My first and last speech at the Sons of the Alamo Lodge No. 2 was a rousing lesson in humility; my own. I will admit my prep work was on the shabby side because my few remaining female cousins have taken my name off their Rolodexes and cell phones. I didn’t see the harm in using them in my stories about our childhoods; they were always shown in a good light to avoid tarnishing their social standing in their hometown. Reams of notes, old photos, and orated stories from my mother and granny were the fodder for my historical ramble.
Daniel Crockett, the great-great-great-and even greater grandson, and the grandiose Grand Poohbah of the lodge, accused me of blasphemy because I insinuated that old Davy and Jim Bowie were drunkards. I reminded him that the book written by Veronica Baird confirmed that not only were they affectionately fond of the home-distilled sauce, they also smoked an Indian peace pipe stuffed with loco weed. Nothing like historical truth to bring the wrath of Texas upon you. I have been informed by a certified FedEx delivered rolled parchment letter, sealed with hot wax from candles found in the old mission, that I am on probation within the lodge for insulting historical heresy. I called my good buddy, Mooch, and laid out the scenario, and he volunteered to cut the tires and sugar the gas tank of the Grand Poohbah’s Suburban in retaliation. I will admit, it does sound like a good plan, and Mooch is just enough of a red-neck to pull it off. Before I pull the trigger on this one, I will consult my Pastor on whether this type of revenge is a Hell-bound offense.
The Rat War is in its final days, just as the Iran war with the entire world is hitting its stride. Foam removal from the hot tub’s interior is complete, and no rodents are present; only the damage caused by their excessive chewing. I haven’t bothered to check for carcasses in the woods because the Copperheads and Rattlesnakes are active, but gauging from the amount of the delicious poison consumed from the Martha Stewart Designer Rat trap, they have likely gone to La-La Land, or wherever pestilence goes after death. Wonder how the Supreme Leader Ayatollah Khomeini feels about demon Rats from Hell running up his robe? Yikes!
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Notes From The Cactus Patch 
The Rat Patrol’s commander has given the order to attack Ali Khamenei. Observers are enjoying the spectacle as they dive into hot buckets of naturally occurring popcorn. (Schadenfreude is a thing.)
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The Rat Patrol is engaged and fully equipped. I got one with my pellet rifle a few days back.
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Phil, you know enough to know history and accuracy are rare bedfellows. May I remind you of the truism from The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance about which to print?
I have always loved the fact that we can trace my mother’s lineage back to the American Revolution, espewcially the footnote that the man in question was a Hessian.
besides which, i have a much easier time picturing a drunken Crockett than a sober one
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Arthur, you are correct. Being able to trace your family history back that far is exciting. Hessians fighting for the British was normal from I’ve read, and The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance is one of my favorite westerns, as is the song. Those early Tennesseans loved their sour mash, and history says old Jim Bowie would drink about anything available. If you’re going down in the battle, why not have a good buzz so you can enjoy it. My fathers side of the family all lived within a few blocks of each other, weekend parties were the norm back in the 40s and 50s. Uncle Orem made some home brewed moonshine and it almost killed the entire clan. A few were blind for a while but recovered and went back to drinking Old Crow and Schlitz beer.
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Jasmine Crockett is probably drowning her tears in alcohol right about now.
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Likely so. Glad she’s no relation to old Davy. His widow and a few of her children are buried here in Granbury. When he died at the Alamo, the state gave the widows 200 acres or so of land and she chose Granbury area, which was rich soil along the Brazos River.
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Serves him right, the rat bastard!!
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Happy Trails to him and his minions.
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Phil, didn’t you know that if you don’t like history, you can change it? 🙂
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Yep, I have been known to do that, Nancy. Crockett’s widow is really buried in Granbury. I heard that Jasmine Crockett bought a plot next to hers. Uh Oh.
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😱
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I’ll give a bit of respect…a minute of…..not silence…but JOY that the once present Ayatollah is gone. This should have been done in 1979.
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