Flat Earth and Beer

 

Jumped off into a twelve pack last night, and started surfing YouTube. Always an interesting evening. Watching YouTube you almost certainly have no private life! Anyway, I watched a few plane crashes, the latest ISIS beheadings, and Mark Cunningham hypnotizing Ivy again. (Don’t look that up!) Then I came upon the Flat Earth Society! OMLG! Oh, little note here. I use OMLG, meaning, “Oh, My LIVING God.” As you may or may not know, I’m just an old “reptile bait,” but on the slight chance that Saint Peter is asleep when I arrive, I don’t wantthat on the books. Anyway, where was I, oh yes, the Flat Earth Society.

This shows just how far a conspiracy theory can go. Ten beers down, and it still didn’t make any sense, but I kept on watching. Hey, I give everybody a chance. Now, I’m not saying these people are stupid, but they are somewhere along the level of the chick I met once that believed me when I told her the Vermouth in a Martini neutralized the Gin, and the more she drank, the more clear headed and intelligent she’d get. She ended the night babbling like Einstein, and wearing my T-shirt. (I’m sorry I did that Lord, I promise I won’t do that anymore.) Well, these people are her cousins.

One video purported that if you fly up in a hot air balloon you can easily see that the moon will not move, but in fact will appear the same in Australia as it does in New York. I crappith Thee NOT! You can’t make this stuff up folks. Then an aeronautical engineer went through great lengths explaining that you could prove the theory by booking flights from Africa to Brazil, and observing that you had to first fly to Europe because the curvature of the earth is a myth which can easily be shown by the Mercator projection. (Open another beer.) Now I know where all those plane crashes I was watching came from.

And they look so sane! People! These are the guys in the Laughing Academy who eat the checkers. How did they get so stupid without meth? And all their dots connect. Every single one. I went and bought another twelve pack. Marching on (for four hours) I absorbed everything I could concerning this “theory.” What was it Hitler said? Oh, yes. If you make a lie big enough, and tell it often, Fox News will pick it up, or words to that effect. Well, I started looking at the people making these videos, searching for a girl. No Discovery Channel hotties here. Anyone who took the time to make a video expounding a flat world has too much time on their hands, and absolutely nothing to donate to the gene pool.

Since I was outside, on my porch, I looked up at the moon. How did they miss that? Under their idea, I suppose they would claim the moon is tilted in such a way so as to expose its total surface to earth, because it, too, has to be flat. Then, I saw the reinforcement claiming that when Antarctica was first explored, they came upon this huge wall constructed to keep us from walking off the edge. Pop a top, my friend. I think I’ll have another round.

I will say that this eased the events of this week. I’ll also say that these people are bat-crap crazy. What some folks burn in their crazy minds. Consider this when you hear of “magic” bullets, falling towers, and anything Megyn Kelley has to ask Trump.

Simple Ol' Boy From Austin

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I'm a Male Chauvinist Pig

 

I am a male, Chauvinist pig. I want to put that out there right up front. I’ve been married six times. In Texas you are allowed seven marriage licenses. That means I have one tag left on my “Dear” license, so I’d better make this last one count. My issue is that I have difficulty maintaining a long term relationship with a woman. Oh, I get along great for about two minutes, come to think of it, that may be the problem. I’ve married everything from a New York Jew to an Arapaho. My mind is set in stone. I try to conform to Austin standards, and look only into women’s eyes, but it’s no use. Some girl walks up in a sun top, and jeans, and my mind digresses. Good news for womankind is that I’m getting to old to do anything. These days women are like the old Chief Dan George line: Candy not for eating, just for looking through. So now that you know my ideas you can only imagine what I think about Megyn Kelly.

Donald Trump mounted the stage for the first debate, and Kelly drew a bead on him. Did she ask his ideas on health care, foreign policy, the weather? Heck no! She was all pent up about some fat chick he poked fun at some time back. That was the understanding ofMegyn Kelly’s politics. I’ll be honest, the only reason I watched that first debate was in the hope that she would drop something and reach over to pick it up.

It’s not all her fault. I’ve noticed that a lot of shows have the obligatory “hottie.” Even The Young Turks seems to always have some “bubble headed bleach blonde” expressing whatever “views” are pumped into her head for the ratings therein. Shucks, the The History Channel! Take any segment. It can be about King Tut. You will invariably see “Dr.” So and So, compete with khaki shorts, and her shirt tied up to her navel, and you’re supposed to be analyzing the embalming processes of ancient Egypt. Pardon me, I wasn’t looking at King Tut’s legs. I have had a thing for Nefertiti, though.

So it is with Megyn Kelly. Now, I’m not totally out in left field here. Please Google Megyn’s contribution to journalism. To begin with she’s employed by the Main Stream Media. You know the Main Stream Media. Ignore the droves of illegal immigrants streaming into the country, but giving Kim Kordasian lead story every time she passes gas. Yeah, thatKordasian! Qualifications are the same. So, the Fox News Network throws Kelly at Trump with a bimbo question. Pin up gets into a lame brained debate with a billionaire real estate mogul. Guess that’s why they call it the “Fox” News Network. Donald’s only problem is that he is rich enough to say what he thinks. Megyn says what they think. She will parrot whatever her handlers tell her to. In my opinion this woman has never had an original thought in her life. Her views on politics? I’m still checking the New York Times best seller list.

My mother told me that if I ever disrespected a decent woman she’d beat me in the head with an iron skillet. I think I’m safe here. The public believes whatever is on the front page of People Magazine at the supermarket during checkout. I saw a headline yesterday. There was a picture of Megyn Kelly with the line Trump Meets His Match. I suppose. Now where was I? Oh, yeah. . . I’m a male, Chauvinist Pig.

