Reality

     Well, let's take another look at Michael Brown. Maybe I haven't been clear enough in the past. There are rules of life boys and girls. I didn't make them, I just play by the rules already put down. One of the first rules I learned way back in Simmonsville was death by cop. Now, with all respect to those who protect and serve, as a kid from Simmonsville, I learned very quickly that all cops are crazy. They work for low pay, they were beat up in high school and they like to yell too much. They don't have a law degree, but they think they do and they go around in code red all day looking for monsters under every rock, and if that's not crazy then I'm now a white boy from Austin! 

     When you've got a bunch of crazy people, packing heat, and running loose what do you do? Well, you can't just shoot 'em cause there's laws. Special laws. You can point your finger at a crossing guard at the school house, but if you point your finger at a cop then it's assault!  I wish I could get a deal like that. And this guy is wired! So there we have an introverted, socially crippled paranoid running around with a gun. This just might be why we need open carry, but I digress. Anyway, you got the picture. 

     Now let's go to the other side of the spectrum. I always say I grew up in Simmonsville. Let me expand on that. Simmonsville was a small town, eventually gobbled up by Killeen that was the dream of drunken Harry Simmons. He basically purchased the city dump and built a village on top of it. I hear all the time these homeboys going on and on about the hood. You grow up in the city dump and tell me about it. And it was in TEXAS! Racial lines were drawn down the middle of the street, and brethren, they weren't kidding! By the time I came on the scene the village had already been absorbed and city police were a new innovation. Combine that with a bunch of people who didn't understand that, running around making whiskey, thinking they still had a city council. We still had the Simmonsville jail. It looked like the Alamo, and up and down the street were adobe houses full of Mexicans fresh from the old country. On the west end was the black section, and they were making whiskey too. Welcome to my world! 

     The city of Killeen, in their infinite wisdom, gave us Officer Jackson. He was a tall black man. I don't think he knew a thing about the law, but he did know how to handle us. He shot us! Now, before all you liberals get out your crying towels we were cool with that. We liked Officer Jackson shooting people so long as he shot THEM and not US!  We were comfortable with Officer Jackson. Everybody in Simmonsville carried a gun. There wasn't any of this mamby-pamby Norté crap about license. And they USED them. Surprisingly not that many people got shot. An armed society is a polite society. Now folks, what I've just described to you is REALITY! 

     I've never been to Ferguson, Missouri. I went through St. Louis once, and got my pocket picked. I don't know what was in Michael Brown's head the day he got his brains blown out, but I just imagine it was a warped sense of reality. The very first thing we got down back at the old alma mater was you don't throw down on a cop! When Officer Jackson got mad enough to get out of his squad car he was like a turd in a swimming pool. We didn't worry about the constitution, or civil rights, or anything! It was just him and us. You see, Michael  Brown had all that nonsense about rights and laws swirling through his head right up until that bullet cleared up his thinking for him. That's because the rules have never changed. I was a bit rough on police in the beginning of this article, but to be honest with you, when you are one man patrolling a bunch of thugs, and folks, Michael Brown was a thug, it MAKES you crazy. It was that way between the Earps and the Clantons, it was that way between Officer Jackson and the Mitchell's, and it was that way up in Ferguson that day. The song remains the same and you can't change it. Reality is reality. Now and then I'll go to the old neighborhood and look at the new apartments and paved streets, and then I'll drive over too boot hill and say hello to all my friends. REALITY!

     You can't legislate survival. We talk about God given rights, well let's talk about INGRAINED rights. Even a good dog will bite! A dog that's been brought up in Simmonsville will bite quick. When Michael Brown decided to enter into his final altercation he made a choice. He paid for that choice, and all the Al Sharptons and riots are not going to change that. He's as dead as fried chicken and nothing is going to bring him back. Gee, I hate to be the one to tell you people that. Why do we have to learn this over, and over again?