CenterVille

IMG_3305

As the decades went by the story of little Carol Ann only became better as the years passed, and now, years later, deep in the pines, an old black man settled in for the night. He was a slightly stooped man, which didn’t show his inner strength.  He sported a light beard, but not from being groomed as was the fashion in Austin, where a beard was never quite finished, but always in the act of being grown. No, his beard was from not shaving on days he just felt too sore to do it.  He wore a plaid flannel shirt tonight to ward off the damp that was emanating from the pine trees that surrounded his place like so many druids waiting to take up some long forgotten ritual.  He had dark slacks with dark suspenders.  He was lean, and had no fat on him. After eating his nightly bowl of red beans and rice, he made himself a stiff glass of whiskey and water with two cubes of ice from his little “ice box” he kept on his porch.  The slight chill in the night air made it heavy even for September, and his could feel his lungs labor a bit as he breathed.  The doctor would call it asthma, but he called it old age, and had lived with it all his life.  As the years went by it was harder and harder for him to breathe out here at night, but he did not surrender to medicine, drinking his whiskey instead, until the air became lighter. His house was an unpainted shack, but it had a big front porch.  The boards were coming up on the ends here and there, and his old rocker wobbled on them as he rocked.  He lit his cigarette and puffed on it, drinking his whiskey and staring out at the night. What harm the cigarette did to his lungs the whiskey would repair; such is the balance of life.  His whiskey, and Camel cigarettes were all he had left at this late stage, and he did as he pleased.  His name was Manjang, just Manjang!  He never let anyone know if it was the first or last name, and many a bail jumper cowered in years past upon hearing that “Manjang” was at the door.  As Manjang would tell anyone, he lived by his damn self.  He did this same thing every night.

Manjang had never married, but lived a solitary life here in these woods. He’d hunted men before he got his Social Security, and this style of living fit him just fine.  He’d never saved a dime in his whole life.  He lived on what he had.  When he made good money back then he lived well, and now he lived as he had to, making ends meet and not asking anything of anyone.  The bonding companies in Houston or Austin would call and Manjang had just the technique, and the will to track a man anywhere he needed to, and bring him back. He still had an outhouse, and if the county hadn’t put in electricity he’d have gotten along just fine without it.  He had no TV, but did like his ice cubes. His shack sat in a clearing with the tree line not far from him.  There were scattered pines between him and the thick of the forest, and in some of them he’d hung an ornament.  It made little tinkling sounds when what little wind the pines allowed in these woods moved them, but that wasn’t their real purpose.  Their real purpose was hidden in his heart, dark secrets that he carried from his years as a man hunter.  There was a red dirt road leading up to the place from the county road. The road was rough, but he had an old Jeep he took the four miles into town and anywhere else in the woods that he desired to go when it would start up, and all through these pinewoods hung the chimes that he’d placed there.  Each night was the same.  Jim Beam and cigarettes until he got tired of them, and then retiring to his single bed. This night would be no different.

 

Centerville sits in the middle of a thick pine forest, strangely reminiscent of the place where you played during summer break. The kind of place where your grandmother lived. You just knew she was born old, and lived there all her life. Her house usually would sit off the main drag, at the edge of the woods and she had a name like “Nanner” or some other southern phrase that meant “little old lady who lives by the woods.”

Centerville was such a place, drawn from a distant time when things were much simpler, and people worked, and lived, and knew their place. The tall pines impugning their scent and shade to its streets, and the summer’s heat and humidity clinging to you like an antiperspirant you purchased at the dollar store, and now wished that you hadn’t. The town was the only clearing in the forest of tall pines, which lurked at the edge of it as if waiting to take the land back again and swallow it up.  If you grew up in Centerville, you knew all the old usual stories about hapless travelers who’d wandered down the wrong road back into the woods never to find their way back to civilization again. These stories were likely just that, stories because no one ever came “to” Centerville they just “passed through” on their way to Houston, or Austin, or anyplace other than Centerville.  The state highway split the town right down the middle, and divided it into two equal halves and there were the usual run down cafes, and unpainted shops one finds when they pass through a small rural town.  There were no national “chains,” because Centerville didn’t need national chains. There was a bar-b-que shop situated directly across the street from Centerville’s one and only “convenience” store. It was owned and operated by a family of Pakistani immigrants from New York who’d been the last “big” news in Centerville.

If you had passed through Centerville at different times during the year you would notice that that highway was always “under construction” and they never seemed to finish it, becoming worse and worse as the years dragged by, and heaven forbid you should ever pass through the town at night because the plastic barrels on the road, and the signs that accompanied them were never right, invariably leading one to several potholes, or false detours making the unlucky traveler very glad when he was finally leaving Centerville, and heading back to the main portion of the highway, and the sanity of the civilized world once again! For the stranger, or traveler, going through Centerville at night gave a sense of foreboding, fear, and loneliness that one gets in the woods; in the dark.

Centerville had no Wal-Mart, no large grocery store, and no beer!  It was a “dry” town, as many in the state were, clinging to the legacy of prohibition that, failed bit of foolishness that empowered the mafia so long ago.  Oh, not that the residents of the town did not drink, they did, but since you could not purchase alcohol in the town, if you desired to indulge you had to get on the state highway, and go ten miles out of town where a lonely, but well supported liquor store sat on the side of the road in the “county” where such things were allowed.  There were no synagogues, no Catholic churches, and no vagrants in Centerville. There was a Baptist church at one end of town, and the “People’s Assembly Church of God in Christ” directly situated at the opposite end. The congregations therein were split right down racial lines as surely as the state highway split the little town.  The Baptist church was mainly for the white community, and the People’s Assembly was black.  It was not that there was an issue there; it’s just that that was the way it had always been, and that was the way it always would be.  There were never any problems because everyone got along in Centerville because everyone in Centerville knew their place. The “People’s Temple” had been pastored by Elmo Taylor for several years.  He came to town, a single man, and took over the church from the retiring minister who had made what was his life there.  Elmo dedicated his life to the church, and to the community on “that” side of town.  He was loved, and respected by the black community.  Opposite his church, on the other side of the tracks was the Baptist church, pastured by a meek, mild, Baptist preacher, who’s only forceful statements were when he railed against the liquor store out in the county (where such things were allowed.)

