write a complete work with your mind already made up. Allow room for inspiration. I did this just yesterday. I embarked on an article about police. Originally I was going to rip and tear at police brutality, but before it was over, I stepped into police shoes, and two things hit me. One, I was totally wrong in my original premise, and two, I was very grateful for people who have chosen that thankless, underpaid profession!

Never let a pre-formed set of ideas direct your prose. I combine this with the misunderstanding of education. Education can be a useful thing, but adherence to ideas streaming from a professor that are accepted without question can be a deal killer. Those who can, do, and those who can’t, teach! I know someone who is constantly in school, as was her mother, between them, more degrees than a thermometer . . . neither one can compose a grocery list! Oh, they’re very good at counting commas in my articles, but there is no communication between us because they are too bogged down with education, and presupposed political mindsets, set in stone, to ever engage in any meaningful dialog. Talking with them is like trying to have a martini with a religious nut! There are two kinds of people in this world; those who take a pound of dried beans, gather the spices and cook for hours arriving at just the right taste, and then there are those who just open a can. The college professor handed them a can opener long ago, and they never progressed past the microwave. You can live on their beans . . . technically.

Writing is like cooking beans. I was going to expand this into methods that I use in my work, but that won’t help you. You just have to KNOW! You have to FEEL! It’s like when you write a song. I’ve met dozens of songwriters who can count meter, jive the rhyme, construct a melody, but in the final analysis, there’s just nothing THERE! It’s called a “mill” song. Something ground out that looks good on the surface, but there’s just “something” missing. All the elements are there, save one . . . communication! Like the old joke, “Man been talking fifteen minutes, ain’t said a thing!”

When you get folk’s heads going up and down instead of side to side you have communicated! You have taken a thought, born in your mind and transposed it to theirs, and don’t let it be a can of beans! If you do it right they will take that idea and run with it. Who knows, in your omnipotence you might’ve MISSED something! Communication is a living, organic thing.

Simple Ol’ Boy From Austin

What If You Threw a Riot (And Nobody Came)

Suppose you threw a riot, and nobody came? I’ll be honest with you, for all my talk about how we do things down here in Texas I really thought McKinney was about to fire up. And the mainstream media was working it like a dog on a dead armadillo. Speaking of, you will notice the police chief curled up at the very first hit on YouTube. Now I’m not going to call him names, but when I go to see my friend, Tom, well he’s got chickens, and there’s this stuff that sticks to your feet. That’s the police chief over to McKinney, Texas.

I saw some New Black Panthers strolling across the Tarmac at the airport. I’ve always admired that look. You know, the dark suits, shades, frown, really intimidating stuff. Now what’s funny is they looked just as serious about some chick getting booty slammed as they would if the cops had machine gunned the who lot of them!

“We gotta go to Texas and fight for the people!”

“What’s going on down there? Did some poor defenseless brother get killed for smoking a cigarette?”

“No, some girl got slapped down, and the cop put his knee on her butt!”

“Was she black”


“Get the brothers and book a flight.”

I didn’t notice Sharpton, yet. I was really looking forward to that. I wanted to meet him. I mean, he DOES have a TV show, and I’ve always been a sucker for an autograph. So I sat up last night, drinking beer, scanning the news, waiting for the “guns of June” to go off. NOTHING! Not even one domestic disturbance. I even had the article already done. I just took the one imwrote about Ferguson, and switched the names, dates, and location. HEY! Works for Al Sharpton! But, this story just wouldn’t fly. And Fox News TRIED, oh God did they try. They finally scrounged up the only fool who got arrested and the charges were subsequently dropped, probably at the insistence of Chief Cover Mi Ase. He mumbled something about “helping that poor girl.” That’s when I went ahead and did THIS story. I thought that if I give it enough time something would come about. Maybe not the whole down town, but maybe burn the mayor’s doghouse . . . SOMETHING! Nope.

The Chief said he was very proud of the eleven officers who behaved according to procedures. Ok, dozens of kids running in dozens of different directions while the police trip and flop on the ground. I’m not kidding, watch the video. With ISIS on the edge of the Golan Heights, Iran waiting for its shipment of enriched uranium from the White House, the Chinese going through the US Goverment’s databases like they WORK there, we are all focused on a yellow bikini. Hey, like my Puerto Rican friend, Jay would say, “I ain’t even gonna lie to you,” I was looking at her butt, too. (Lord, I’m sorry I did that, I promise not to do that again.)

All this having been said, they just couldn’t crank a proper riot out of that bikini. For one thing, it’s just too hot to riot in Texas. Up in Ferguson, or Baltimore, you can jump around and act like a fool, but after say ninety-five degrees or so, the energy level goes way down. Uh, maybe that’s why the kids were swimming, you think? Also, McKinney is just a darned nice place to live. Summer just started . . . This is TEXAS!