Simple Ol' Boy From Austin

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We Defy

 

In the spirit of Tommy Attaway’s book, We Defy, with the shots from Ruby Ridge still ringing in our ears, and the smoke of Mount Carmel in our nostrils, Americans are now mourning the death of Robert (LaVoy) Finicum. The “militants” act of rebellion was the simple commanding of a building to make a statement of civil disobedience that the government could not tolerate. This is the benchmark of an out of control, oppressive regime.  A system so unconstitutional that even the slightest resistance is met by violence, and murder, when needed.

Remember back when Michael Brown was killed? We got to see all those people in the streets raising their hands in the air as a symbol of government oppression. Mr. Finicum’s hands really were in the air! His hands were in the air when the Feds shot him in the face. How dangerous was this Temple Mormon to the United States power brokers? How bad did they need that building in the winter?

My sympathies extend to the family. While the controversy swirls around the events at the Malheur National Wildlife Refuge, the family has to claim the body. Most likely it is being autopsied to ascertain the “cause of death,” with the appropriate artistic efforts of the FBI, CIA, NSA, and any other department trying to change the trajectory of the bullet just like they had to do with the body of John F. Kennedy when it became difficult to explain how a bullet could not fly backwards! What gets me is they aren’t even good liars. They never are. They have the guns. They would love it if we didn’t have guns, unfortunately some fellas back in 1776 held a trump card that the Gestapo simply can’t get around, and it’s damn well time we used it!

Yeah, I really did just say that. We DEFY!  If one man stands up, he dies. If a nation stands up, THEY die! Calm down. If the sufficient amount of force shows in a confrontation with these bullies, they will do what bullies always do. . . run! They ran when they rustled Cliven Bundy’s cattle. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I just said that, too. The all-powerful federal government, with more fiat money than God actually stooped to stealing an old man’s cows. Where is Judge Roy Bean when we need him?

The Main Stream Media? Oh, don’t get me started. While writing this article I went to ABC News (I knew better) to get correct spellings of names, locations, and such. NADA! Couldn’t prove Robert Finicum ever lived! Lead story there. Some punk called Ethan Couch is being brought back to Texas. The funny thing is that he’ll draw a bigger crowd at the airport than Hillary did last week, and surely more than the Fox Debate sans Donald Trump!

This is not a funny story, people. An old man just got shot in the face as he raised his arms by your government. The news entities charged with reporting unbiased information gets its marching orders from an unelected bureaucracy on your dime, and it’s not even a real dime. It’s a dime pressed by some off shore bunch of illuminati who own the government that thinks it owns you! They didn’t own Robert Finicum. God owned him, and at the proper time he was called home. In the darkness of Oregon, Robert Finicum became yet one more Patriot who was called to step across William Barrett Travis’ line in the sand. Rest in peace Mr. Finicum, we’ll take care of your family, and thank you for your service.

Simple Ol' Boy From Austin

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Nobody Wants To Die

Gun sense 101: You can’t save lives by reasoning with crazy people. Wow! That’s so simple. Why do I have to keep returning to this subject? Every time some nut decides to mow down strangers we all hear the same thing from the liberal left. “If we just had tougher gun laws, and control, there would be no more active shootings.” We have the laws, but the politicians simply will not allow them to work. It’s not that the people in the legislature want more killings, that’s crazy. They know that the American public will never be totally disarmed. What it boils down to is political fodder. It chews so good out on the stump. They used to kiss babies, but that became old school with so many opting for Planned Parenthood, so now the kiss trans-sexuals and rant against guns.

I am not going to quote the Second Amendment in this article. That one line amendment so confounds liberals it is beyond belief. The very idea that the government should bestow the power upon itself to tell human beings they should sit quietly and wait for the police to arrive is as crazy as an outhouse rat. And people doing this stuff never seem to attack a police department, a gun show, or a biker bar. Wanna know why? Because those are not gun free zones, that’s why! They’ll get their tail shot off. Nothing like crashing into some place, and getting blasted back through the door. Getting killed immediately cures psychosis.

For the record, I really don’t believe in “false flags.” Every time one of these events happens someone goes through great lengths to show it was set up by the administration to forward gun control. If you really believe that, have I got a bridge for you, in gun blue! These nuts are really out there, and the reason is drugs! Both legal, and illegal. Actually, meth heads usually kill other meth heads. It’s the ones on prescription pharmaceuticals you should watch out for. Modern psychiatry has gone to hell in a handbasket. Back in the day, the day being fifty years ago or so, the doctor would listen, advise, and maybe, just maybe, prescribe.  If you’re seeing pink elephants then you most likely need something. If you’re just having a bad hair day you do not need to be drunk. I know! Those people are told they have a problem, so the problem compounds, then they’re given a compound, more problems, more compounds, oh look, a gun!

Fact: You will never keep guns away from nuts unless you start locking them up again and putting them in strait jackets. Fact: The only thing that stops an active shooter is anotheractive shooter. Gosh, folks, I wish it wasn’t that way, but it is. I have an idea. Why don’t we all just ignore the “law” and obey the Constitution. Just get up in the morning and lock and load. Everybody! Hey, there are up towards three hundred million of us, not counting illegal immigrants, and they already have guns, they can’t arrest all of us. Obnoxious, isn’t it? Well, that’s what Open Carry is all about. If just the chance that one or more people in a given situation is carrying a gun it will make even the craziest person (with orange hair) give pause. The shooter has to know he’s safe. It’s as simple as that. Until we arrive at that simple equation we will see the active shooter happening again, again, and again. Everybody wants to go to heaven, but nobody wants to die!