The law enforcement in town consisted of the two-man police department that worked out of a small wood frame building over near the bank.  There was a small window unit air conditioner which hung haphazardly out of the window on the side and provided the sound of air conditioning, if not any cool air of any merit. With what little ever went on in town the two men could handle things just fine.  They never set up speed traps because there was absolutely no way a human being could do anything near the posted speed limit in the torn up streets of Centerville anyway, much less speed!  There were absolutely some times that both officers were home with their families, their phones forwarded, and so it goes without saying that the town had no jail because that would require someone to be at the police station at all times.  Should anyone ever need to be arrested (which was highly unlikely) they would simply have to be taken to the county seat some twenty-five miles away and incarcerated there.  Any real investigations would be handled at the county level by the district attorney Nelson or Billy Ray, his chief investigator.  Beyond that was the state department of public safety, better known as the highway patrol, which had the equipment and diagnostics needed for crimes more serious than a drunk driver.  That was in case any real crime happened, because the last and biggest criminal event in town was back in 1947 when little Carol Ann Baker disappeared from the schoolyard.  The townspeople searched for days with no luck and then her battered and violated form was found in the pines, at the edge of a stream, known in those parts as a “bayou.”  It was obvious that the little twelve-year-old had been the victim of a deranged pedophile who, after having his way with her, had bashed her little head in with a rock.  Though everyone knew the killer had been Johnny Johnson he was never captured or convicted of the crime.  He was the dim-witted son of a bitch named Velma Johnson who had no husband, and waited tables in the bar-b-que shop, sidelining as Centerville’s only working prostitute.  The townspeople had put up with Johnny, made fun of him, but considered him to be of no consequence, that is until they found little Carol Ann. At any rate, he was never seen again in Centerville, and everyone believed that when he realized what he’d done he simply went far away so he would never have to face justice for the crime that he’d committed.

After that the town settled pretty much into the life that it lived to this day. Oh, every now and then some hunter, or hiker would be lost in the pines, but that was “normal” for Centerville.  They would find them, dead of exposure, or just dead with no real cause, but those things happened in the woods, and if you were a true citizen of Centerville you knew never to wander much past the tree line. If you grew up in the little town you would certainly know all the ghost stories emanating from the pines with all the gory details about little Carol Ann waiting like a she-devil for any grown man who dared to intrude within her domain.  And the stories had some foundation because there were more than a few disappearances in the woods around Centerville, few more than the law of averages would allow. The only thing that threw a monkey wrench into this ghostly theory was old Manjang living in his shack in the woods. He had made his living in Houston chasing down bail bond jumpers until he finally showed up in Centerville, and purchased a small “tourist cabin” situated three or four miles from the Centerville city hall.  The old man would drift into town to check his mail at the post office every day except Sunday, and no one ever dared to ask him about spirits or carryings on out in the woods because everyone in town knew that Manjang was a man of no nonsense. He kept to himself and didn’t have time for such things as gossip, or the welfare of anyone else but his “damn” self!  It was widely known that he carried a pistol, and had used it, indeed would use it again with little or no provocation what so ever!  He had no dealings with any of the occupants of this one-horse town and they steered clear of him! No one knew where Manjang had come from and no one in Centerville wanted to pry.

There were three schools in Centerville.  There was the elementary school, where little Carol Ann had been abducted, a middle school, and a high school, all appropriately named “Centerville” this or that.  The football team never won a game in the high school circuit, and no student from Centerville ever ran off to become a famous movie star or writer or anything. Every once in a very blue moon someone would leave the little town and venture to exotic places like Houston or Austin, but they never came back.  They would simply never be spoken of again. They would never again be seen at the “Dairy Dream” eating ice cream, and would never show up in church anymore.  Like a dead thing that no one wants to turn over for fear of the smell.

The community had one funeral home that naturally was locally owned and had been operated “with dignity” for the last fifty years by a local family of funeral directors whom everyone in town knew and naturally gave all their business to when the need should arise. There were no racial lines drawn there because there was simply no place else to go when you went!  There was a chapel at the home, but it was rarely used because everyone who passed was either Baptist church or People’s Assembly and the two preachers took care of the need of a service. When death reared its ugly head the funeral would be conducted at either one of the churches, and one end of town or the other will be clogged with cars because everyone knew everyone in Centerville. The funeral home had been founded by Randal Pulhman way back in the depression. He’d operated it “with dignity” for a number of years, his sons coming in behind him, and the business had done well.  Randal had embalmed little Carol Ann, or what was left to be embalmed. That was a closed casket affair if there ever was one. The rock that had crushed her little head in had been a very large rock indeed, and had so disfigured her face that literally her own mother would not have known her. Even Randal Pulhman was taken aback by the ferociousness of the attack. In his point of view there was absolutely no reason at all to kill the little girl; that is unless she knew her assailant, and that went on to further prove that it must have been Johnny Johnson.  The sexual assault further proved it had been Johnny because he was an “idiot kid” and everyone knew that “idiot kids” were over sexed!  There was a big funeral; everyone came, and little Carol Ann was laid to rest in the graveyard near the Baptist church, where she rests until today, or rather her body rests until today, because everyone knows that her spirit, maddened by her untimely death, prowls the woods around Centerville taking vengeance on the male population whenever possible.  Or so the local legend told.

