Ask A Texan 4.29.25


Pretty Good And Sometimes Worthless Advice For Folks That Don’t Live In Texas But Wish They Did Because Everything is Bigger and Better In Texas

The Texan and Notes From The Cactus Patch will be offline starting tomorrow, April 30, 2025. Here’s the reason why:

I was pulling up some dead plants and pesky weeds in my landscape, and I reached over a little too far and jerked on a pesky dead plant. I heard a “pop” and felt the rotatory cuff muscle and bicep detach from my shoulder. And, of course, it’s my good arm, the one I use for playing the guitar, painting, writing, shaving, brushing my teeth, and holding my whiskey tumbler. I wouldn’t be so upset if it was my left shoulder. Dr. Pepper, my young surgeon, says he will fix me up, and I’ll be able to use my arm after eight weeks in a special sling. He explained he would be using a small Robot controlled by his Atari game controller, so no humans would be touching me. I’m concerned that the small Robot might make a mistake and go rogue. The little fella looks a lot like R2D2. Dr. Pepper says no worries. The robot will be scrubbed in, and a mask and surgical gloves will be on his little mechanical hands. They had him worked on last week to fix the glitches. I asked what the glitches were? It seems the Robot had malware in his little chipped brain and removed a lady’s liver instead of her gall bladder. That made me feel really warm and fuzzy.

The little Davinci Robot

I had a similar experience when I had cancer. The surgeon needed samples of my poor prostate gland, so he used a robot called “Davinci.” It was larger than this R2D2 and wore a purple cape and a matching Italian Beret. The little fellow got his samples, took one, and put it in an Italian cut-glass jar. It’s sitting on my coffee table.

I’ll be back writing and giving worthless advice soon. God Bless Texas, The Alamo, and Davy Crockett.

Ask A Texan 4.29.25


Decent advice for folks who might not live in Texas but wish they did.

The Texan

A fella sent me a note on a Tractor Supply postcard. It seems Mr. Leroy Buford of Chigger Bayou, Louisiana, has suffered the wrath of a vengeful wife.

Leroy: Mr. Texan, my wife, Lavernfullella, got mad at me for gambling away my paycheck on the Dallas Cowboys game. I’ll admit it was my fault; who in their right mind would bet on those boys to win. The case of Bud Light had something to do with it. Anyhow, I came home, and our house was gone. She had hooked up her pickup to the trailer and pulled that sumbitch out of the Chigger Bayou Trailer Park. I don’t have a home and am living in the old lady next door’s tool shed. Can you give me some advice on how to fix this mess?

The Texan: First off, Mr. Leroy, never bet or watch those washed-up Americas team again. That Hillbilly with a gold card ruined a great Texas franchise. Secondly, why didn’t you remove the tires from your home? You’d be sleeping warm and cuddly right now. This scenario reminds the Texan of his friend, the great white hunter, Bwana of San Saba. He had a nice Airstream on his hunting lease in the Texas rough country. He was sleeping good one night, dreaming of killing a Bambi. Some Cartel boys liked the looks of his fancy trailer, so they hooked up to it and pulled it away. He was sleeping soundly and didn’t know he was being hijacked. He woke up the next morning in a parking lot in Juarez, Mexico. He looked for a policeman, but he only found two little boys wanting him to come to meet their sister for twenty dollars. Lesson learned, take the tires off your home and hide them somewhere. Hope you find your Hacienda. Keep in touch.