 

Simple Ol' Boy From Austin

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Heros

Heroes come from the strangest places. Anthony Ruelas. Remember that name. I am not worthy to lose his boot straps. This boy is a shining example of what it means to be a Christian, a citizen, and American, and more than that, a Texan! One of his classmates went into an asthma attack. Let me tell you about that kind of health crisis. I hear people say that they can hold their breath for three or four minutes. Think about not getting your next breath. Been there, done that! When you have that condition you learn to keep your Albuterol in your pocket in a certain position so when you reach for it you will find it in just the right place so you can bring it out fast. If the attack is extreme, you just hope that the drug will get to the back of your throat and give you any air. Your lungs seem to be crystalized, the bells ring, and if they ring long enough you die. The little girl was hearing the bells! Anthony took it upon himself to help. He scooped her up and carried her to the nurse’s station, and life, while a teacher ordered him to stand down. Shades of Hillary! Person in distress, help right there, someone in “authority” intervening with absolutely the worse decision possible!

Oh, it got political this morning. When I found this story it was black and white, or black and brown, rather, the little girl being black, and Anthony is brown. Immediately a libtard leapt upon me, ridiculing my subscriber base, and saying that I would blame this on Obama. From people who think it’s perfectly fine to kill up to 3,000 babies a day one can expect no less. This is what the country has come to. This is what the liberals champion. This is why children aren’t allowed to pray in school anymore, unless they’re Muslim, of course.    

I often do human interest stories about Killeen, and I, like Anthony, went to school at the KISD (Killeen Independent School District.) I’m going to surprise you. Every single one of my teachers were Democrats. Every one of them supported Lyndon Johnson, but there was one major difference! They all had souls, something that is sadly lacking today. Back in my day the teacher would have carried that child to the nurse. I’m waiting for that teacher’s name so I can give her (or him) that fifteen minutes of fame we all enjoy at some time in our lives, but it seems the teacher has gone to ground. Ever chase a snake with a hoe? They do that, you know.

And the media in this area? Oh, my living God. Let us pray. This story will be lucky if it gets one paragraph on the classifieds in the Killeen Daily Herald. The only reason it may show is that I have embarrassed them here today. But Anthony’s story won’t die! Ask yourself, why is Anthony not getting the same media blitz that Clockmed got with his little device a few months ago? I’ll tell you why. It doesn’t sell copy! A young man being a decent human being doesn’t have the commercial appeal of a thug charging a police officer, or some puppet scaring the pants off of an entire school with a “clock” the size of a suitcase, that’s why!

Now, I promised Crystal Lee Larimore not to use bad language anymore, but when that teacher goes home tonight, I hope her (or his) mother runs out from under the porch and bites them! Jus sayn’.

UPDATE: Twenty-four hours before I discovered this story The Washington Post was already running with it. That is good!

 

Simple Ol' Boy From Austin

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America Has Failed Black People

America has failed black people. You might as well start swatting them bees right now, ‘cause it’s gonna  be a long day. Lincoln came down in his war of northern aggression, and straightened out the south. Never MIND that he was wearing a cotton shirt when he did it. Never MIND the south was footing most if not all of the bills for his “federal” government, us racist rednecks had to be put in our place, and by God, he was just the man to do it. Now, he destroyed the eco-system, burned down the cities, and made sure the boot was firmly on the neck of the political devices, but he “freed” the slaves.

Lincoln did not begin his quest to free any slaves. The southern states were pulling away from the new “revised” United States, trying to preserve what the founding fathers had given us when Lincoln waited, hoping, that the new Confederacy would fire the first shot, making him the good guy. Well, he got that at Fort Sumter. I’m not going to get into all the logistics of how the north won the war, suffice to say God had no part of it. Mainly, what it involved was the very foundation of the southern government working against any organization of an army that could confront an enemy. While Lincoln could micro-manage his troops via telegraph, Jefferson Davis had to argue his way through every command as his generals all marched to a different drummer. The south did have better railroads, but all that did was deliver the Keystone Cops to the next slaughter.

But, Lincoln freed the slaves! Right? What did he do after that? Went to Ford’s theater and got his head blown off. If the south is so racist how come we don’t have any statues of John Wilkes Booth? The slaves stood up, threw off their shackles, and looked for the American Dream. Only problem was the white folk who freed them were just the same as the white folk they’d been picking cotton for, only they talked faster. The northern plan for freed slaves? Deal with it! Here’s forty acres and a mule. Now go to New York and start a bank. Every once in a blue moon they’d let one or two through the gate so they could wave them around showing that the plan worked. Well, it didn’t!

A couple weeks ago I saw an interesting idea. If we took the 1.5 BILLION up for grabs in the PowerBall, divided it by 300,000,000 (the approximate population of the United States) it would come to 4.33 million dollars for every man, woman, child, and transsexual in the country, and supposedly, there would be no more poverty. If you believe that have I got a bridge for you, and it’s on sale. (Make that the Brooklyn Bridge!) The Master said, “Verily, verily, I say unto you, the poor you shall always have.” If we had distributed that money, one year later we’d have exactly what we have now, only more crime, meth heads, and burning cities. Why would I say that? Because it’s true, that’s why. Poverty is not money, it is a state of mind, and in the case of black people it is a learned state of mind. Just follow the money, and the money always leads back to the same place. Alex Jones calls it “Illuminati.” I call it, “Them that’s got’s get’s!”

The South rocked along for about eighty-five years trying to rebuild their lives. When I was in elementary school in Shreveport, Louisiana, we were still mad at Sherman! The Confederate flag was a symbol of defeat, waved around by fanatics! The Klan did not wave that flag, they waved the flag of the Democratic Party, the Stars and Stripes! By and large, people in the south lived, loved, went to work, and watched Ed Sullivan, just like everybody else. Then, along come Jones, I mean Lyndon Johnson. Johnson’s mother should have sat on him when he was born. The Great Society? I give you Ferguson!