The Pulhman Funeral Home prospered and grew all through those early years and Randall Pulhman became a very wealthy undertaker, but, as it comes to us all, and indeed came to all of Randall’s customers, death came to visit him one Sunday afternoon while he was consuming turnip greens and ice cream on his porch.  What he had taken to be acute indigestion turned out to be a heart attack and they found him sprawled in his antique rocker with his melted Blue Bell ice cream all over his favorite “Dallas Cowboys” T-shirt and his pants full of shit.  He was buried in the same graveyard as little Carol Ann, “with dignity.”  With the passing of the patriarch the family felt the need of hiring outside of the family to fill the shoes of the senior undertaker, and the very fact that there no other undertakers in the family left to fill his shoes so this dilemma led them to Leon Chisholm, aspiring young mortician born and raised in Dallas, Texas, married to the young and comely Heather.  One more thing was added; Leon was black!  This dazzling urbanite seemed to fill the bill quite well for the chicken fried funeral home, and they rolled out the red carpet enticing him to see things their way.

For years it had been an issue as to the care of the black patrons of the funeral home.  Certain things were different in this area, but had never been addressed properly by the establishment and therefore were merely tolerated by the black community as a whole who had no place else to take their departed.  The surviving members of the firm decided to change this by deliberately hiring a black funeral director and he would be the one who would handle the funerals that required his special attention.

Advertisements

SlingVote

IMG_0043Slingvote. Remember that, there’ll be a quiz later. Texas Nationalists have long held to the idea that somewhere in the agreement that brought Texas in to the Union there was some kind of pre-nuptial agreement that provides an easy exit should Texas ever decide to go it on its own. I, myself have spoken of this many times. Well, truth be known, while that was discussed back then, it was never formalized in writing.

You see, the whole Texas plan from day one was to rip the territory away from Mexico and join the United States. There was never any doubt what the filibusters were doing down here, and the Republic formed after San Jacinto was almost with the understanding that the Republic of Texas would someday be the State of Texas, and Mexico could just suck it up. When the treaty between Texas and The United States was signed, however, there was no “divorce” clause. I know! I tried to find it today to quote here, and nada!

There is, however, a slippery little way for Texas to put it to the US, and make them think it’s their idea. Texas was go gosh darn big that it was decided that should the citizens therein ever decide to break it up that they could split into as many as five different states. Just like that! It’s part of the deal, folks, check it out. These would be along regional lines, i.e. East Texas, West Texas, North Texas, South Texas, and, of course, an area I like to call Costa Royal. (That would be the Texas “SoCal.”) These divisions of the Lone Star State would be separate, yet still the heritage of old time Tejas. These fellas have met!

Don’t you wanna know what happens next? Why, what was formally Texas gets eight more senators, that’s what! What was formerly Texas has ten senators up in Washington, and boys and girls, they’ll probably vote in a block. Some folks call this a slingvote, some call it gerrymandering, I call it a slingvote, um hum! Want to know how votes work? Well, sometimes things get crazy, and all the senators gravitate toward a foregone conclusion, but most of the time the vote is close, so close that the president starts twisting arms just to get one or two senators to go his way. There was this guy back in the day who commanded a huge slot of voters. He was  very into prohibition. He had this theory. He didn’t have to get fifty-one percent of any vote. He just had to control that ten percent of loyal followers who’d vote any way he told them to. This was guaranteed to swing just about any vote in any election anywhere, and by golly that’s exactly what he did! Using this idea he unseated governors, congressmen, senators, and dog catchers any time he wished. He just tell them there tea-totalers what box to mark and “God’s” will would be done. That’s how we got prohibition.

So, you end up with ten Texas senators where two used to be. When they cast their votes the board just met. The tail would officially wag the dog, and since American liberals and conservatives can’t even agree on which restrooms to use we’ll tell ‘em all to squat!. Heeere’s your sign. If we ever start moving in that direction the Nortes will squat, and lose their selective ca ca. Even New York and California will be our, well, just think of a slang term for a female dog. Some folks call it a slingvote, some call it gerrymandering, I call it a slingvote, um hum! Secession? We won’t have to secede, they’ll secede from us!

Scared

IMG_0091

Scared. I want ya’ll to write that down ‘cause there’s gonna be a quiz later. Scared dictates a lot of things that people do. I’ve said it before, and I’m gonna say it again, Texas is in fact a republic, a “de-facto” republic. Back in World War II just because Hitler invaded France, and put his troops in there, that did not mean that France was not a republic. France was a republic under occupation. Texas has been under occupation since 1865. We had special laws passed against us because they thought that our ability to carry a gun might lead back to the Republic of Texas. They have been scared of us in America ever since.

The scared part comes in like when we show up down in Austin to do these rallies with speakers driving in, and you get down there, and you get thirty-five or forty people. We’re all sitting around wondering well, what’s going on here?  What’s going on is people are scared. Right now at the Republican convention in Texas there is going to be an effort to put in a plank on the platform to ask how many people would like the opportunity to vote and voice their opinion of the secession issue. Now, I’d like to point out you can call us “nuts” or “fringe” but four years ago they wouldn’t let us in the door, and now we’re in the door, and actually going to have a vote.

The general population, getting up and going to work every morning is not thinking about seceding from the United States, they don’t even understand it, but you would think that with a rally in Austin that they’d show up just to see what we look like, see what’s going on, but the problem is that they’re scared. This is what’s happened in the United States. Waco, Ruby Ridge, things like that have put people on point. Where ten or twenty years ago you’d see a Department of Public Safety officer walking around the grounds you’d think nothing about it, he’s supposed to be there, but now, with the events of the last two to four years attitudes have changed and people are scared. Take your average nerd in Austin on a Saturday with nothing to do, and hears there’s going to be a rally at the Capitol and they wonder what’s going on. Now, if it’s a bunch of Mexicans dancing they run down and join the party, but if it’s a bunch of Texas Nationalists giving speeches about seceding, well, they get scared. No one wants to show up and watch the arrests, and all the other nonsense that goes with them.

