Miss The Ice Berg

In my book, Sharon, there is a discourse between the preacher, John, and his music minister, Robert. He and Robert are eating burgers in a park, and Robert talks about how the hamburger actually came to be in Athens, Texas. Then he expounded about how the sandwich evolved down to what we have today, which is the mass produced, tasteless entity we eat without a second thought. From there he talked about Saint Paul’s version of the gospel, and how when the churches got involved that Christianity filtered down from a new and inovative idea to, “Just plain ol’ McDonalds!”

Political parties are like that. When the country started “party” was not a central issue. Oh, sure, there were groups of people who thought alike, but there was no idea of an established line where you had to think like this, or like that. People just looked at the issues and voted along the lines of what they really thought. Now we have, “Just plain ol’ McDonalds!” Theres no real difference in taste between a Whataburger and Burger King, and there’s no real difference between the Republican and Democratic Parties! 

That’s why we have RINOs. The fact is anyone can  SAY they are a Republican, but sadly most of our so called Republicans aren’t Republican at all. They are Democrats in Republican clothing. Back when I was in high school Mr. Cole, my civics teacher told us that Democrats were for the unions and Republicans were for the management. Working people or business people.  It was no deeper than that. And he didn’t care which one you were so long as you knew WHAT you were. Some of us took Business Math, and some of us went to shop class.We all knew we needed both sides if the system was going to work. 

Somehow capitalists became the bogey man. The idea that someone could take a dollar, turn it into two dollars, give a bit to the workers who helped that happen, and take the rest and make more dollars was demonized. Remember that article I wrote last week? Well, song remains the same. When you say something is bad long enough it will become bad, or at least look bad. Bill Gates is not a clever kid who came up with an idea that I’m using right now to write this and you are using to read it, he is a monster who kills little babies and want’s to dominate the world! 

The problem is that the Republicans, the old guard that leveled the playing field has lost its savor. What was is Jesus said? Oh, yes, if the salt loses its savor what good is it. Is it still salt, or just “Plain ol’ McDonalds?” People like to see the wheels grind, and they don’t like squeaks. As long as the political machine keeps on grinding most people will just keep on voting the same old way. The putocrats know this. Gregg Abbott knows that a large part of his draw is the simple fact that people have lives to live and will vote for him no matter what. He’s more Democrat that Wendy Davis and she’s too stupid to see it. He talks back to her with her own voice and she ends up arguing with herself. She’s going to lose people! People on crack in downtown Killeen know that. Children raised by wolves know that. The WOLVES know that!

What about third party options? Now watch me put in one of my famous lines guaranteed to pre-empt the Dam Good Times from printing this article, but I’m still going to say it. Fart in a hurricane! I believe in Kathie Glass, but she has hitched her wagon to a black hole, the Libertarian Party. The Libertarian Party convention was a fiasco. Without getting the entire gay alliance on my front lawn I would like to say that the in fighting about sex lives was just about as stupid as it gets. Who cares about that crap? We have babies with TB, a border that looks like the battle of the Alamo, a president who is doing everything possible to disassemble the constitution, and an Attorney General who would make Al Capone blush with shame and what did we get at the Libertarian Convention? A bunch of guys wanting to tip toe through the tulips! Texans don’t play that CRAP! This ain’t California! It will NEVER be California. Texas is Texas. 

We are not going to turn this ship of state around by putting up a bed sheet for a sail and hope for following seas people. We will change this mess when we all wake up and simply put people in office who are what they say they are. Just like Mr. Cole said. It doesn’t matter what you are but at least be honest about it. Gregg Abbott is a run of the mill politician who is status quo, and Wendy Davis is a fool! Sad to say, Kathie Glass IS the best choice, but she has an uphill climb. So why is she even trying? Because every little bit helps. Maybe, just MAYBE, a few congressmen and senators will hear the call, and slowly, but surely the ship will turn, not all a once, but turn! If the Titanic had changed course just one degree it might have missed that ice berg. Let’s miss the ice berg!  

No Means No, Yes Means Yes, and I Have a Headache Still Means the Same Ol' Thing

I just love it when the government tries to legislate sex. California just came up with a law where they have abandoned the “No means no,” program, and instituted something they call, “Yes means yes.” Now, bear in mind, friends and neighbors, that this comes from a state where men marry men, women marry women and the sheep are nervous. I’ve always been a nerd when it comes to women. My mom told me she’d kill me if I ever hurt a good girl so my only come-on line was, “Will you marry me?” I’ve used that line a few times in my life. 

I could never pick up on the little “signals” that women are supposed to give when they’re in the mood. I’ve read all the articles, watched all the videos, but none of it works for me. That’s why I like Frenchi so much. She’s a no-nonsense kind of a Texas girl who drinks “Four Locos” and is very clear about where the evening is going. My kind of woman! The little subtle insinuations don’t work for me at all. Oh, I’ve heard about the old, “If she begins a conversation with you that means she’s interested,” and all that, but what if the girl is just asking for another beer? With me she has to sit in my lap and jump up and down. That’s a pretty good sign. 

So here we have a young college student in California (poor guy) at a party throwing back a few, sitting out under the palm trees, with girls all around. And brothers and sisters, these are CALIFORNIA girls! California girls are different. They all seem to look like the are auditioning for a role on the Disney Channel, you know, that time honored tribute to pedophilia we all try to ignore? And here comes, say, KIM. They all seem to have those trendy names, Kim, Brittney, Brooke, you know. Now Miss Kim has been at the party for about two hours and she’s gotten HERSELF drunk. And she got drunk for a reason. It releases her inhibitions. Alert the media! People drink so they can do things they wouldn’t normally do and lay it off on a Bud Lite. Drawn like a moth to a flame she zeros in on Brad (the guys have trendy names out there, too) and begins to “flutter her wings” doing that little sex dance that trendy girls do out in Cali. 

California girls are, well, bitches, ok. I’ve met a few, and I had to take a twelve step program to get off of them because they’re all bi-polar, that is until they lace the evening with a few glasses of wine, then they become “half-woman.” Now, “half-woman” is a creature where they look like a woman, they act like a woman, but they’re like a used car salesman who will entice you with a good deal and you drive off with a lemon. I met one at a winery. She drank all the free wine, walked around with a gown that would melt the wax off a Dixie Cup at one hundred yards, and by the time she climbed into the limo (more free drinks) and sat by me I thought she was a girl. Well, I was wrong! “No means No, Yes means Yes,” and “Get outta my face means you just snuggled up to a barracuda! I got my “Simple Ol’ Boy” feelings hurt REAL bad! I be like, “You act like a girl, you smell like a girl, why don’t the gown come off, honey?”

So, anyway, here’s Brad, drunk, with Kim, equally drunk, and they find themselves to an upper room, and friends, they’re NOT going up there for the Last Supper. One thing leads to another and the next day Kim wakes up wearing Brad’s shirt! What’s a girl to do? Naturally her memory is a bit cloudy, but then, so is Brad’s. After the required amount of guilt trip she trots down to the police department and spills her guts to the cops, how she was passed out and Nasty ol’ Brad  took clever  advantage of her of her fresh, young body!  Brad goes to jail, makes bail, and ends up in court trying to explain to a jury the intricate details of seducing a girl who, in spite of being drunk, found her way to a bed room, in a strange house, and somehow got her clothes off, and Brad’s shirt ON! Of course you know the rest. It’ll all end up on CNN, with one of those hottie reporters looking all disturbed about the event, and the Mothers against anything normal will rail against ALL men, and guns of course (how did THAT get in there) and Brad’s life will be forever changed. 