The American understanding of freed slaves was that they were lazy, stupid, and stinky and thank God most of them lived in the south. What to do? Well, you pump up the welfare system, that’ll fix it. Just shell out bare necessities. Not success, not ambition, not the American Dream (that was for selected white folks) just enough beans and cornbread so as the freed slaves didn’t look like Africans begging for change on those commercials we’ve all come to know and love. But, there were “stipulations.”

By 1950 the black family was a central unit. Fathers, who were in the home, worked, children went to schools, yeah, yeah, yeah, they were segregated, and momma cooked and cleaned, and occasionally took in laundry. I have a prejudice. When I went to Queensboro Elementary in Shreveport all the people working in the cafeteria were big, fat black women. The food was fantastic! We didn’t have Michelle’s best, we had fried chicken, liver and onions, homemade rice pudding and lots of milk plain or chocolate. Oh, Huey Long made if free too, by the way. Just thought ya’ll would like to know that. To this day I don’t believe white women can cook!

Now, let’s fine tune the welfare system. Time was when the father approached his church with his hat in his hand, asking for help during hard times. Preacher would smell his breath, know the family, give him “commodities” and help him fix the problem. The American plan? Food stamps, check, HUD housing, and in order to qualify, and/or keep all this the man could not be in the house. Don’t tell me I’m wrong, I was a realtor who managed many HUD apartments and I know what happened if the HUD office found out there was a husband or boyfriend living in the house. My parents lived the last sixteen years of their lives in HUD Housing, fighting cancer and hiding their poodle from the “office men.” Bye Bye dawg!

That’s the rule!  Thought Mr. Lincoln freed the slaves. Right? RIGHT? Add two or three generations to a system like that, and you get, Detroit, Ferguson, Watts, and Harlem. Now, let’s explode that myth of all them “niggas” on welfare, shall we. (Told ya’ll them bees would be flying today.)  According to the Huffington Post:<strong> " Nationally, most of the people who receive benefits from the Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program are white. According to 2013 data from the U.S. Department of Agriculture, which administers the program, 40.2 percent of SNAP recipients are white, 25.7 percent are black, 10.3 percent are Hispanic, 2.1 percent are Asian and 1.2 percent are Native American."</strong>

Wow! Imagine that! So why, when CNN runs a clip on welfare they always shows some fat black woman, or some thug? Because it looks so damn <em>good</em>! It feeds the innate racism we all have, that’s why. Slugs like that simply can’t look like <em>me</em>, it has to look like <em>them</em>! We <em>all</em> do it! The fact is we are all in the same boat. There are more “crackers” on welfare than “niggas,” simply because there are more of us than there are of them, and while people like Bill Gates, and Warren Buffet do Sixty Minutes talking about giving half their money away (OMG they’re white!) the rest of us are burning cities, eating beans and hiding our men folk in the closet when the welfare lady comes around, and folks, that’s as simple as I can put it.

We have to fix this, but how? Well, if we cut off all the welfare tomorrow that won’t do it. You’ll just starve a bunch of kids. Obama will just take that money and give it to the “refugees.”  Welfare people, all welfare people have been trained for generations to work the system. It’s a job! Democrats won’t fix it, Republicans won’t fix it, we have to. You want to see where Hilliary’s heart and mind are? She landed in Texas last week and six people showed up. She ignored them! If something doesn’t line Hillary and Bill’s pockets they don’t have any time for it. It’s as clear as that. And Obama? Nigga PLEASE! I’m not even gonna go there. When Iran was wearing out camels to blow us all up, and ISIS was cutting enough heads off to build a pile of skulls the size of the UT Tower, he went to Europe and came back with a weather report.

Two men are different, and they are diametrically opposed. Donald Trump and Bernie Sanders. If you vote for Hillary or Jeb Bush you will get exactly what you deserve. You might as well vote for Donald Duck. At least Trump and Sanders will go somewhat a different direction. I wouldn’t care if El Chapo was the president. We have to leave this bar. We don't have to go home, but we can't stay <em>here</em>! There won't be enough time to fix everything in eight years, it took us one hundred and fifty one years to get here, but it’ll be a start. We have to all stand back, stop looking at each other, and look at the real problem. There is an Illuminati. It’s not hidden. Just open your eyes. Two hundred people in America control 1,3 TRILLION dollars, and friends and neighbors, if that’s not an Illuminati I’m not a white boy from Austin!

 

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

That Was The Week That Was

 From reflections to events, but that’s the way my week usually goes.  Unlike other writers, I don’t just jump on the morning news, even in a big event, I let the story “season,” because first thoughts are never the correct thoughts. What happened is never as important as why it happened, because if we don’t reflect, and learn, then we’ll just keep doing the same thing over and over again, and, as you probably know, that’s the definition of insanity.

I began the week with an idea of the eventual breakup of the American Dream, i.e. set up a government to steal everything, and try to cram it into the Beltway. In “God Bless Americans,” I said, “As we all know, the American government has been overreaching for years, and part of this is because of the artificial definitions of who’s who, and what’s what. Most of the time Federal mandates, and decisions are mandatory, and arbitrary. States make laws, but why? All Uncle Sam has to do is make His law, and the state legislature becomes a complete waste of time. K. C. Massey can carry a gun under Texas law, Sammy says, “No,” K. C. goes to jail. Someone can fire up a joint in Malibu, DEA doesn’t like it, guy gets arrested and has a criminal record. Fundamentalist Mormon wants to marry twin sisters and the Fed can’t seem to find the ink to put one more square on a tax form. See where this is going, folks?”

From there I let old Brother Greed get ahold of me and penned, If I Had Won The Powerball. I ain’t even gonna lie to you. I had that money spent, and I listed all my dreams for the public to see. “If I had won the Powerball. I sat up last night waiting for the Powerball drawing. I didn’t get a single number. You’d think there would be a prize for that! Anyway, like practically every other fool who invested in castles in the air, and purchased a Powerball ticket, I had big plans. I’d like to list them here. They ranged from the sublime to the sub-slime, but here goes.” Well, as you probably figured out, I didn’t win, and had to rush down to pay the light bill the next day.