But, Texas is a republic. Just because we’re occupied doesn’t mean it’s not. We’re beginning to act like a republic with things like our gold bullion, our emphasis on our borders, and our attracting people to Texas. We have to protect our borders, the United States doesn’t give a flip. The droves of people coming here because of the quality of life, the climate, and economic factors opinions are being formed. When someone first gets here they think that Texas is just like any other state, but it’s not, it is a functioning republic.

Will we be able to secede? No. I don’t think that short of an armed conflict that the United States will ever let us secede from the Union. Can we in fact be a different part? Well, we in fact are. Texas is different. Ruby Ridge, Waco, and LaVoy Finicum have reminded us that the government will do anything to maintain power. Ignore the constitution, ambush, burn, anything. I was watching last night as an engineer explained how the top fifteen floors on the World Trade Center could not possibly collapse the entire building. On another video I saw building seven erupt in explosions as it, too, pancaked to the ground, and that, people, is the length your government will go to in order to maintain power. There are sinister elements within the American Federal government, and those sinister elements are there to maintain power.

Texas, believing that borders matter, all borders, even those between us and the US, and that is a stumbling block to those who would erase those borders in their quest for a new world government. Texas has more oil than all other counties in the world combined except Russia. We’ve got cattle, tech, climate, people, economics, and God knows we have all the Mexicans, and that is a big stumbling block for the power brokers in New York and Washington. They want to infiltrate Texas and turn it into “CalTex.” California was a beautiful place, beautiful people, everybody wanted to be there. These same people who have set their sights on Texas went in there, and it’s still a beautiful place, but it’s not California anymore. It’s a joke now. Texas has a way of sitting back, watching someone screw up, and making sure that we don’t go down that same path.

We are not a bunch of rednecks, or fools. We have education, people, resources, enterprise, we have all these things in Texas! If you want to know how stout we are, how’d that Ebola work out for you? The world was coming to an end, the religious nuts were citing the Book of Revelation, and all of the sudden there weren’t no more Ebola! That’s because it came to Texas.

But, people are scared. The fact is that if ten thousand people showed up at a rally in Austin then the power brokers would be scared. You can arrest a man, but you can’t arrest a battalion. Power is inherent in the people! If you have a bunch of people saying this is the way it is then that’s the way it is! The power flows up from the people. This enema called the American Federal Government is an inversion of the way the constitution was laid out.

It’s not going to be easy. There will be more Ruby Ridges, there will be more LaVoy Finicums, but one day those people will show up, and then the illuminati will be scared. We Texans have proved two things of the last two hundred years or so. We are the people who will back up in an old church and shoot at you, and we can’t count to five thousand.

Ah SO!

IMG_2710

Charlie Chan used to say, “Ah SO!” Things have changed since Charlie’s day.  Global economics are dynamic. The one thing you must remember is this “global” thing is fairly new. Never before in history has the world been able to communicate so completely as it can today. Just look at it. The Romans thought they controlled the world. What did they really control? The Mediterranean area. Oh, I hear you. They conquered Europe! Heck, Hitler did that! Did it in a shorter time, too. Attila the Hun? Same deal. Didn’t even conquer Rome and died in bed with a teenage girl. Hey, I’m impressed. And so it has gone all down through history. Up until now!

People are used to governments being the powerhouse on the world stage. Well, there’s a new kid on the block. Governments, kings, and unions ruled by the power of armies. Let’s not forget to throw in religion. Long about 600 AD or so, when the Romans were desperately trying to learn German, Mohammed came screaming across the desert with a new flavor. He figured out that if he could get everyone on a rug, facing Mecca that he could virtually erase national boundaries. The Holy Roman Empire followed suit, and by 1000 AD we had two factions, suited up and ready for what really amounted to the real World War I.

Now, I hate to say this about my noble ancestors, but Europeans are an unstable bunch of pricks! Oh, they look down their noses pretty good now, with gun control, free marijuana, and lots of polite talk about how bad we Americans are, but we learned from the best. I watched a most interesting video last night. It was a time lapse thing showing the shifting European borders changing over the last thousand years, and brothers and sisters, the most stable borders were when Hitler was doing his thing. Imagine THAT!

With this latest push in the Ukraine the lame stream media tries to make it seem as though this is something new. They look across someone’s border and say, “Oops! Someone’s over there speaking Russian. That’s MINE!” And this isn’t restricted to just Russia. Oh no! You had the Roman Empire, the British Empire and the American Empire. Swat them bees, swat them bees! And Americans are like roaches. Once you get ’em, they never leave! Americans haven’t learned a single thing from history. When you defend YOUR borders, that’s cool. When you defend someone ELSE’S border, not so much! You would be hard pressed to find a single area on the globe where there is not an American presence of some kind. And it’s all very politically correct, of course. Americans have an uncanny knack for peeing down someone’s back, and tell them it’s raining! Meanwhile, while worrying about Russia, America’s borders have less security than Disneyland.

But, while we white folk are worried about the price of vodka there has been a group of people slowly rising, getting ready, and slipping onto the world stage through the back door. The Chinese! Now wait, wait, before you start laughing and calling me a Texas redneck, hear me out. Within one lifetime China has evolved. Back in the 1930’s and ’40’s the Japanese kicked their butts all OVER the Gobi Desert. It was like the little skinny kid in the school yard slapping the fat kid and the fat kid just stood there crying and sucking snot. And just think about it. China has actually never invaded ANYBODY! They are famous for building WALLS to keep to themselves. Well, in the words of Bob Dylan, “Times They Are A-Changing!”