For our young scholars out there, girls ALWAYS say, “No!” It’s the inflection you have to pay attention to. There is a vast gulf between, “DON’T! STOP!” and,”Don’t stop!” And California trying to legislate the the bedroom is just about right for the land of fruits and nuts. Now, I know a lot of women will flip out at what I’m saying but sorry, that’s just the way it is. Anyway, that’s why I’m no good with women. It’s just too complicated negotiating your way through a liasion with some drunk girl who wakes up with a different personality the next morning. And, oh, yes, Brad’s husband divorces him over the whole thing!  

The Line in the Sand

The Line in the Sand

The republic of Texas is a fact. Even without seceding, Texas is beginning to operate as an independent, and free state. Even Gregg Abbott admits, in his own campaign ads, mind you, that over fifty California corporations have relocated to Texas, and that’s just California. They are coming here as if they are moving overseas because they recognize that there is something different about Texas. 

Uninformed people look at the Texas Nationalists as a fringe group, waving guns at the little girl down at Starbucks,but they miss the whole picture. What C. J. Grisham, and others, Terry Holcolm, Doc Green, Thomas Hagen, Johnny Johnson, and I could go on, and on, are doing is insinuating the constitution. They are putting the muscle back into the constitution so as to inform the public about what that document is all about. It is alarming that most young people do not understand the Constitution. The average man (or woman) on the street believes that Obama can  rescind the constitution, or that he has the power to execute orders at will and those orders will go around both the constitution, and indeed, the congress itself! This is dangerous. 

Free speech zones. Have you ever heard anything so ludicrous in your life? A pen that you have to step into in order to speak your mind. Not threaten, just affirm the freedom of speech guaranteed by the first amendment. Open carry. The second amendment IS open carry! The Texas law is so backwards it reeks. You can carry a rifle openly, but not a pistol? On what planet does that make any sense. If open carry were approved most people would not do it, but they COULD, and THAT in and of itself would assure the safety of those who chose not to. 

Our border. The constitution assures that the STATES have a right to defend the border. Not declare war, and send troops into another nation, but to protect the integrity of the border and keep unwanted invaders out! Illegal search and seizure.   The constitution specifically states that your property, your person, and your PAPERS are protected and that cannot be violated without due process from a court of LAW! But, we all know what happens if you try to stand on that fact. Some jack-booted gum shoe will shoot you in the hip for not wearing your seat belt. 

How do police have so much power. Well, it’s as plain as the nose on your face. They have guns! And we, as the public, cannot challenge their authority even when they are grossly breaking the law! We can't point, push, shoot, or even talk back when confronted by one of these mini Oberführers under penalty of summary executions. Darn right they don’t want us to have guns! Sheep don’t shoot back!

The Republic of Texas is the revitalization of all things American. You need to remember this simple fact. There are more of US than there are of THEM. I have watched people be killed, in the street by cops, while the neighborhood stands by and the most violent thing they do is raise their cell phones to make a video. The video goes up on FaceBook, and in due time just fades away. Just like our God given RIGHTS! 

Why do the police not like open carry. Because THEY open carry. THEY possess the power and the threat. Mao Ze Tung said, “Power comes out of the barrel of a gun,” and he was right! If the people have the guns then they have the power, and again, there are more of US than there are of THEM. 

Just think of it. The CPS can come into your home, ignoring your fourth amendment rights, kidnap your children, isn’t that a crime, destroy your marriage, (practicing law without a license)and they do it because they bring along a guy with a gun! And if you don’t think that can happen have I got a bridge for you! 

I saw a video from somewhere in South America. Some guy ran across a soccer field as a joke and the police ganged up and started pounding on him. Then, slowly, fans began to come out of the stands, and tried to stop the beating. Of course the police resorted to the loud yelling, waving of clubs, and all the rest, but more, and more fans began to hit the field until the police were running, even begging, as the people collected the man from the ground and gave the cops the pounding they so richly deserved. Those fans understood the constitution and they don’t even HAVE it! That’s because “rights” are God given. The founders of our nation did not say, “Ok, ya’ll can do this, or ya’ll can do that,” they AFFIRMED what they already knew! 

The Republic of Texas will thrive simply because people will not put UP with it anymore. This will change. Ask yourself this; when you are driving down the road, and a police car comes up behind you, do you feel protected, or intimidated? When you ARE pulled over because you KNOW you were speeding and the officer approaches, doesn’t it cross your mind that one wrong move may lead to your death? 

When C. J. was arrested on that country road long ago, the very fact that a cop pulled up and got OUT of his car was a red flag for him. He KNEW the system was skewed. Back in the day, when Texas was Texas, the cop would have pulled up along side of him and simply asked what he was doing. He would have said he was doing a hike with his son for the scouts. The cop would have made small talk, and moved on, because C. J. posed no threat! The officer in this case was a power drunk, out of control pig! But, God moves in mysterious ways. Had that never happened, ol’ C. J. would have just been one more Army retiree, working some job in Temple to supplement his retirement. C. J. is a Mormon. He believes in, “Pay, pray, and obey!) He is NOT a violent radical! As it was he became yet one more who was called upon to cross William Barrett Travis’ line in the sand. The Republic of Texas is a reality! Learn it, live it, LOVE it!

Simmonsville Waltz

Killeen

I have spent a good deal of time in Austin, but I was born in Shreveport and actually grew up in Killeen, Texas. There was this little section on town called Simmonsville. Simmonsville was started by an old man named Simmons. I think it was the city dump for a while, in fact I’m sure of it because we used to play in the old dump site. I don’t think it was actually a town, but I don’t know.  There was this old Alamo looking thing that someone told me was the old Simmonsville City Hall, and it DID have jail house cells in the back, but who knows.

Growing up in Killeen was unique. Killeen is diversified. It started out as a rail head. The cattle would be loaded onto freight cars for the Santa Fe rail road and shipped up north. US 190 and I35 supposedly were the Chisolm Trail and the Good Night Loving Trail, but don’t quote me on that. You know how we Texans lie. It was originally called Palo Alto, or something like that, but a break man from the rail road named Frank Killeen got the dubious honor of having the little cow town renamed after him.

From about 1888 until the 1940’s absolutely NOTHING newsworthy ever happened in Killeen. Bonnie and Clyde didn’t even rob the bank there. They ran over to Temple and robbed there. Killeen was about as “PoDunk” as you could get. Then came Fort Hood. Fort Hood introduced something that Killeen never had. . . money! It seems that the land northwest of town was perfect for tank target practice, what with the large expanses of flat land, and the huge mesas that dotted the landscape. You could sit up there and pop rounds all day and all night and get fairly good at it. I remember when I was a little boy the sound of cannon fire was so common we took no notice of it. All but Miss Avery, my eighth grade home room teacher; she had a nervous breakdown.