Politics raised its ugly head next, ugly being the key word. Hey, for the record, I understand why Bill cheated on Hillary, ok. I kept having images of Arkansas politicians, ugly women, and cornbread swirling around in my head and out popped, Dead As Cornbread. “From White Water to Benghazi, Hillary has danced on a razor’s edge for years. Other people in the public eye can commit just a smidgen of what she’s pulled and they’re thrown out of the Army, charged with a crime, end up with public ridicule, and Alex Jones accuses them of leading the New World Order. Hillary could pee on the White House steps and the Liberal Left would say she had found a new way to fix global warming. Am I the only one who thinks there is something wrong with this picture?”

Where Everybody Knows Your Name  was next. I have no idea where this idea sprang from, but I suspect it was a bar tab. “Places like this never last, and that’ sad. Just a place where seasoned men come to relax and compare lives. I gain more there than any other place I go. I listen more than I talk, and I learn. These guys view things like ISIS with a very jaundiced eye. And everybody knows your name. I like that.”

That night I listened to my friend, Scott Binsack, reflect on his belief in an Eternal Creator, and wrote, In God We Trust. “God got expelled from school, His commandments from the courthouse square, and from the halls of Congress, and we wonder what ever happened to the country. God is a nice guy. You don’t have to throw him out, just ask Him to leave, and he’ll oblige. And, when He does leave what do you have left? Bruce Gender, Hillary, Obama, and Imam whoever! Children don’t say prayers, or the Pledge of Allegiance in school anymore. They learn how to do drugs, and different sexual preferences, depending on the gender, or cross-gender of the teacher. Welcome to a Godless world!”

I’m very TexCentric, and it showed in Olga vs The American Dream. “This was a big heads up to the third world. While Washington wasn’t invaded, America, for once, had to stand down. We, of course, put the spin on it. We were like Putin recently said. We were like playing chess with a pigeon. We knocked over all the pieces, pooped on the board, and then stomped around like we won. Still, we had the dream. Or rather, Martin Luther King had a dream. Our dream had caught the last train for the coast.”

Seems I was drawn to the past a lot this week. During lunch with some old friends, we got to talking about our high school days, and a few things came to mind. In The Last Picture ShowI wrote about things that would make kids in New York, or California would cringe at. “I didn’t have a pickup. I had a ’54 Chevy. The good thing about it was you could get four friends in the trunk when you went to the show. That meant for you, and the girl, it cost about seventy cents to get in. That’s right, one girl, five boys. Hey, we weren’t Muslims, she was safe. Also, if you were lucky she would be an Army brat and have five dollars or so in her purse, which would turn into buttered popcorn for everybody. The way you convinced her to give up the money was a gift, usually flowers, which meant a swing through the graveyard on the way to pick her up. They didn’t show that in the Last Picture Show either!”

By the week’s end I was blowing through pretty good. Still reflecting on Scott’s broadcast, I did a commentary on my first book, Sharon. “The Muslim community has got to come to the realization that the volatile section of Radical Islam is so dangerous to the rest of the world that they, the “good” Muslims need to handle it, or we, the rest of humanity will have to handle it for them.”

I was flying so high that I began to generate “doubles,” by this time. When I get an idea I just write it, no waiting for later. After listening to a Trump speech I resurrected  Little Red Riding Republican with a nice 2016 update. "Well, that's where Little Red Riding Republican comes in. She had been raised in the wisdom handed down from generation to generation. She had eyes of blue, and flaxen hair that fell down around her shoulders. She would take long walks in the country, and one day, during one of these walks she became lost and a figure appeared out of thin air. It was a black knight!"

And, last, but certainly not least, Black Lives Don’t Matter! Actually, I’ve toyed with this title for months, but I just couldn’t take the edge off enough. When someone came back with ALL Lives Matter, I thought to myself, “Heck, why don’t we just join hands and sing, “We Shall Overcome?” Finally, I came up with a perfect second line. For the record, Black Lives Matter is the epitome of Liberal Stupidity. You simply have to have the guts to put it out there. Everybody knows movements like this are stupid, and the originators laugh all the way to the bank. Unfortunately for them I write for the Tea Party, not the Pot Party! That’s why they call me Bill the Butcher! “Black lives don’t matter! My life matters! In the words of Billy Joe Shaver, “When you have no way to go you’d better know I’m gonna get my share of mine.” Yeah, yeah, yeah, I’m a racist. More than that, I’m a Texan. Texas wasn’t built on a food stamp. America has evolved into a welfare state. In Texas we have a thing called a “51% sign.” Now, it’s supposed to refer to the amount of food vs alcohol that forbids the carrying of a gun within an establishment. In America it is the percentage of citizens working every day, as opposed to those lining up at the welfare office for their daily bread.”

Sunday is a day of rest. Well, maybe for some, but for me it’s a day of reflection. They don’t rest, so I don’t rest. I have been called, A Simple Ol’ Boy From Austin, and that’s good, because when the libtards pounce on me I can always say, “Hey! I told you I was stupid from the start.” Have a blessed week, and keep looking for America. It’s somewhere out there.

 That Was The Week That Was

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

Excerpt From "Sharon"

"Tell me something, preacher-boy. Is this the parking lot of Heaven?" 

He turned to see the small form step out from behind a live oak. "Pardon me?"

Sharon stepped forward into the light.

He recognized her instantly, like an old friend, "Oh, yes. You are the lady in the second row."

 "Yes. You did very good tonight. I was really taken away by your homily."

"Homily?"

"Oh, forgive me. Your sermon. You know, your speech."

