I met up with my old pal Mooch for lunch at the local Whataburger a few days ago; corner booth by the west window, same as always for at least ten years now. Giblet, his foul tempered chihuahua was nestled into his chest mount baby sling. A large colorful patch on the sling read; “Service and Emotional Support Animal.” I never knew that? What in the world could Giblet do except bite your fingers trying to steal french fries and crap in the carrier.
We ordered our burgers, said our howdy’s and made small talk until the meal arrived. Mooch was quiet except for smacking his double meat burger. I knew he was troubled about something.
About half-way through the meal, Mooch blurted out, “my grandson is a sissy-boy.”
I know his grandson Willie quite well, so this surprised the hell out of me. The kid is 6 ft. 240 pounds of Texas football playing whoop-ass. All district line-backer all 4 years at Granbury High School and the fastest man on the track team. Mooch must be on drugs or suffering from early onset “Old-timers.”
I said, ” come on Mooch, the kid is all testosterone and muscle and will be playing football for some Big 10 university next year.”
“Nope” he says. “He’s a girly-man, just like that Boy George dude back in the 80s. My son Harry called me yesterday with the news. Willie is transitioning into a girl named Sadie Sue. Harry said he’s wearing a blonde wig, dresses, high-heel shoes, makeup and big fake titties. He still has his Johnson, so that’s a good thing, but he said he is a girl now. I should have noticed something was amiss when he sent the AR 15 rifle I bought him for Christmas back to me with a note that said, “no thanks, guns or for mean boys.” His Grandma is so freaked out, she took a handful of Valium and took to her bed.”
I know nothing of this subject, but offered Mooch a coddled word, “I know this is a shock, but is there anything positive that can come of this. You think it’s just a fad or a phase?”
Mooch smiled and said, “Well there is one good thing, he got a full-ride scholarship to the University of Oregon, so at least he will get a good education.”
“Well that’s good news indeed. I’m sure he will be a stellar line-backer for the football team,” I say.
Mooch wiped a tear from his watery old eye and said, “not football buddy, he’s on the girls track team.” And with that, Giblet bit Mooch’s hand trying to get the last french-fry.
Notes From The Cactus Patch 
Damn. Well, I hope Willie matches his dress and pumps with his makeup before he goes for his first job interview … and I hope he knows black men prefer heifers. Other than that, what could possibly go wrong?
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Yep. Thanks for reading Mustang.
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That’s the best so far! My oldest son had me listen to a Boy George song that he liked back in the day. He hadn’t seen what Boy George looked like as it was the days before Google replaced all other informational outlets, so he had no idea. We were watching a musical special one time on TV and as chance would have it, The Boy was one of the musical guests. When my son saw what he looked like, he never listened to Boy’s music again. I still chuckle when I think of the look on his face.
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There was a song in the 80s by Mo and Joe called “Where’s The Dress.” The video had the two of them dressed like Boy George so they could have a hit record. Pretty funny stuff.
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