By some miracle I made it through high school. I was never any good in school. The only thing I did well was write, but even that was looked down upon by my English teacher. I could never figure out why we had to take English in the first place. I mean, we already SPOKE English! Anyway, she told me I would never be able to communicate in the language of civilized people.  I never forgot that. It really stuck with me, so I began to write a book a year. Not a real book. I’d just buy one of those two hundred page spiral notebooks you get at Gibson’s, and fill up the pages with what I thought was a story. The last one I wrote was in my senior year. It was a masterpiece! I concocted this idea about a bomb at school. Now, bear in mind this is 1969. We had no mass shootings, no riots, no ISIS, nothing like that, but I had to come up with this story about a ticked off kid who set up a bomb to go off in the lunch room at straight up noon. The book was supposed to be half pre-blast, and half post-blast. Kids would pass my book around to the whole school, and by and by my little masterpiece found its way to the principle’s office.

Charles Patterson was the principle back then. I got called to the office and he started chewing on me about my book. Then, here came Charlie Mitchell, police chief, and two hundred pounds of pure Democrat. You see, the main problem with my book was the fact that my bomb would WORK! Being born in Louisiana, I knew all about blasting caps, dynamite, you know, things like that. And it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that if you connected wires to a lantern battery, and ran them to a blasting cap, set an old alarm clock to noon, with one wire on the striker, and the other on the bell, when the alarm went off the explosive would go off. Elementary! Well, to make a long story short, they took my book and beat my butt. Oh, forgot to tell you that. That’s WHY we never had riots, or mass shootings, or gangs. The teachers would beat you up.  Simple formula.

I never had a girl friend in school. Jody Tucker would sit with me at lunch, and I could never figure why, but I actually never went on a date. I did kiss Storm Stewart a couple times, but I didn’t know what to do after that, and she found someone who did. All the girls had to wear dresses, and all Texas girls were skinny. All but the Mexican girls. They looked pretty good, but there wasn’t any of that racial mix stuff going on so that was the end of that.

When we went to the drive in on Saturday night there was occasionally beer, but mostly chocolate milk and cookies. When there WAS a girl it was always a fight. That’s because it would be one girl and five or six of us boys. I just ate my cookies and kept my mouth shut. I think I was the only one who actually watched the movie. Oh, and by the way, we usually had ONE car. Our car belonged to Danny Mitchell. It was a ‘57 Chevy. But, you know, it seems there was a lot of room back then. Bench seats front and back. EVERYBODY smoked, well everybody buy Danny. We’d go tooling down the road with the windows down (air conditioning? Get a life!) and look like a Cheech and Chong movie.

Killeen evolved over the years. As much as I’ve traveled, and picked up on other towns around the country I still know where the best wings are in Killeen. That, and gizzards and livers. Seems everything we ate was full of grease, and would harden your arteries by the time you were fifty or so, and that’s nice ‘cause nothing else seems to get hard anymore. I wonder why that is? I mean, you arteries are hard, but. . . I digress.

I never see anyone I knew in high school. That’s fine with me because that way they’re forever young. Vicki Roberts is still on the student council taking up for Mr. Patterson, and Jody Tucker is still sharing her lunch with a poor kid from Simmonsville. As a songwriter, years later I wrote a song about those days. I never published it. Too personal. That way I keep all those things with me, forever. They never died. They never went to Vietnam. They never got divorced, and the drive in always looked the other way when they KNEW the trunk was full of kids.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RmzW3mAEk-A

Just Between Him and YOU

I have a friend up in Washington State, Robert, who is a devout Christian. Now this in and of itself is not necessarily a bad thing. He is forever chatting with me on the internet about his beliefs, citing various articles, and things the Pope says that he doesn’t agree with, and actually it’s quite exhilarating. Normally I will dodge deep religious debate. It always comes down to, “My invisible guy can beat up your invisible guy, but Robert is one of those who maintains his position without  getting too heavy. He don’t back up, mind you, but he will converse, and counter each point, quoting various scriptures to substantiate his argument, and I enjoy his discourse. 

My first book was called, “Sharon.” I wrote it back when I was a heavy Catholic, and originally I intended it to be a big display of the faith. Didn’t work out that way. As the book unfolded I kept hearing Jack Nicholson in my head saying, “There are other people in the room, Martini!” Catholicism is full of ritual and tradition. The idea is that while you’re sniffing incense and reciting “Hail Marys” you don’t have time to think very much. I can’t lay that solely on the Catholics though, because before I was Catholic I was a Southern Baptist, and we didn’t have a Rosary, but lord did we have a preacher! Being a Baptist is cool. You get “saved” and theoretically you go out and sin no more. RIGHT! Baptists don’t have confession, but they DO have a preacher, and when I took this apart in “Sharon” I began to see that all faiths seem to have a common thread. 

The book is about an evangelist preacher winding up the revival circuit when he meets this girl, Sharon, who is sitting in the second row. She lures him into a garden near a church and the book is the discourse between him them. She wears jeans, a tank top, and rides a little yellow scooter. And, oh yes, she’s cool. She never converts the preacher to the faith, but she does convert him to a higher level of understanding. She brings the reality of the Godhead to him in a way that astounds him, and actually astounded me when I wrote it. “Sharon” changes people when they read it, and she changed me!

After I wrote the book I began to ask questions. I began to real other works. Up until then I read the Bible exclusively. I had several versions, taught myself Greek, had audio tapes so I could listen while I was at work in my cable truck, I had BIBLE! Then I began to read works by other people. I read the Book of Mormon. Now before I launch into this please understand that I am a writer. I try to cover that fact with my “simple ol’ boy” mask, but I AM a writer. From way back in Nashville I have learned to work with words. I read and re-read what I write and edit until my fingers turn blue. My prose has a “sing-song” style, with the words working in sync, coming off the tongue smoothly. That’s because I’m a song writer. If you are a song writer long enough you learn that certain words and phrases “link up,” and others your tongue will stumble over. That’s why you can read some of my stuff and it flows like butter, and you read other blogs by other people and they may be saying the same thing, but the reading is like five miles of bad road. 

Anyway, I read the Book of Mormon, and while it was intricate, as a writer, I realized how Joseph Smith wrote it. I was impressed by the style, but I do not believe he got it from tablets he found buried in some hill up in New York. Just like an angel did not deliver “Sharon” to me. But, ask yourself, where does inspiration come from? Do you really think God grabs the hand of the writer and composes scripture, or is it something more. The Bible says we were created in the image of God. But what is that image? Obviously I’m not very “God like.” Could it be that there is a great intellect out there somewhere, and somehow, some way, we are in sync with that force, and the more attuned to that entity the more like it we become? Could it be the writers of any religious work strive toward understanding that sync, and the closer you get to it the more you relate not only to it, but to humanity itself? And the common messages are almost always the same! Doc Greene is as Christian as they come, but he is very fold of quoting Jesus telling his followers to sell their cloak and buy a sword. Mohammed would fight at the drop of a hat, defending his crowd, and like it or not, Joseph Smith died in a blazing gun battle, and brothers and sisters, he did NOT die praying! That’s because that entity out there that GAVE you life, also gave you the desire to PRESERVE that life. Common thread right there! And there is also a common denial that runs through all faiths. Brigham Young led the Mormons to the Great Salt Lake with a Bible in one hand and the Book of Mormon in the other. Mohammed was a kind gentle soul who prayed five times a day, and my great, great, great, grand uncle Silas never fired a gun in his life. Well. . . sure! Trouble is it won’t go ‘round in circles. Brigham had an old boy called “Porter”  who enforced the will of the Prophet at request, Mohammed would make war on entire tribes, and uncle Silas was a Baptist Preacher AND a mercenary who would shoot ‘em, bless ‘em, and bury ‘em whenever the need arose. 