He was completely captivated by her. He searched her left hand for a ring, but none was there, and he was amazed that such a lovely creature was not married. Her voice was light, and he could not place the accent. Defiantly not a southern one, but not quite a northern clip either. She had a slight nasal twang to her voice that lent emphasis to what she said, and seemed to make her words "penetrate" the mind.

"I just speak as the spirit moves me."

"I do that, " she said as they walked along. "I relax, and the spirit just comes into me. . . is yours like that?"

"Uh, no. It's more organized, but I do improvise. I have to stay on a subject. You are under time constraints in a revival, you know?"

She stopped walking and looked at him. He stared back. Her eyes were the deepest blue he'd ever seen. Mirrors to her soul. Her hair was brown, and he could smell the most wonderful tea rose smell of her perfume. "I think we're compatible," she suddenly said, "Do you think we're compatible?"

John was blown away! He liked to think he was a grown worldly man, but this lady was a little more forward than he'd run across in church! She watched his eyes, like a cat playing with a mouse, actually leaning forward, and looking first into his right eye, and then his left, and then added, "Spiritually compatible, of course."

"I don't know, yet. I've only known you for a few moments. We are all brothers and sisters in Christ."

She leaned back, and smiled. He had fielded the question, and not given a straight answer.

"Yeah," she answered, nodding her head. "You know I always get something out of people getting together for God. I love the rush of seeing people together, all praying, all loving."

"Are you a member of one of the local churches?"

"Yes. I go to the Church of the Immaculate Conception, over on Westend," she pointed her finger in the direction of town.

John thought he should have known. There had to be a flaw somewhere. He fought hard not to let his face show his feelings. He kept smiling and walking, "You're Catholic?"

"Well. . . yeah, I guess that's what you'd call me. I prefer to think that I belong to the Universal Church, but the word 'Catholic' does just about cover it. Oh, I'm sorry. You're a Protestant aren't you? Now we can't be compatible any more." She lowered her head slightly and peered at him as if she'd been caught with her hand in a cookie jar.

Baptists fight hard against the word "Protestant". The Baptists insist that they are among the original group of Christians, and thereby not part of the so-called "Protestant reformation". The idea of independent churches, according to them, goes all the way back to the time of the apostles.

"Uh, no. I mean, no that's not true. I'm not a Protestant. No, I mean people are beginning to come together more and more. Look, what I'm trying to say is, what are you doing at a revival. Good little Catholic girls don't usually go to these things. Is there something missing in your life? Is there an emptiness?"

They had reached his car by now. "No, I'm not empty. I just saw the tent, and I've never been to one of these things." She flared her eyes mockingly, "I was compelled by the spirit to come in, " she said, waving her hands as if she were casting a spell over him.

He didn't get the joke, and it showed by his blank stare. "Oh, c'mon, lighten up. Don't be such a 'preacher-boy.' I just wanted to see a real live revival. You don't look like Elmer Gantry, though. I'm disappointed."

He relaxed a little. "God save me from that movie. They measure us all by that thing, you know. Are you coming back tomorrow night?"John asked.

"Maybe. Maybe not. I've gotta lead a Rosary over at my church tomorrow at eight in the morning, right after Mass. Why don't you drop in and watch, or maybe. . . even participate."

By now, he was picking up on her humor. She was smiling, and he knew she was ribbing him. 

"Now, you know I can't be going to a Rosary. Look at all these people, what would they think?"

"Yeah. But you ought to at least drop by. I mean , we are a local church. I won't convert you, " she crossed her heart, "honest."

He wanted to say yes so bad he could taste it, but he had to be reserved. "I'll see. Maybe it'll give me some insight."

"Yeah," she responded as she nodded her head in mock seriousness, "insight."

"Do you have a ride?"

"My motorcycle over there," she pointed to a small, yellow Honda.

He unlocked his car, but he didn't open the door. Sharon smiled, and turned to walk away. He felt compelled to say good-bye, but all that came out was, "Have you found Jesus?" The line seemed so dry when he said it to her.

She just looked over her shoulder as she got on her bike, and yelled back, "I didn't know He was lost!"

John watched as the little Honda sputtered away in the darkness. 

Thinning The Herd

Thinning the herd. It reduces the remnant to the best. I am sick and tired of Facebook jail, sneaky liberals, thin skins, snitches, and most people from California. I am going through my Facebook “friends,” and reducing the numbers accordingly. What is a Facebook friend? Well, there are three kinds. Type one is a real friend. Someone you know personally, have had a beer with them, and find out they’re on Facebook. You hook up and pass pictures of your lunch. Then there are these people who send you a friend request. There are subgroups to this.  Group one is people who know an actual friend (see the above), people who know of you and wish to know more about you, and then there are those other friends. They are sort of like, “Yeah, we’re divorced, but we’re still friends.” Boys and girls, if you believe that last statement, have I got a bridge for you and it’s on sale! Definition of divorce: Two people who can’t get along even during sex! Then, there are trolls.

It may come as a surprise to you, but there are people who have nothing better to do except hang on the internet making waves. Some LGBT advocate who joins a Tea Party groups. Then, they proceed to flag everything they see. I saw one of these yesterday that wanted to flag an entire group, although no one had addressed her personally, and no foul language had been used. These are people who would argue with Col. Sanders over a piece of chicken. They read books like “Fifty Shades,” and quite frankly, they’re usually white. I don’t know how many are from, or in California, but if they’re not there they will get there as fast as they can to marry their significant other. (Racist enough for ya’ll?)

I was put in Facebook jail once this year. I put up a picture of Leatherface, kidded the IslamaBastards a little bit, and the door slammed shut for a day. Hey, I thought anyone who drank camel piss would be cool with LeatherFace! My bad. . . he was white! I don’t know who jacked me up, but I don’t think it was a fan of Clint Eastwood. Yesterday I noticed my friend, C. J. Grisham was locked up for three days. Now, let’s do the math. This man has changed history, retired Army, was running for the Senate, squeaky clean member of his church, and somehow he offended “someone” out there. For the record I don’t go to church because every time I do my hair catches of fire.