We of European decent invented the corporation. The Chinese took it to the Nth degree. China doesn’t HAVE an economy. Their economy is whatEVER the Chairman says it is. So when you value the dollar up against the yen you basically have a sliding scale. The yen comes across as a poor cousin. Only problem is that yen is buying stuff. The Chinese are BUYING America. The same little yellow guys who built the railroads that spanned the continent are now bidding for them, and Americans are too greedy, or too stupid to see this. Who controls Long Beach, the only deep water port on the west coast? Just look it up. Who completed the largest corporate sale in the last five years? Here, have a bowl of rice. When did these guys stop being communist?

There is only one teeny, tiny little bump in the Manchurian Highway. TEXAS! Our old fashioned, racist, redneck, tobacco chewing gun toting population of nationalists casts a jaundiced eye toward such Yankee shenanigans. They are three types of people slipping across our southern border. First, of course, you have the Mexicans. Then, Central Americans, but the third group is Chinese. So, on one hand we have them trying to buy Los Angeles, and on the other we have a whole new brand of wetbacks slipping across the border.

The Texas Nationalist Movement is more American than you might imagine. We actually believe in things like borders, real money, mommy and daddy, and hot apple pie, and then, there’s that nasty ol’ constitution. When Texas secedes we don’t even have to write a constitution. We’ll just use theirs, they’re not doing anything with it right now. While the Nortés are picking one from column B and two from column A, and paying for it by selling their souls, the Texas contingent is drawing a very politically incorrect line in the sand. When it comes down to it, and the Republic of Texas becomes a reality, the western United States will have a choice. Will they eat rice, or will they eat steak. Frankly, I don’t know. I look out at California and I see men marrying men, women marrying women and dogs marrying cats, and I really can’t see that bunch of wine heads standing up for much of anything. Oh, by the way “dudes,” check out the Chinese view of homosexuality.

Most people of common sense are migrating to Texas as I write. Shucks, Ireland put an Embassy in Austin. Toyota, Carl’s Jr, you name it. They’re all coming here, and Uncle Remus at 1600 Pennsylvania Ave. can’t seem to figure that out. The lines are being drawn, people. You can’t run away. Texas is the last bastion of liberty left. We don’t intend to sell it, or give it away. Yeah, yeah, yeah, Lone Star Beer and Moon Pies, but we have a real good time. Aaaaah SO!

Them and Us

MISTY

Them and us. Remember that, there’ll be a quiz later. Ask yourself, what do Stephen F. Austin and Brigham Young have in common?  What led the Mormons to the Salt Lake Valley was partly religious persecution, and partly a bad case of “Them and Us.” As a Texan, I can understand who “them” were. They were Americans, or the facsimile thereof. Brigham Young picked the most God awful place you could imagine. A lake you can’t drink, weather you have to endure, and inhabitants who didn’t want you there. All this, and the Mormons clawed an existence out of the desert that rivaled San Francisco.

Now, my regular readers know what I think of organized religion, but I shall summarize. We all have a “God Hole” in our head, and something has to fill it. I fill mine with whiskey, but some folks just gotta have ritual, rules, holy this and holy that, and that’s ok if it makes them feel good. Brother Young used the God Hole to keep the faithful on the straight and narrow, because in the high desert if you weren’t on the straight and narrow you’d find yourself under the sand in no time. In short, it worked. What happens in this country when a group of people find a system that works? Well, the Americans come and steal it, that’s what. “Manifest Destiny is just another term for non-consensual sex. In due time the army was dispatched to put the Mormons in their place. The Civil War intervened and eventually the LDS people traded surplus wives for statehood, got “Deseret” trimmed down to size and you have the Utah we see today. Still, from the Mormon point of view, them and us.

The Mormons have a very tight culture, and there is a difference between Mormon culture, and Mormon religion. After years of persecution, they are very suspicious of “them.” As they cling to their civilization they see the edges crumbling all around them, and they struggle to hold it together. If you will note, the Americans did not come calling until after Salt Lake City was built, and the industrious Mormons had turned a profit at the instructions of their “prophet.” Them never builds, they steal from us. Now, let’s move on.

Now, let’s take a trip to Texas. Again, bunch of people went to a hell of a place, carved out a life, fought a war, joined the “Union,” got trimmed down to size, and then it was them and us. Texas got a bigger screwing than Utah in that it was occupied under rules of defeat until C. J. Grisham mounted the Capitol steps in Austin and waved his gun at the governor, all legal, breaking the hold of the 1871 law forbidding Texans to protect themselves. Texas has an organized nationalist movement, a militia, a government in place for the republic, oil, cattle, tech, seaport, and all the Mexicans. Utah is different. Utah has no secession movement, no organization, and no “national” identity, but it does have a firm, family oriented foundation, and that puts them directly opposed to the American system of today, emphasizing them and us!

It is not what America was founded on, but what it has become that makes it an abomination to Mormons. And this is creeping into the state. Salt Lake City has a gay mayor. Just think about that. In a place where people don’t even drink coffee they have a pervert for a mayor. That tells you something about demographics. There are more perverts in Salt Lake City than there are Temple Mormons. Texas began the slide some time ago. Houston had a perv running the city, so we can’t talk, but Texas does have a solid core. Ask Wendy Davis how talking up abortion to a bunch of Mexican Catholics worked out for her in the last election.

Utah, and Texas have something in common. . . them and us. We have all been screwed by the Americans, or rather the perversion of America as we had come to understand it. In the ruins of Deseret and the Republic of Texas there is a remnant. Guess who speaks directly to that remnant? Donald Trump, because he, too, believes in America. He’s one of “us.”  Remember the Southern Strategy I told you about some time back? Well, just switch that to “Western Strategy.” You see the Trump train rides on the rails of righteous anger. The outrage of the people who are sick and tired of what “them” are doing to “us.”