But, does that all mean that God is not there? Certainly not, and that’s what “Sharon” taught the preacher! No one with any measure of common sense can look at a leaf and not realize said leave did NOT construct itself! The Apostle Paul points this out in Romans. Simply by looking up at the night sky you condemn yourself! Even the atheist realizes this, though he will not admit it. There IS a great “I AM” out there and the proof of that is because “YOU ARE!” All “scripture” is filtered through the human intellect, and that intellect is striving to “sync” with the ultimate intellect that originated it all. To divorce it from the understanding of man is to deny the truth. 

Jesus was an exception. I’ve read countless commentaries trying to psychoanalyze Jesus Christ, and none of them work. He was very simply the real deal. He never wrote a line. His public career spanned only three years. He had no “P.R” department and no sound crew, yet he sole completely ticked off the high priest that the Pharisees moved heaven and earth (please excuse the pun) to get Him OUT of the picture.  Only problem is that after over two thousand years it can’t be proven that Jesus didn’t get up one Sunday morning and just walk out of His grave like he had good sense! Pretty good for carpenter’s kid from the projects if you ask me. But Jesus accepted everyone. Romans, Samaritans, men, women, sick folks, rich folks, poor folks, and was fond of saying, “If they are not against us, they are FOR us!” The only time He ever showed anger was when he found pawn shops in the Temple. He believed in the separation of church and state, and he likes a good glass of wine on occasion. I find it indicative that from Mohammed to Joseph Smith, the understanding of just who or WHAT Jesus was is central to their theme. They canNOT ignore Him! Could it be, quite possibly, that Jesus was that intellect they are all trying to sync with?

This is where I differ from Robert. Robert is that brand of Christian that believes that Jesus is best served as a bitter pill, rather than a tonic. If Jesus IS God, then He is the god of ALL. Different understandings, or interpretations do not suspend that fact. Mormons can thumb through that Book of Mormon, Christians can pound that Bible, and Muslims can pour over that Qu’ran until their eyes turn red, and Jesus is still THERE! I, myself, cannot deny Him. And not because I’m a lame brain Bible thumper, like the members of the Westboro Baptist Church, but because I’ve got COMMON SENSE! I see Him in all things, but I believe that other believers, in other faiths see Him too. They just don’t see Him as I see Him. 

Anyone, anywhere, can take a book, written for the edification of man and twist and pervert it to their own ends. Individuals of different faiths can pound on each other until the walk away in exasperation, but the existence of God is paramount. We all  cross over that line between life and death, kicking, screaming, and struggling for breath, just as we did when we came into this world, and arrive at the ultimate realization of the reality of that “intellect” I spoke of earlier, and I’ll assure you, it will be not like anything you imagined before. And no Pope, or Imam, or Prophet can do that for you.  It’ll be just between Him and YOU!

Warm Fuzzies and Hot Words

     With France looking for the killers of one of their own the ISIS Crisis is traveling right down the same well worn path that all other basket case religions have found themselves on down through the centuries. It seems that the world has finally come to its milk concerning this group of rag head philosophers, and what they really represent. I did an article a couple days ago where I explained what extremists really are, but last night I was doing a little light reading in my Qu’ran, and came upon this: In Sura II v 11 it states, “When it is said to them, ‘Make not mischief on the earth,’ They say, ‘Why. We only want to make peace.”

     One of the continuing arguments pro and con concerning Islam is the designation of it as the “Religion of Peace.” Proponents of the faith maintain that the very word, “Islam” means “submission,” and opponents count heads and claim that the  adherents are all raging fanatics bent on destroying Western culture and implementing Sharia Law world wide.  As I have said before, all religions have their nut jobs tooling around in the shadows. I used the Westboro Baptist Church for an example, but there are many more. From snake kissers in Arkansas to sex cults out in good ol’ Cali, when you push the religion button they all come OUT of the shadows and CNN is waiting with baited breath to give them their fifteen minutes of fame. 

I think Mohammed nailed it pretty good with the above quote. Hey, dudes and dudettes, even a stopped watch is right twice a day! I probably need to translate it a bit for the folks here in Killeen: “If you be like chillin’, why you  so bent, me homie?” Little logistics for ISIS; you are not going to conquer the world by lobbing off a couple heads. I mean, that impresses the goats back in the old village,  but after the entire world drops a few tons on bombs on you I think you’ll begin to see the light. Uh, flashing LOUD lights. And DUDES, even the Saudis are dropping bombs on you. And FRANCE? C’mon! You ticked off FRANCE? About the most aggressive thing France has done in the last hundred years is perfect the condom!

It comes as  no surprise to me that fanatics can cherry pick words out of some book to justify their actions. I get a laugh when I debate with fundamentalist Christians, and they pick and choose phrases from the Bible, and I make a sound case for polygamy straight out of the letters of Saint Paul! It’s right there in 1 Timothy, 3:2. Read it and weep! You have to look at the reason the words were written in the first place. Mohammed was working with a people who routinely killed a first born child IF said child were a girl. Oh, and they were a bunch of drunks, too. Paul came from at the Middle East. Anybody ever hear of a harem? Hmmmmmm? Paul was a Pharisee. He walked all the way to Rome, with all its open baths and gay sex. The prophets ate locusts, while people danced naked in the streets. Now, you take all that, and try to write a “holy” book and NOT get your head chopped off. Didn’t work out for Paul. Didn’t work out for Mohammed, and depending on which side of the isle you sit in church it either did or didn’t work out for Jesus, either! Swat them bees, swat them bees!

Even Joseph Smith and his little contribution to society, in the end got all twisted up and shot. I’ve read them all, and I see one common thread. You simply cannot get a large group of people to accept your words unless the majority of those people find something fundamentally good in those words. If it don’t deliver a warm fuzzy it won’t go ‘round in circles. And religion will organize, that the nature of the gig. But, there’s always a very small group, usually led by one guy, who takes SOME of those words and rationalizes his greed, depravity, or psychosis. Then, off comes the heads, off comes the little girls’ dresses. Happens EVERY time! Society in general will finally seize on these idiots and put an end to the whole sorry mess, but out there, back in those shadows I told you about is someone pouring over the words of the Qu’ran, the Bible, or Book of Mormon, conjuring up a recipe for our next great adventure in the basic depravity of man. Peace, Shalom, Be Cool, and all the other blessings I can send you.

Demonization

When you demonize something it takes on a life of its own. The demonization feeds on itself until the original purpose is obscured and all that is left is the false image created by the skewed view of the person, or persons originally seen through the foggy glass of demonization. In World War II the Japanese were the target of this technique. I hate to be the one to tell you but there just isn’t any nice way to kill people. And most people simply can’t do it. A study has shown that a very large percentage of soldiers in the Civil War fired their rifles up into the air because they simply could not kill another American. So how do you fix this? Well, first of all it helps if the other guys don’t look like you. Take Japanese for example. They were portrayed as animalistic. Their eyes were a little more squinty, their teeth a little larger, and their accent a little more childish. Forget that Japanese women are among the most beautiful in the world. Forget that their religion is among the most cultured mankind has ever seen. They were painted as unfeeling monkeys.  This mindset was so profound that Japanese Americans were incarcerated in camps simply because of their ancestry. It didn’t matter that their families came here in the 1800’s and helped build railroads spanning the continent. They were JAPS! 