I have a solution. My rules are simple. First, I will keep all those I have touched, or know personally. Next, members of groups which I am a member, whom I know their political affiliation. Then, members of the publishing community that I know are open minded enough to read something and realize that it’s only a blog and will not harm you if you just move on. Oh, and the two girls I know that have low IQs, but know how to take a good selfie. I shy away from people who send you a friend request in Arabic. I mean, get real!

You have to realize that Facebook is a computer program. The flesh and blood people working there do not possibly have the means to check all posts, but trolls know how to push the appropriate buttons and get what they want. I use key words and tricks, i.e. “Islamabastards.” I made that up. Also, it’s five syllables, and that helps a lot.  

 

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

Black Lives Don't Matter

Black lives don’t matter! My life matters! In the words of Billy Joe Shaver, “When you have no way to go you’d better know I’m gonna get my share of mine.” Yeah, yeah, yeah, I’m a racist. More than that, I’m a Texan. Texas wasn’t build on a food stamp. America has evolved into a welfare state. In Texas we have a thing called a “51% sign.” Now, it’ssupposed to refer to the amount of food vs alcohol that forbids the carrying of a gun within an establishment. In America it is the percentage of citizens working every day, as opposed to those lining up at the welfare office for their daily bread.

I chuckle when I see black lives mattering. Things like, burn their neighborhoods down in tribute to Fat Albert getting his head blown off for assaulting a police officer, setting up a teenage hottie in a yellow bikini (nice contrast there) to flop on the ground for CNN, and now, blocking a main road so working people can’t pay the bill for black lives mattering. And, if someone like me points these things out then we’re “racist!” Well, ok, I’m just a Texas racist. I’m tired of having to duck and dodge that term to please a bunch of people who follow whatever sound bite came out of their ObamaPhones this morning down at the crack house. You may swat them bees now.

Let me ask you, how did Rome fall? It fell when the Romans stopped throwing arrows at invaders of the Empire and started throwing bread to the welfare babies in the stands of the Coliseum! When the Emperor became more concerned with the non-productive elements than the people who built, and sustained the nation Rome began the slippery slide to oblivion. So it will be with America.

Let me clue you people in. America is broke! Two weeks ago we owed nineteen trillion, and in two more weeks we’ll owe twenty-one trillion, and the huddled masses have no idea of the enormity of those numbers, nor do they care, so long as they have a Big Mac, a pipe, and an ObamaPhone.  They have lots of free time to clog of streets, burn buildings and give us all those videos that we all love to pass around on Facebook, demonstrating that the English language is digressing into a Neanderthal level.  

Does this hurt your feelings? Does this make you want to call up the “View” and listen to those cackle babble heads in a box tell you how wonderful liberal thought is, and how Whoopie is the most brilliant philosopher ever? Does it make you want to hang up a poster of Bruce Gender? You better pull your heads out of “Mr. Butt,” and get this right, or you all need to learn to speak Chinese! The world will not tolerate you for much longer. When they come the people who have supported this carnival will grudgingly support whomever comes in and takes it over. Oh, they’ll line the rest up in front of a pit and shoot them in their well-fed bellies.

Black lives won’t be worth a plug nickel on that day. And our new masters won’t even be coy about it. This is the way of the world, friends. Life has never been easy. All the fancy togas, and naked girls didn’t matter a bit when the Visigoths invited themselves to the party in 476 AD. Texas will fare better. We still have an economy, somethings the Obamanation is sadly lacking, but hey, up there, Black Lives Matter. Bon Appetit!

 

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 Last Picture Show

During lunch today I got into a discussion about growing up in Central Texas in the sixties. When you really look at things from a realistic point of view it becomes enlightening, and a bit amusing. First off I was poor white trash, as opposed to rich white trash, which is a totally Texas phenomenon. Poor white trash takes a girl to the drive in movie in an old pickup. Rich white trash takes the girl in a new pickup. The mud, of course, is optional. It was much later that liners were added to the beds of the newer models to negate picking up anything in the pickup.

In The Last Picture Show, there were things that didn’t ring true about that period of time in Texas. First off, the girls did not look like that little blonde who bailed off in the pool with her boyfriend’s gift of a new watch. All the girls I went to school with looked like Olive Oyl. No girl was allowed to wear jeans in school, and that was good because none of them had any reason to wear them. They worked on keeping their front teeth white, but if you looked at them from the side you could see that everything behind the canines was a shade of yellow. When you took them to the drive in and reached your arm around their shoulders, and did the little sneaky snake thing, trying to reach down, that was pointless because until the government pumped up the milk with all those hormones there was nothing to reach for!

The other thing that was off in the movie was all the booze.  We were poor! When the weekend came around, providing we had gas, which involved a collection ranging up to about two dollars, we’d swing around to the 7/11 and pick up a quart of Borden’s chocolate milk. That was a big deal, and if we had a Burger Chef Burger, Oh, my LIVING God! We wouldn’t have to eat again until Monday, which was fine because we all got free lunches at school. School lunches were pre-Michelle, so you could actually live off of them. When you serve a poor kid who’s been living off turnip greens a stalk of broccoli you just made a friend for life.

I didn’t have a pickup. I had a ’54 Chevy. The good thing about it was you could get four friends in the trunk when you went to the show. That meant for you, and the girl, it cost about seventy cents to get in. That’s right, one girl, five boys. Hey, we weren’t Muslims, she was safe. Also, if you were lucky she would be an Army brat and have five dollars or so in her purse, which would turn into buttered popcorn for everybody. The way you convinced her to give up the money was a gift, usually flowers, which meant a swing through the graveyard on the way to pick her up. They didn’t show that in the Last Picture Show either!