One more thing. When someone like Al Sharpton takes hold of a “gig” he plays it over and over until it doesn’t sell any more. Sharpton watches the news, waiting for something, anything, that will fit into his race baiting formula. Any time a cop fires his gun, if there is a black person in the STATE, he’ll jump on the next flight and fan the flames of fury, collect his fee, and beat feet back to New York, waiting for the next big thing. With the ashes cooling in Baltimore he was desperate. Then, there it was! An itsy bitsy, teeny weenie, yellow poka-dot bikini, with a big ol’ white cop sitting right on top of it. This wasn’t race baiting, it was race trawling! One problem was, there really wasn’t a STORY here. Chief chickened out, cop quit, charges dropped, and the kids went right back to swimming. The people in Baltimore be like, “A bunch of spoiled brats crashed a Country Club swim party being thrown by some other spoiled brats.” And let’s be honest; that was a beautiful, well fed, well groomed young lady in a very nice swimsuit. I wish she’d crash MY party! Rosa Parks she was NOT! And them New Black Panthers sure did look good, didn’t they?

Thoughts of an Illiterate Blogger

Do you know how hard it is to do a dozen articles a day, and not come off like a contradictory fool? I worry about that. I find myself combing over past posts to see if I’m reversing myself. I am not very politically astute. No, really. When I say I’m a Simple Ol’ Boy from Austin, what I’m really saying is I write simply. I can be complex, I just choose not to. I feel that the world is complicated enough without dancing around words trying to paint myself into a corner. And look at my qualifications. High School diploma from Killeen High School. Now folks, that’s about as illiterate as you can get and they still let you drive a car!

With my friends and supporters I walk a line trying to agree with and please, but I do have rules. I’ve found that when I write an article that I personally think will be my undoing, THOSE are the hits! I really do avoid being controversial, but let’s face it, when you have a pen name like, “Bill the Butcher,” well, people expect things, you know.

The more I write the more I settle on what I believe. Like Doc said about me last week, there are times when I don’t even know my position until I begin to write. I do take inspiration from others I respect. Our opinions differ. For instance, I’m not all torn up about Jade Helm. I guess it’s from living near Fort Hood, and putting up with cannon fire and gun ships flying over my head most of my life. I AM concerned about ISIS because I know the dynamic driving them, and I really DO think Muslims in our state bear watching. I don’t give a flip about gay marriage. I can accept gay people, I just don’t want one of them marrying my sister.

My neck is not near as red as it used to be. Time was when I really said, and wrote some outlandish stuff. Here’s the deal. YOU sell three million records on the black market out of a garage in Harker Heights, Texas, then come back and tell me all about it! Publishing has changed a lot since 1994. Back then you had to have “distribution.” Now, all you need is an iPad. Being exposed to loads of other opinions has lightened my neck considerably. Hey, I can even get along with someone from California if she’s cute.

I study all the time. You may not believe it, but as I was writing about the attack in Garland this week I was reading a psychological study of Joseph Smith’s mindset in the context of his times. In modern times he would have just wrote the Book of Mormon and left the “inspiration” involved to the conjecture of his readers, but in the magical world view of the 1830’s . . .well, people expect things. Understanding people like Joseph Smith helps me understand politicians. Connect those dots! There IS a connection there people, trust me.

People believe the absurd. They want magic. Hence religion. Now don’t get me wrong. I am a theist. I even believe in Jesus Christ. I just don’t believe in religion. Religion is man’s feeble attempt to explain the unexplainable. I try not to really pick on people’s religious beliefs, but as a writer I KNOW how Mohammed came up with the Qu’ran and Joseph Smith penned the Book of Mormon, and it ain’t hard to figure out, folks. I have a nephew who once spent hours trying to convince me that during a seance, Satan, the evil one, arch angel, fallen from glory, source of all evil, came all the way from hell to beautiful downtown Killeen, Texas just to chunk rocks over a fence at him. I don’t try to pick on people’s religious beliefs, but it’s hard. People read into religion their own desires. Now, that’s ok until you start stoning pretty girls for looking good in jeans or tell me I can’t have a Martini, then we gotta talk. Come to think of it . . . pretty girls . . . martinis . . .stoned, but I digress.

I don’t chase women as much as I used to because I have a bad leg that seems to be getting worse with age, and they keep getting away. Also I’ve found that double amputees do not attract me. Wait, let me think about that one. Sometimes I worry about myself. Anyway, as I blog myself to literary hell I thank you for putting up with me, and reading. Communication is the most important thing. I figured that out after five ex-wives you know. I keep my style simple, like I said. I write like I speak. I have a friend with like a double degree in writing, literature, stuff like that. Kid writes for a solid week, ain’t said nothing! I now have written thousands of articles that have gone all over the world. Not bad for someone who couldn’t pass high school English, huh?