And it doesn’t matter what the religion is. The right to run your own business, your state, have your family safe, your border secure, and know that you won’t get shot for trying to drive to the sheriff’s office is important to these people. To have a culture where it means something to be a member of a church, have no abortion clinics in town, no vets homeless while illegals collect welfare. . . those things mean something, and that’s what Trump is pounding home. Have you noticed that every time one of his rallies is protested by “them” there are suddenly more of “us” supporting Mr. Trump? His message just becomes louder. DUDES! He’s a New York real estate broker, he doesn’t care about your religion, unless you’re a Muslim, and frankly I agree with him.

It’s not just Texas and Utah. Practically every part of the nation has people who have struggled to make a better life for our kids only to have it taken from us to given to them. Them and us. Interesting note: During Jade Helm 15 both Utah, and Texas were designated “Hostile.” Jus’ sayin’. Also interesting in that the first blood to be shed in this fight was the blood of a Mormon, LeVoy Finicum. There is more to come.

We must all rally to Donald Trump’s call. We must stand with him. The Republican leadership will steal the nomination if they can. Utah, and Texas, and all real Americans need to double down, and get Trump nominated, and then show Hillary the door. Make America Great Again! Mr. Trump is taking attacks from all sides, and it’s all spin and lies because “them” knows that if he wins, “us” wins, and they can’t have that. That’ll be the end of the world bankers controlling congress, of the BLM stealing land, or the illegal immigrant welfare express and the insidious occupation of the New World Order. It will be the reinstatement of America. The America envisioned by the founding fathers, and cherished by “us.” Let’s show “them” the door.

Oh, what did Austin and Young have in common? Two things; they knew how to organize a nation, and they were both in real estate. So much for Rubio’s little crack about this not being a real estate deal. Like I said, it is a real estate deal. . . it’s called America! And America belongs to us, not them!

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

The Terminator

Not long ago I did a piece called, “Death by Cop 101.” I was addressing the Michael Brown case, and I drew upon the gunfight at the OK Corral. Believe it or not I actually studied that gunfight, from clips from the movie, Tombstone, all the way up to reviewing the actual coroner’s report concerning the incident. I was impressed by the professionalism of Wyatt Earp. While bullets were flying, he had the presence of mind to actually shove Ike Clanton out of the way because Clanton had opened his coat showing he was not armed, which was incredible because he was the very reason for the confrontation in the first place. Previous to this he’d been fined twenty-seven dollars for carrying a pistol within Tombstone in violation of a city ordinance. That’s right boys and girls, there were actually laws concerning the display of weapons even in the wild, wild west!

In this article I tried to explain the rules of engagement when you find yourself confronted by the Terminator while on the way to McDonald’s to pick up a happy meal. Well, Sandra Bland met this guy! Just in case you’re living under a big yellow rock and missed it you might as well meet this turd head:

Right up until she was asked to extinguish her cigarette, Sandra was irritated, but civil. For the untrained, Texas cops always tell you to put out the cigarette. I was told to put out a cigar once and questioned extensively about spit on the running board of my truck, whereupon I had to go through great lengths explaining about cigars and spitting. It’s a cop thing, I guess. Anyway, after that request, and Sandra’s subsequent questioning about why she had to put out her smoke in her own car, the officer goes from zero to sixty in about a second, threatening to “light her up,” and pulling her out of the car. As she protests and recites all those things you’ve no doubt heard on YouTube about your “rights” he kicks her butt, breaks her arm, and when informed that she had a medical condition, he puts his knee in her back and says, “Good!” Why did this have to happen in Texas? The Yankees already think we’re a bunch of nuts.

Sandy made key errors. I couldn’t make out the license plate on her car, but seeing as she was from Chicago they were most likely Illinois plates. Combine that with her complexion, and that smart mouth and there you go! Now, I’m gonna rag on this cop, Ok, but Sandy helped. Sandra had a mindset. She was an activist. She was very aware of white privilege and in social injustice perpetrated on blacks thereof. She made videos about it, I’ve watched them all. There’s a Texas term called “borrowing trouble.” That’s where you have an expectation of a situation and when it seems to become a self-fulfilling prophesy you go off like a bazooka. Sandra was a firecracker. And don’t get me wrong, I LIKE a woman with a smart mouth, but NOT when confronting a DPS officers whose compadres arrest citizens for carrying a banana in a gun holster.

The situation degraded, and a simple traffic stop became a beat down and eventual arrest. Sandra broke protocol, lost her temper, and paid the price. To put it simply, why should there be a procedure for dealing with cops in the first place? Why do citizens have to study classes to learn how NOT to get shot while receiving a warning ticket for an improper lane change? Look at the mindset. Ike Clanton, Sandra Bland. Wyatt didn’t shoot Ike, and he HATED him. The militarization of police have given us the need for “procedure.” When you are pulled over by a cop you can forget about that Bill of Rights. Arguing law with a beat cop will get you, well, BEAT! That’s why they’re called “beat” cops. Yeah, yeah, yeah, it’s wrong, yeah, it’s racist, and no, there ain’t no Santa Claus! Get over it!

So, they take her down to to calaboose, and put her in a cell COMPLETE with a trash can liner. Trash can? In a jail cell? What the hell did she have to throw away? When I was in county I was lucky to get a BLANKET! She languishes for three days. On the third day she refuses her breakfast. Red Flag right there. If you’re in county there is good news and bad news. The good news is the food is horrible. The bad news is there isn’t enough to go around. NOBODY refuses breakfast, unless they have a mental problem. Sandra Bland, political activist from Chicago, a thousand miles from home, working at a college, sat in her cell for three days watching her life disintegrate, all hope generated by her new job, which was why she was in Texas in the FIRST place, evaporating before her very eyes, after reading her Bible, did what a lot of people do when they perceive they are at the end of their rope. She found another rope to get at the end of! As a Texas Nationalist i WANT people to come to Texas and start a new life. I WANT them to find a good job. Why was she alone in her cell? Don’t TELL me there weren’t other people in jail. She was alone with her thoughts with no smokes, no coffee, and no conversation for three days as she fell into a pit from which she saw no way out.