So it is now with Arabs. For years the followers of Islam were viewed as simply a religion from “over there,” and most, if not all Americans didn’t know, and did not want to know anything about them, or their customs. When I first got into real estate I would routinely greet people from the Middle East with the words, “Allah is great, in that He gives us opportunity to prosper.” Osama Bin Laden came along and changed all that. And now we have ISIS. These fanatics pervert the Qu’ran to their own ends, which folks, all boils down to money, and the result is the demonization of all Arabs. They are a little darker, a little more crude, a little more fanatic, and every time a head comes off they are all killers of mankind. Never mind that one of the core briefs of Islam is that if you kill anyone without cause you are guilty of the murder of everyone. Never mind that it is tradition that when they leave the Mosque they must have coins in their pockets to give to beggars on the steps, even if it’s only a nickel, because they believe Allah hears he poor man’s prayer before the rich man. They are demonized and the insane ramblings of a few malcontents become the standard by which all Arabs are judged. 

Now, I may be wrong here, but hear me out. Mohammed could fight. That boy could make war in a New York minute, but I have read his history, and it’s full of war, yet I can find nowhere that he killed a child. The Taliban shot a fourteen year old girl in the face for teaching other little girls to read and completely ignored  Mohammed’s own daughter, who helped preserve his words in the Qu’ran! All “holy” books get misused. You think ISIS is crazy? Try dropping by the Westboro Baptist Church some Sunday morning. You think they wouldn’t burn people at the stake if they thought they could get away with it? They wave their Bibles and spout hate and completely ignore the fact that nowhere in that book is an instance of Jesus ever disrupting a funeral. The most disruption He ever did was waking up the deceased and sending him on his way. 

President Obama pulled off something last night that positively amazed me. The Saudis participated in an attack on Syria to strike a blow at ISIS! Now they didn’t lead the charge, they’re not up to our abilities, but they were THERE! They drew a line in the sand and said, “ENOUGH!” Quite a few other Arab states came to the party also. They are tired of that kind of nonsense. The tourist sites of the Persian Gulf are some of the finest in the world, and there’s no reason the Middle East can’t all be like that, except for a few illiterate perverts who won’t work and pursue their own twisted desires. 

No group is totally evil. Religion is man’s effort to raise himself above the apes, and live in harmony with nature. God reveals Himself to man in many different ways, and God is always good! Why would an all knowing God create man if His intent was to torture him? Think about that. Why would He make flowers, sunny days, and beautiful women, and then turn around and tell someone to cut a reporter’s head off because he is a westerner? I have a difference of opinion with Islam. I believe Jesus was exactly what He said he was, but Jesus never advocated war with any religion or sect. He even got along with the freaking Romans! He advocated paying taxes to the occupiers of his own country. Saint Paul did the same. God is bigger than a book, any book. Theology is just man’s effort to explain the unexplainable. 

When this current craziness is over, and the world turns it’s attention to other things, the Arabs will still be there, praying on their silly little rugs, all facing Mecca. The oil will still flow, and hopefully the Middle East will return to a land of lavish hotels, vast beaches, and quaint people who welcome tourists with open arms. Kinda like them Japanese fellers, huh?

GrandPeople

Grandpeople populate my life. I have them scattered all over the country, but five are most important because they are right here with me. Jackie was very prolific. She had them every ten months, or every harvest moon, which ever came first. Once she got in the groove she began to have them two at  a time. Jackie could HAVE kids just fine. She just couldn’t KEEP kids! For some insane reason I idolized her. I stood by her through thick and thin. Couple little things I overlooked, though. The light of my life was a drug addicted little whore. CPS didn’t miss that one, however, and in due course they gave me a one hundred and twenty pound suppository! She finally has a sixth child and dropped that one off at a friend’s house. After a year or so the friend went to court and sued for adoption. Jackie  broke off her party long enough to run down to the courthouse and sign the papers.

So we were left with the other five.  I nickname all my grandkids. The youngest is called NewBaby because he was the last to be born in Jackie’s initial run. He’s the toughest because he’s the smallest.  He’s also the smartest. He has the ability to understand and use words that will amaze you. He’s also a task master liar! He sports two nicknames, the other being, “Hongry,” because he’s always hungry and most of his day is spent acquiring food. He’s very social and want’s to watch “T” with anyone who will sit with him. 

Next in line are the twins. I call them the “Sumos.” There’s a reason for this. They wrinkle their noses and will fight at the drop of a hat, a ball, a leaf, ANYTHING! They are also mechanically inclined. A toy, a radio, computer, vacuum cleaner, it doesn’t matter. If it can come apart the Sumos will figure it out. They also will confuse people as to their identity, and this goes for school, where when they get bored they will switch classes and the teachers will flip out. I have actually been called to school to identify them so they can be put back in the right class. I do it by looking them directly in the face. One’s head is slightly thinner than the other and we call him, “Skinny Head.” The Sumos are genuinely loving and find their way to my bed most every night. They get all excited at sun up because they get to go to school. They are attentive and interact with other children quite well, unless the other children want something they have laid claim to, at which time said unfortunate child will very quickly learn why we call them, “Sumos!” 

Then comes Bobby. Bobby really doesn’t have a nickname. Bobby is his birth name, but CPS always renames kids who are adopted out, even the ones who are picked up by family so we renamed him Justin. Well, he knew his real name was Bobby, and his new name was Justin so he calls himself, “Just a Bobby!” Bobby is very smart and sensitive. He’s getting up to that age where he watches after his little brothers and reports their activities ALL THE TIME! He likes to swipe a sip of coffee. I know, I know, but this is Texas, ok? He will dress you down in a heart beat, and the bad part is that most of the time he is right! When adults get bent out of shape, Just a Bobby will set things to right very fast. He controls everything will cool calm. Everything but big sister!

That brings us to PUCK! Puck is seven this year, going on twenty-seven. We don’t really know where the name, “Puck,” came from.  She just woke up one morning and informed us that her name was “Puck,” and the name stuck. She is a type one diabetic and that is her armor. When any crisis arises, i.e. food theft, she screams that she has to check her blood. Trump card! No matter what, you have to stop the presses and wait for her to check that blood. She prays for a low number because that equates to more food. And don’t try to lie to her. She has learned her numbers quite well and knows just what each one translates to. A fifty reading, for instance, works into a sandwich. She dreads a perfect reading. Tell her she’s one hundred and it will ruin her day. She is highly intelligent. When a teacher tried to force her to copy a sentence from the black board she complied. . . exactly BACKWARDS! Back to school we go, and the teacher tried to convince me Puck was possessed by the Devil! Hey, like I said, it’s TEXAS!

Most days I watch NewBaby, and we get along quite well. As long as the food and “T” don’t run out he’s cool. Weekends are the issue. Imagine all the above personalities at one time, and brothers and sisters, they are seven and UNDER! They bring new meaning to the word, “Constant!” Water and “Potty” are the two main things of the day. “I have to poop,” is a trump card that will get them into the house, all but Puck, who being a girl goes to the toilette whenever she needs to. Now the boys. . . well, like I said, this is Texas. They have a dog. He THOUGHT he was a bull dog until the Sumos fixed that, and now he’s a chiuaua. He snapped at a Sumo. Nothing serious, just a little tail pulling, but I caught the twins heading for the dog later with a pair of pliers. Don’t ask! The dog has since surrendered to simply living through the day and looking goofy. 