Then, of course, there was the fight. Five guys and one girl, you do the math. It was a winner take all situation, unless Santos showed up. For the uninformed, Santos was the seventh grader with a mustache. If he come over to the car he got the girl, and we got the shaft. I think the only movie I actually watched was The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly. All the other times I was trying to get my hand down Lillian Sprinke’s blouse. I never made it.

 

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

Sharon

My friend, Scott Binsack touched on a subject last night during his nightly Facebook live feed that was deeply personal for him. Several years ago he had a near death experience that changed his life, and from which he drew inspiration that has redirected his understanding of what that life is supposed to be. During his show I was having an ongoing discussion via PM with my other friend, Michael Brown who also has run a show on BlogTalk Radio, and Michael took exception to what Scott was trying to articulate. Now, first off, that’s just Michael. I have my style, and he has his, and that is that.

Normally, Scott is very forceful, very direct, and very strong. This subject simply touched him somewhere that he doesn’t expose often. That, combined with his reaching for an explanation made him seem a little out of his element, which is not putting him down at all. I, myself, recently did some reflection on if I should appear on Tommy’s Garage, knowing that my forte is writing, and not wanting to appear as a quacking duck to several million people, but it just so happens that I’ve written a book on this very subject, Sharon, and I’m going to expound the subject Scott was alluding to for you here.

Verily, verily, I say unto Thee, if thou art mystified, thou doesn’t understand the trick. Once upon a time I knew a woman. Back then I was a “Hail Mary” Catholic, and she was a “mystic.” We’d meet at Saint Joseph’s in Killeen, pray the Rosary together, and she’d launch into a rambling dialog about her understanding of the faith. I was spell bound. What I didn’t know was that God was setting the stage to draw me into a deeper understanding of who He really was.

Not long after meeting “Susan” I began to write the book I mentioned. At first it was to be a great epic telling the world about her. That’s not the way it turned out. As I typed the words the character who was originally patterned after Susan, began to take on a life of her own, and she began to speak to me from the pages of the book. I would get up each morning, throw open the French Doors in my bedroom and begin to write. Sometimes a chapter, sometimes a paragraph, sometimes only one line, but there was no “filler” in this book. Everything had weight, and a lot of it I didn’t understand.

The most amazing thing was “Sharon” contradicted almost everything “Susan” had told me. In later years I’ve had priests and theologians more knowledgeable than I tell me that there are seven signs embedded in the book, but for the life of me I can’t find them. The plot of the book is simple, actually. A young, revivalist Baptist Preacher comes upon a nineteen year old girl, Sharon, during the last revival of the season. She shows up riding a little yellow motor scooter, and sits in the second row of the tent. After the first meeting she invites him to a church garden for a series of discourses, in which she introduces him to a vastly different understanding of spirituality than he was talking about on the stage. Her message is selflessness, and the universal omnipotence of God.

By then end of the week’s revival the preacher is profoundly affected by this girl, and his feet on a far different path than when he first arrived. I won’t reveal the entire plot to you, but there are scenes that still rock me to this day. One such scene involves Sharon asking a series of teens, meeting with her in the little garden what love was to them. There is one teen girl who pushes back, and refuses to answer. Sharon skips her, understanding that there is some turmoil within her that makes her so withdrawn.  When the little meeting concludes, and the kids are leaving, the girl turns, looks at Sharon and the preacher, and says, “What is love? Love is when you pray the Rosary every day to die instead of your sister, because she has cancer!”

I don’t believe I was “inspired” when I wrote this book. I most certainly didn’t find any golden tablets, and not one single angel appeared to me in any cave. What I found was the lies, manipulation and hypocrisy of organized religion. I became a fallen away Catholic. I believe, in his own way, Scott met Sharon during his three minute near death experience. You have to read the book to find what she is to you. I am going to give you my understanding.

We have a Muslim problem. This is a problem with an organized “religion” if you can even call it that, not a problem with God. Now, this next part is going to be harsh, but you’ll feel better in the morning. Organized religion is just an effort to control the masses. Don’t look for God there because He is not there. All that is there is man. 666, Man, Man, Man! Go to Google and check out numerology. You’ll feel better in the morning. This was the message of Jesus, and the message of Sharon. Mohammed did not see an angel in a cave, and Joseph Smith did not find any golden tablets in the woods. There is a difference between “Prophet” and “profit.” What these two guys found was a clever way to con people out oftheir gold. And I’m sorry to say that they are just two of a host of con men who have used the same game plan over, and over, and over again.

One billion believers simply cannot all be evil. Most just practice the faith they have been taught since birth, believing people they deem wiser than themselves. Most are just normal people. The loud, the obnoxious, the hateful get on CNN. The Main Stream Media doesn’t make any money, or ratings showing Muslims quietly praying, or Baptists having a pot luck dinner. They make their bones with bombs, bodies and blood.

The Muslim community has got to come to the realization that the volatile section of Radical Islam is so dangerous to the rest of the world that they, the “good” Muslims need to handle it, or we, the rest of humanity will have to handle it for them. Donald Trump’s idea of stemming Muslim immigration is a good one for one reason. It forces the hand of Muslims everywhere to address their problems. God gathers, Satan scatters. Contrary to what ISIS believes, Islam, and Sharia Law will not dominate the world. These are the results of a diseased mind, but all Muslims are not diseased. They just want to work, live and pray, and like everyone else, hope in their final hour they are right!

In conclusion I will quote the book one more time. After the first meeting in the tent, Sharon gets on her little scooter, starts to drive away. The preacher, knowing nothing else to say asks her, “Have you found Jesus?” She looks at him, smacks her gum and replies, “I didn’t know He was lost.” She putters away in the mists.

 

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