The beat down is another thing. Pretty girl in a Maxie dress. Cop wasn’t man enough to handcuff her withOUT breaking her arm? She wasn’t “compliant?” “I’m gonna light you up, put out your cigarette, GOOD!” Gee, wonder why Sandy was having a bad hair day? I’m a conservative, but I can’t WAIT for the right wing spin on THIS one! Here’s my spin. Cop wasn’t Wyatt! Matter of fact, he’d have to stand on his mother’s shoulders to kiss Wyatt’s butt! Do the math. A simple warning ticket would have taken about ten minutes. The cop CHOSE to extend this fifty-two minutes. I’ve ridden with cops. Tickets. Garbage in, garbage out, and they DO have quotas! Barney could have written three or four more tickets in the time he took to jack with one woman who had a cigarette. And if that’s not racist I’m not a white boy from Austin!

We Texans will pay for Sandra. This will make Trayvon Martin and Michael Brown look like a walk in the park. Obama may get a third term out of this and we don’t HAVE to secede, they’ll THROW us out! Not all cops are bad, but when we Texans come up with one it’s a hum dinger!! And they’re out there folks. God I’m glad we have open carry down here now because, as the Terminator said, “I’ll be back!”

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

Don’t Mess With Texas

Had a most interesting dialog this weekend with some people. I had fallen into a group on Facebook that presented themselves as “global citizens.” Being a Texan, and not so worldly, I fell into the trap of accepting their wisdom via the fact that they were from such exotic places such as India, England and any place other than Texas. Hey, I’m human, and I drink too much at times.

So, let’s examine the credibility of such personages as opposed to a simple old boy from Austin, shall we? First, and foremost, in order to discredit a fool, such as myself, the charge of racist must be employed. Get your notes out there will be a quiz later. Charges of racisms are the replacement of logic, and sound argument with mental masturbation. Write that down. When someone, such as myself constructs a logic that is supported by evidence that cannot be refuted, the more “worldly” adversary retreats to the charge of racism, and their followers and associates begin to flog themselves feverishly in total acceptance of this “universal” truth.

After I left the group the site still remained on my iPad. During the following evening I looked at the membership, something I hadn’t done previous to this. I think there were about three or four white boys in the crowd, myself being one, and all the other names were, well, shall we say, not Irish. Racist enough for you? And the charge of racism is not the only brick in the wall. I seriously doubt that any of these over five hundred esteemed scholars had ever been to Texas, but they knew all about it! Texans are a bunch of redneck cowboys, riding horses and shooting their way out of bars, dragging every black person they can behind a pickup truck as the ghost of Judge Roy Bean laughs with fiendish glee from the infernal regions. Yeah, that sounds about right. Seems they completely overlooked the University of Texas, the Baylor Medical Center and the Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders.

Now, I wish to admit that I made a few statements which proceeded from a wine glass more than my intellect, and I will confess that these statements were inflammatory. Reference Miss Pamela Geller. Yeah, I’m gonna go there. For those of you who have been living under a big yellow rock, Miss Geller set up an art contest to draw, you guessed it, MOHAMMED! Now this drew the ire of certain, shall we say, “Adherents” to the faith, whereupon two of these noble men took it upon themselves to drive all the way to Texas with machine guns, where Miss Geller had apparently arranged a welcoming party who promptly blew their brains out. Right after that a couple of Mosques got incinerated in Houston, and I made the mistake of admitting openly that there is at least a possibility that we Texans approved of these actions. Well, get your prayer rugs out because we DO! I stand by my statement.

The debate began when a friend, Peter Ehlers, put up an article about some “cleric” over in Stupidstan who wanted the police to enforce some Islamic law forcing women to wear this silly bag over their heads. Now we have a cultural thing here. To a Muslim putting a bag over a woman’s head may be a holy thing, and I’m not saying it doesn’t have its place, but when a Texan puts a bag over a woman’s head it has a whole different connotation. As a matter of fact I’ve known some “two baggers” in my time, but the placement of such things has little to do with religion. You don’t bag up a pretty girl, my neck isn’t that red!

The entire debate centered on my statement, completely ignoring the original premise, opting instead upon discussing the fact that I wasn’t in sack cloth, pouring ashes over my head, grieving for those poor dead homies up in Garland! You’d have thought someone had thrown a Big Mac into a pool filled with piranhas! And there’s no reasoning with these people. Here we have a couple of women who most likely have never been farther than the local fish market railing against me, and after listening to this nonsense I began to understand why Muslims wish to put bags over their heads. A little Duct tape might be appropriate, too. Anyway, I left the group as the occupants massaged themselves having rid their area of yet one more “Infidel.”

Ok, these people are a flock of fools! They base their entire world view on a man who claimed he rode a winged horse to heaven. You can’t make this stuff up. You have women being degraded in such a manner that would get you SHOT in Texas, and their women LIKE it! If I ever tried to put a bag over Frenchi’s head she would shoot me mercifully behind my left ear.