Water breaks are special. You HAVE to water kids, there are laws, but when you water THESE kids you wonder why! I’ve tried it all, from individual glasses, to big glass, jugs, ice with flavor on it and the ever present water hose. Nothing works. Always a fight. The trick is to keep the fight in the yard and not the  house. You never water a little Texan in the house. Don’t try to feed them there either! When you feed these kids you must “distance” them. Twice arm’s length is the standard, but Puck is special. She has an eight inch tongue and can hover over a plate, snapping the food like a lizard, sending the Sumos into a rage. They will start screaming, “Puck stole my FOOD,” while she shows you her empty hands and swallows the fry she just sucked up. She’s substantially larger than the twins, but there are TWO of them, and when both wrinkle their noses and get up she runs screaming, and God, she can scream! And she has articulate language. She will scream, “God help me, I don’t wanna die, or call 911,” in a grown woman’s voice. We have trained the neighbors, and they expect this. 

Years ago I worked at Sears. I took calls all  day, dispatching repair to customers all over the country and one day I got a call from an old lady in Memphis. Her washing machine was down and she had six “grand babies” to look after. She explained to me that her daughter had been killed by a drive by and she had taken the children to raise. I expressed my sympathy, and told her I would have her washer up in no time. Then I told her, “I know that’s hard looking after all those kids,” and she said something I’ll never forget. She said, “Wilbur, my daughter died years ago.  It’s true I’m getting up in years, and when they were little it was a bit rough. But I did it. I took care of them, now they take care of me!” That’s the way life is supposed to be. Jackie missed that. 

VIVA MEXICO

Obama doesn’t seem to have any problems bussing, or flying every illegal from whereEVER to locations all over the nation in his effort to house the huddled masses skipping over the border, yearning to live free. And Nancy PolwhatEVER chimes in talking about human beings, and children, and right and wrong. That is why I find the events over this last weekend do dad-burned FUNNY. One, count ‘em, ONE Mexican (yeah, yeah, yeah, I know he’s from Copperas Cove, Texas, but he’s NOT Irish, ok?) jumps the fence at the White House, and sprints to the door, gets IN, and lo and behold he is captured by the Secret Service AND he has, folded up in his pants, a POCKET KNIFE!!

The White House was emptied. We didn’t have to worry about Obama because, as usual, he wasn’t at work anyway, and the government shut DOWN for about forty-five minutes! ISIS is wiping tears out of their eyes laughing right now. Why didn’t Obama just give him a room at the White House? Anyway, this guy has PTSD, of course, was retired from Fort Hood (Oh GOD!) and has been running around the country looking for something stupid to do. Still, Mr. President, you’ve only had ONE fence jumper up there. Care to get a count of how many are tripping the light fantastic in Laredo right now? As long as it’s OUR Mexicans it’s perfectly fine, but when it’s YOUR Mexican, oh, HELL no! 

     I guess this guy is lucky he didn’t try to just drive up in the drive way, because we KNOW how that’ll turn out, now don’t we? Guess we’re going to have to suspend tours of the White House, or let tourists go where we know Obama will never be. . . like the Oval Office. Personally, I’m laughing my butt off.  I can just see all those Secret Service, talking into their sleeves, worried about some nurse crashing the gate because of a wrong turn, and  Pablo just JUMPS the fence, and takes off like he’s got good sense. I am proud that it took a Texan to do that. With the man being of Mexican decent, ex-army, from Copperas Cove, AND a disabled Vet, I don’t think this was an accident.  This had to come from GOD! With all the uproar caused by this I wonder what would happen if C J Grisham was to pull one of his gun walks up there? Oh, I’m just being facetious folks. VIVA MEXICO!

Garbage

     As we live we accumulate garbage. The problem with some garbage is that you get used to it. The garage you never got around to cleaning, the car that always has burger wrappers on the floor, the porch that’s never quite clean. And then there are people.  People can be garbage too. People that you have put up with through the years, be they so-called “friends” or family, or just aquaintences who drift into your life, and you never really know how they got there, they are just there!

     There is a sub-culture in this world. Useless human beings who make you sit back in amazement at how they even get along. They take and take, produce nothing, but they always have a mouth, and they always want to tell you how you need to run your life. They squat on property, won’t pay any bills, indeed, not even capable of feeding themselves, but they always seem to know where that “rock” is. And they have absolutely no moral compass. They invent “right” and “wrong” to fit any given situation, with their eye firmly on whatever Hedonistic pleasure they subscribe to at the time. These people are human garbage.

     And you feel bad. You think you can somehow “save” them, that they will find direction. You come to believe that one day the light of reason will shine from their eyes and all the years of depravity will just disappear, and they will become sound, productive members of society. This will never happen! The more you feed them, the more they take, and they will ride you to the ground and laugh in fiendish glee when you crumble, and then they just walk away to destroy something else, with their eyes steadily focused on their drug of choice, which is their only goal in life.

     The beautiful thing about human garbage is that it tends to take itself to the curb if you apply the right pressure. These people are NOT going to work. They are NOT going to pay any bills, and they are NOT going to have one redeeming thought in their heads. No plan outside of the next five minutes, the next puff of dope, the next sexual encounter. Once you convince garbage that there are no more goodies, it will take itself to the curb.

     Then you will wait and watch to see divine justice. You will never see it. You see, garbage operates on a different scale than humans. Garbage will live in your five bedroom mansion, but will live under a bridge, also. Where you and I would strive to better ourselves, move up, eat steak instead of toast, garbage doesn’t need food, or shelter, or goals. If they get them that’s all very fine, but it is not needed for garbage because the main thing garbage does is stink, and rot. If the garbage can cause you to stink and rot then it has achieved its primary goal in life. To destroy. To bring down. To perpetuate evil in every possible way it can, and then move on to another situation that it can burn down, and get more “rocks!”

     When you find garbage in your house throw it out. Walk away. Forget about trying to save it. You never will. I want to tell you a theory I have. When God told Noah to build the ark, He allowed Noah’s family on board. He drowned the garbage. Creatures without souls. I think a few of them got away. As Noah was repopulating the Earth, there was a little garbage drifting around, and we see their descendents to this very day. You see them all the time. Smoking crack pipes, burning towns down in defense of other garbage, stealing rather than purchasing, lining up at the welfare office, rather than the employment office, people like that.

     What does the city do when it picks up your garbage from the curb? Back in the day, it was taken outside the city limits and burned, forEVER! What does God do with garbage. He sends them outside the human limits and He burns THEM. . . forEVER! Because that’s what you do with garbage. You don’t culture it. You don’t imitate it. You don’t hope a rose bush will spring from it, because it never will. Garbage on rots, and stinks.

     It is said that God is love, and He is, but He is also a big ol’ load of common sense! He blesses those who bless Him and he curses those to curse Him. True, he purifies us like steel, but that’s only because those of us who are not garbage need to grow, and evolve, and move onto the next level. This world IS only passing, and we’re only here for a bit. The trick is to leave this world better than you found it. If you believe in the hereafter then you go onto a reward. If you do not believe in it, then at least leave a good taste in the world’s mouth so that other people can enjoy their brief stay because of something to did, or said, or wrote, but please. . . take out the garbage. Do not put up with those white tombs that Jesus spoke of.