In conclusion I’d like to admit that I was wrong. I mistook these people as having a frontal lobe. Hey, it happens. I should have fallen back on time honored terminology from men much wiser than myself. Something so profound that it cannot be discounted. Words inscribed upon signs, walls and the hearts of my people far and wide. Something where the language is so direct that even goats can comprehend it. Something those two guys in Garland fully understood right before getting their seventy-two virgins. DON’T MESS WITH TEXAS!
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

White Trash and Skinny Texas Girls

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Stand Up

Let’s guys be frank. You ladies can be Francine. We Texans look like a bunch of tin foil whackos to most of the country. No, we really do. I think a little perspective is required here. Now I’m going to say some things that some of you won’t agree with, but let me ask you a question. Do you really want a free and independent Texas, or are we just gonna just have one big beer party, and sit behind our keyboards and bitch? That having been asked, I’m probably the biggest keyboard bitcher of all, so that’s really the pot calling the kettle black. Oh, I’ve got excuses, grand kids, my legs, money, weather, gasoline, I’ve got it all, but to be honest I’d have to stand on my mother’ shoulders to kiss someone like Micha Cambo’s ass, I’ll be honest, so don’t take my words personally. We’ve all fallen short of the glory.

There is a growing percentage of Texans who would rather NOT have that American flag flying above the Capitol. Not because we don’t have reverence for what it stands, oh, my bad, STOOD for, but because we’d just like to get up in the morning with freedom of speech, ALL our wages in our pockets, our self defense in tact, and our daughters and grand daughters NOT being raped by some CPS caseworker. Wouldn’t it be loverly? And our opposition is profound. Just last night I put up a picture on Facebook. My group of rowdy friends had a field day with it. It showed CJ Grisham, standing in the Capitol Rotunda, grinning like a fox in a hen house, and behind and to his left was the most sour-faced school ma’arm I’ve ever seen in my life! Hey, I crappith thee not, this was one pissed off, ugly bitch, and I’m being conservative here. She was a member of a group called “Mothers For Gun Sense In America.” Do you remember Miss Hathaway on the Beverly Hillbillies? Well, she looked like that, but Nancy Culp was an actress. She was PAID to look like that! This woman was all upset because she didn’t get to usurp the constitution of the United States. Her organization puts up endless stories on the Internet about some nine year old shooting some five year old with daddy’s gun that was left out on the kitchen table, and their answer to the problem is to leave us all defenseless before every criminal who ever smoked a meth pipe. Never mind the kitchen knives, rat poison, medications, and keys left in the car that happens ever year with tragic results, GUNS are the problem. Now, being nieve is forgivable for a woman, but nieve AND ugly I cannot abide.

All that having been said, this idiot has one thing on most of us. She showed UP! She, and a contingent of like minded old bats lined up, and gave a long, pre-written monolog to the senators, with a blank left to insert their name, in the hope of stopping the Open Carry legislation that was wearing out horses approaching the floor, and if not for the Herculean efforts of CJ, and others like him we would have lost the right to carry a POCKET KNIFE. I’d have to stand on my mother’s shoulders to kiss HIS ass, too, by the way.

What CJ has done is invaded the sacred domain of the State House. He threw open the windows and let fresh air blow in, and the mindless, liberal droning was overcome by the rushing winds of liberty. Liberals don’t like that. They want men marrying men, women marrying women, dogs marrying cats, and a dead baby in every dumpster. They want Mikey Cyrus twerking with some girly-man right in front of your little girl, but will expel her from school if she says out loud that she doesn’t like President Obama. They want to provide that same little girl with a free abortion without your knowledge, and then talking her into a same sex relationship, and forget about God . . . Allah is the one true god, and Obama, I mean Mohammed is his profit, er, prophet! THIS is what we’re up against! Well, I don’t buy into this crap. MY grandchildren were in a flag drawing contest, came home to eat AMERICAN hot dogs, and watch “American Sniper,” last Friday, and cheered every single time a Muslim bit the sand!

The liberals only defense is to make us look like a bunch of tin foil wearing right wing nuts. By attacking everything real Americans hold sacred. they construct a norm. Flag waving, Bible believing Americans are ridiculed, while turban wearing pedophiles are held up as pillars of society, Hitler once said that if you are going to tell a lie, tell a big one, and if you repeat it enough it will become “truth!” You want to see those “truths” in action? Well dig this! The constitution is not valid when held up against Sharia Law, and must be supplanted in those cases involving Muslims. Criminals invading our country are really undocumented immigrants, and must be afforded the same rights as citizens. Homosexual relationships are healthy, and churches must bless them no matter what their basic tenants of faith are, and executive orders pre-empt Congress in all matters if the Congress, i.e. the PEOPLE should disagree with the philosophy of the White House, and you know I’m not making this up!

When people start talking about outlandish theories of Reptilians invading the population, supposed military training exercises setting us up for martial law, and the President’s wife being a man our credibility goes right down the drain. Then the snipers in Waco open fire and the grim light of reality shines to the glee of the Liberals who are the nemesis of everything holy, everything decent, everything AMERICAN! Well, we won THIS battle, but there are many more to come. The police do not need to be disarmed, they need to be equalized. We can no longer afford a class that is hands above the citizens simply because they are armed and shout louder than the rest of us. Surprisingly this will not affect good cops. An armed citizenry doesn’t bother an honest man at all, it worries bullies!

BE active. BE there when “Miss Hathaway shows up. BE there when some CPS worker wrenches a screaming baby from a mothers arms. BE Texas! Don’t be afraid. If you don’t believe in secession then stand up for that American flag, but by GOD stand UP for it! My son, Master Chief Wilbur William Witt III has stood up for that flag EIGHT times. Don’t be politically correct. Correctness is what WE say it is, not some homosexual comedian out in LA. God is who WE say He is, not some camel jockey who likes to kiss little boys, and America is what WE say it is, not some guy who won his last election simply because his skin was darker than his opponent’s! Always remember, there are more of US than there are or THEM. And NSA, now you’ve tasted my mutton . . . how do you like it, huh?

http://www.patrioticwarriors.com

#mothersgunsense #opencarry #consitution