     These are hard words, but they are here for a reason. There are more good people than bad. We need good people. We do not need garbage. You will never change garbage. Garbage is garbage. If you are reading my words, that act in itself shows that you are not garbage. Even if you do not agree with me, you have the light of reason within you.     

Black and White

     To hate someone solely for the color of their skin is insanity. To blindly side with someone solely for,the color of their shin is also insane! I don't believe I've seen that kind of blind racial hatred in years. In fact, even back in Louisiana, as a child, I did not see anyone who voiced that kind of hatred in public because they knew such a mindset had no substance. But, racial stereotypes abound, and they have no limits. When a stereotype is expounded you never know will accept them as gospel. Even the people the stereotype seeks to categorize! 

     The Hip Hop culture is a prime example of this. Instead of striving toward a goal of a better life through education, hard work, and just plain old common decency, the sub culture chooses to exemplify the low, the ignorant, the base. Degradation of women, bastardization of the language, abandonment of any sign of morality. Taking "music" that has no redeeming value whatsoever, and using the power of mass production and the defensiveness of the adolescence to turn a dollar and call trash hits! 

     The kids begin to accept "Bizarro" world view, even to the point of calling themselves a term that if my Ma-maw had heard coming  out of me, would have washed my mouth out with soap, and she had lye soap back then. Lye soap will cure a lie, believe me. On the exact opposite end of the spectrum are the liberals who will accept just about anything so long as a black person said it. They never stop to realize the people they try to hold up hate them just as much  as they hate a Klansman down in Alabama. (Are any of those guys even still around?) 

     When a black voice of reason rises above the babble of the rappers they are attacked, basically being told to know their place, shut up, stop trying to be white. But those voices will not be silenced! Voices like Dr King, the Reverend John David Manning, and the Apostle Claver. Their voices reverberate and will rise above the cauldron of racial division perpetuated by Jesse Jackson, Al Sharpton, and Barak Obama! 

     Appreciating differences in people is not bad. It can even be humorous at times. When I grew up in Texas we were so poor we thought the people on welfare had government jobs because they had a check. But I didn't STAY in Simmonsville. Like all my friends,  I thought The world was flat because when people left Simmonsville they never came back. This should be the goal of every kid born into poverty. They should want out and know there's no way but up. And you don't have degrade yourself, or accept anything just because there is a dollar attached to it somewhere.

     It's not white. It's not black, it's AMERICAN! You all have heard the joke about the Jewish mother talking about her son, the DOCTOR! What she's really saying is, "He did better than ME!" My son is a Command Master Chief in the Navy. He did better than ME! He moves in a world I will never understand, and I don't have to. He DOES! And my granddaughter, Kylie will eclipse him. Some day Senator Kylie will tell a crowd, "I remember my dad raising me and my brother on his Navy check. Somewhere in LA, right now there's a little black boy playing with his basketball. And he is dreaming of the day when his shirt will read, LAKERS! 

Got A Beer?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

     "I'm here for my money!"

     "Well, I'm not going to pay!"

     "I got a gun right here."

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

     "You said you had a gun!"

     "I ain't go no gun!"

     "Then why did you say you had a gun?"

     "So you'd give me some money!"

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

     "Man I can't afford nothing like that." 

     "I think you'd better go."

     "Uh, ok . . . Say, you got a beer?"

     Y'all have a wonderful day!

Ma-Maw and the Great Wall Pee Caper

                            Ma-Maw and the Great Wall Pee Caper

     Stop the presses! Call the White House! We need a joint session of Congress! What is it? Has ISIS invaded Arizona? Did the Ebola virus explode in New York City? Did Osama pop up on some late night talk show? No! Something much more serious than that. Adrian Peterson whipped his kid! Top story on ABC news this morning. I crapith thee not! Right above ISIS, a 7.1 earthquake, and some nut trying to swim to North Korea to meet that little fat guy that runs the place. And what made it worse, he used a SWITCH! There was even a picture showing the little tyke's stripped up butt. The nation is horrified.  I'm surprised Obama didn't make a speech from the rose garden. "If I had a son he'd look like him." (If your grandma had switched YOUR tail maybe we wouldn't be in this mess "Mr" President!)

     I'm a simple ol' boy from Austin, but I was born a simple ol' baby from Shreveport! And I had a "Ma-Maw." Now, my Ma-Maw  was a real grandmother.  She had a long dress, and her grey hair twisted into a very tight bun on top of her head. She also had a yard full of willow trees. Willow trees are unique. The branches are smooth, and you can peel the bark off with just stripping and rubbing it down with one master stroke. And they're flexible. More like a buggy whip than a branch. And they make that "whistle-whistle" sound you get when you swing it around. 

     When I was about three we had a little fat dog called Maybelline. I thought she was a pig. I don't mean she was just fat, I mean in my three year old reasoning, since dad got her at a pig farm, she simply must be a REAL pig! Anyway, Ma-Maw's house was one of those houses where there was this long hallway right down the center, leading from the front door going all the way to the bathroom in the back, and yes, we had ONE bathroom. The walls were covered with this paper-thin wall paper, printed with flowers and stuff. The color scheme was drab, but then everything was drab in 1950's Louisiana. I don't think I could even see color until about 1961.

     There was a "potty" situated right beside the commode in the bathroom. Y'all see what a memory I've got? I can remember being POTTY trained! Well, I deduced that the journey all the way from the front of the house to the potty in the rear of the house was just too darned FAR! So, one day, about half way down the hall I came upon a plan. I've always been ahead of the curve, and that day was no exception. When in doubt, whip it out! I figured that since the wall paper was so ugly anyway that no one would notice if I peed on it a little. Not a big pee, just a little down there around the baseboard. 

     Along about that time here came Ma-Maw walking down the hall, returning from the kitchen. I'm standing there, with my pants already up, a little puddle on the wall, dribbling down round the floor, and Maybelline right beside me with her tongue hanging out, and this stupid grin on her face. Ma-maw never was one to dilly-dally around. She took one look at that dog, and then me, reached down, picked up a piece of unused floorboard about ten inches long or so, grabbed Maybelline by her little screw tail, and began to wail and wallop her on her fat little butt! Maybelline's eyes purt near popped out of her obese little head, and she DID pee on the floor then, which only increased the whipping exponentially. Now, you're three years old, in Shreveport, Louisiana, it's 1954, no TV, no air conditioning, and only one old woman for a friend...THAT'S ENTERTAINMENT! 

     When it was all over,  Maybelline was yelping down the hall, and out the back door, Ma-maw returned to the kitchen where she made coffee and gave me a little cup. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know, but that's what Ma-Maws did back in those days. The next day things were getting boring sooooooo...little more pee, little bit higher, little bigger butt-stomping, and a happy three year old! I can't remember if I did it every day or just whenever the urge struck me, but I did figure out that there was a direct coralation between the height of the pee, and the force applied to Maybelline's butt, so one day I decided to arrange the ultimate. I peed WAY over my head, all OVER the wall. In my heart or hearts I knew Ma-maw would most likely kill Maybelline, but no problem, daddy would just go out to the pig farm and fetch another. 

     When my grandmother saw the wall she looked down at Maybelline. The poor dog just laid there, quivering, accepting her death. Ma-maw picked her up by her pig tail, and began to try matching  her butt up with the water on the wall. I have to give Ma-Maw credit. She tried mightily to match Maybelline's butt with the height of that pee, but at the point where she was actually lifting the little fat dog OFF the floor, and realized the critter would have to levitate to achieve such a feat, she set gently  down, and went to the willow tree in the back yard. When she returned she had a switch. Now, I'm so stupid I thought we had progressed to a new level. I stood there, waiting to see the execution, until she grabbed my left arm and picked ME up off the floor. Kids back then wore these little shorts, exposing the legs quite well. It's been over sixty years, and I can still remember the precise moment that willow switch connected with my dangling little legs. All the air escaped from my lungs, and I went into one of those attempts to cry, you know, the one where it hurts so bad you CAN'T cry? You try to run at times like that, but that don't work either.

     When it was all over I was on the floor, with Maybelline sitting there beside me, her tongue protruding out of her fat little mouth, and I swear there was actually a smile on her face! Ma-Maw marched off to the kitchen to make coffee, and I lay there in the hall twitching like a pair of frog legs that got sprinkled with salt. I feel it important to tell you that I never peed on the wall again!

     

This is my Surprised Face

                                              This Is My Surprised Face

     The trial of Pistorius was a farce. How in the world can you shoot a girl through a bathroom door and not call it murder? First off, if there WAS an intruder in the house, hiding in the bathroom, and you've got a gun, wouldn't said "intruder" be contained? Second, why didn't Pistorious call her name out? Wonder how much the judge was paid for THAT verdict! 

     You don't shoot unidentified targets. Gosh, that's so simple. I had an idiot at my house just last night, ranting and raving from the STREET! He was going to kill me, he had two guns, yada, yada, yada. If he had been in my BATHROOM! Oh, don't get me started.  Oscar Pistoious' main problem is he's a bitch, ok? How he ever got in bed with a super model is beyond me. I'm a cripple too so I'm very excited and hunting for one myself. This guy's defense was he screams like a woman. Am I the only one who's laughing about this. And the only thing the judge saw that he did wrong was firing a gun in the city limits? What's rape in South Africa? Assault with a friendly weapon? 

     I wish Texas had judges like that. I would have saved a ton on divorces. And, of course, when challenged on her stupidity, her supporters claim it's all because she's a black woman. Give me a freaking break! That's not playing the race card, that's a full hand of blackjack, please excuse the pun. So, the next time I decide to pop a cap in someone I'll just cry, puke, and scream like a woman and walk right out of the courtroom, right? Excuse me. I have to look for a super model. Good day. 

Old Michael

                                                           Old Michael

     My granddaughter, Puck, is a Type 1 diabetic. She's been one all of her life. If you've never had a child with diabetes you cannot fathom the endeavor involved in getting, and keeping their blood sugar right. They don't understand why they can't eat this, or that, why the other kids get cake while they get to watch. Their life is filled with all the needles, and pricks on the finger. Combine that with growth spurts where they, like any child, are truely hungry. Puck was at that stage where she was right on the verge of checking her sugar and understanding the importance of what the numbers mean. She could feel when she was low, worried about it, but just hadn't linked the food thing up yet. 

     So it was one night when circumstances called for her having to stay with me. I, myself, was just getting used to all the different insulins and boosters required to level her out. My understanding rudimentary. Insulin brings you down and sugar brings you up. On this night she experienced a "fallout." A fallout is where the blood sugar suddenly drops for no apparent reason. The doctors have all kinds of theory about blood sugar, but sometimes nature just takes over and there is no rhyme or reason. Kid eats a good dinner, takes the required amount of insulin, plays, watches TV, and then, at bedtime, when you check the sugar and it comes back at a 45! 

     There is a saying among diabetics. High sugar will get you someday, but low sugar will get you NOW! Low sugar can induce coma, and end in death in very short order. The child has no idea what's going on. They just know they're sleepy, and that's perfectly normal to them at bedtime. There is a shot you give them at times like this that supposedly will boost the sugar back up into the safe zone, so I gave her it. After about twenty minutes I checked the sugar again with the same alarming result, in fact, a bit lower!

     It was about ten at night, so I gave her a small glass of orange juice, then some Coke, and finally cookies. Still nothing. I was dodging the insulin  what i didn't want was her dropping any faster than she was, and she was developing what we call "Bette Davis" eyes, as she slowly slipped away. Her vision began to fail. About two in the morning I was about to dial 911. I needed professional assistance and having a sports car, I could not load Puck, and all her brothers up and cart everyone to the ER. I decided to call my friend, Sonny to see if he could come over and watch the boys for me. I wanted to at least accompany Puck to the hospital. Nothing would be more traumatic for her than to have a bunch of strange people load her up and go screaming down the freeway with needles hanging out of her arms.

     In about fifteen minutes Sonny, and his friend, Old Michael, rang the doorbell. We called Michael "Old" Michael because he was eighty-four years old. He was a lifelong diabetic.  Michael came in with his own kit and went straight to Puck. At this point her head was bobbing. After checking her blood, which was still dropping, he reached into his kit and withdrew a fresh needle. Fingering through his little vials he chose one and prepared the needle. I asked him what he was giving her and he told  me it was insulin. I was alarmed. I told him I had not given her any insulin because she was so low, but he held up one finger, told me to trust him, and instructed me to go and fetch the bag of chocolate chip cookies he'd seen in the kitchen on his way in. I did as he said. 

     He gave Puck an injection, and then two cookies. Puck knew it was forbidden to eat the boy's cookies, but Old Michael assured her it was alright, and this one time she could eat them. I had given her the sugar free cookies reserved for only her. In thirty minutes he checked her blood again. 65! Another cookie, another cc or insulin, half hour later, 80! She was in the "safe" zone! Puck thought it was a party! He put her on his lap. It was now round about four in the morning. He told me to get her a little orange juice. By sunrise Puck was burning a perfect 100. She was also sleepy by now so he put her down on the couch and covered her with a blanket. The dark circles under her eyes had dissipated, and she drifted off into healthy sleep, with chocolate chip cookies on her breath.

     As Michael put his kit back together I asked him what method he had used to bring her around. He explained that textbook theory says sugar brings you up, and insulin brings you down, but textbooks don't explain all of the intricacies of diabetes. He told me the insulin WILL bring you down, but if you give it something to "chew" on the exact opposite will occur. His job that night was to get sugar flowing through her blood and being absorbed properly. Obviously, his method worked. The old man kissed Puck on her forehead and walked out to the sunrise. 

     Old Michael died later that year. Picking vegetables at the church garden in the Texas heat proved to be to much for the old man. He heard the Lord call for him, laid down among the tomato plants, crossed his arms on his chest, closed his eyes, and went home. We never told Puck. I suppose we will someday, when she's older. We'll explain it to her when she has the maturity to understand. One thing we won't tell her though. Old Michael was was a homosexual. He lived with Sonny for forty-five years. He was with the American Red Cross, and his entire life had been dedicated to helping children in disaster areas. He considered the children to be his little friends. Puck was his last little friend. 

     I have made my views very clear, and I don't back up, but life is a complicated equation, and only God knows the real answers. He sees all and judges hearts. No matter what your views or beliefs are one rule is solid. Don't hate. Don't ever hate. There just might be an Old Michael knocking at your door some night.