Remembering the 4th of July, 1957


The whirling of the push mower blades sings their song of torment as I struggle to advance the heavy beast forward. I miss cutting the grass by two days; now, it’s akin to whacking my way through a South American jungle. I’m eight years old, and it’s the 4th of July, 1957.

Later this afternoon, friends and relatives will arrive for a backyard cookout and fireworks at dusk. There is a watermelon packed in an ice-filled tub. Cold beer and soft drinks fill another. Both tubs are sitting in the shade of our backyard Mimosa tree. My father’s beloved Leonard Brothers all-steel charcoal grill sits on the driveway, loaded with briquettes.  

Many of the relatives are on my father’s “shit list,” but being the nice fellow, he extends the invitation on this day and the Christmas holidays. They always come, and the reason for their banishment soon rears its ugly head. Beer gives them the strength to make a beautiful ass of themselves. I’m a kid and could care less. I want to play with dangerous fireworks and blow things up.

People arrive around four. A few cousins close to my age make the party tolerable. My tomboy cousin Ginger brings her bow and target arrows. She wastes no time shooting my cousin Jok in his left buttock. My father removes the arrow, and a band-aid dresses the wound. Kids were tough back then. A speeding bullet is the only thing that might stop us. We move on to firecrackers, cherry bombs, and sparklers.

Burgers are served along with “tater salad” and watermelon. Pearl beer gives my father’s uncle Orum the ability to talk like Will Rogers. His home-spun recounts of past family gatherings captivate the adults. Without the lubrication of beer, he is as humorless as a cardboard box. Cousin Ginger finds her bow and arrows and sends one through the bedroom window glass. She gets a well-deserved butt whooping. It’s not often I see a girl get a butt busting. She does the one-arm dance as her mother delivers the blows. Cool.

I destroy every ant mound in our alley with Black Cat firecrackers and send a tin can into the stratosphere with a Cherry Bomb. Cousin Jok sits a cherry bomb on top of the front tire of his older brother’s new MG convertible to test the velocity of the explosion. The firework blows an outward dent in the fender. Jok is a doomed kid when he gets home.

Darkness arrives, and we swirl sparklers in figure-eight patterns. Sticks of metal burning at 3,000 degrees. Kids holding a welding torch; what could go wrong?

Ten o’clock arrives, and I’m lying in bed after my bath. The soft whir of my bedroom swamp cooler lulls me into La La Land. The adults are still in the backyard. I hear their laughter and catch a few words of some dirty jokes.

Drowsiness comes; sleep is but a minute away; then I hear my mother singing God Bless America, and the others join in. It feels good to be a kid on the 4th of July.

When Decorum And Respect Is Lost


Photo Courtesy of Getty Images

Mayra Flores is the new Hispanic congresswoman from South Texas; she was sworn into office a few days ago. Her husband and children attended the ceremony. During the official photo, Mrs. Flores and her family were joined by Speaker Nancy Pelosi. A photo op Mrs. Pelosi was visibly uncomfortable with.

Mrs. Flores’s oldest daughter was standing next to Pelosi, perhaps a little too close for Nancy’s comfort.

In a fit of childish behavior, Pelosi elbowed the young girl not once but twice, wanting her to move away. This was caught on video, and photographers and Mrs. Flores and her husband, a United States Border Patrol Agent, are unhappy about the incident; as is much of conservative America and the Hispanic community.

Perhaps, Mrs. Pelosi was upset because a young Hispanic woman won her seat as a Republican when, historically, all Hispanics are supposed to be Democrats, no excuses. If you ain’t a Democrat, you ain’t a Hispanic.

You won’t see this on our national news broadcast. The Dems have put out the word not to cover this boo-boo. The media always complies with the leftist because they are of the same ilk.

Nancy Pelosi should “publically apologize” to Mrs. Flores and her family. But she won’t; she is incapable of apology. Many doctors say she and Diane Feinstein are more cognitively challenged than Biden, so don’t look for decorum and decency from this evil woman. It’s not in her DNA.

AOC, the social media princess of morons, is back in her adoring national spotlight.

She stands outside the supreme court building with hundreds, if not thousands, maybe even millions of her female worshipers, shouting through a bull-horn to abolish the supreme court and impeach the conservative judges. Then she ramps it up by calling her constituents and followers to take to the streets and fight and attack the judges in their homes, “violence is the only way,” she screams. So, where is the DOJ? To me, this is worse than what President Trump implied. Will she get an investigative committee? Will she be arrested? No, she will be immortalized as a demonic saint by the horde of twenty-something ignorant women that hang on her every word and action. Without Facebook, Tik Tok, and Instagram, this childish adult woman would still be bartending in a blue-collar beer joint in Queens.

This is what the Democratic Party has become. The party of hate and violence. But hasn’t it always been? I was a teenager in the 60s and watched the news. Not much has changed, only better and faster coverage.

This summer is shaping up to repeat the 1968 Democratic Convention in Chicago; blood in the streets, buildings burned, and innocent people shot. So it’s time for ordinary American citizens to clean their weapons, stock up on ammo and get ready for the big show coming to your city.

“The Supremes Have A Number One Hit!” Musings From The Cactus Patch


Photo courtesy of Jill Biden

The Supreme Court, also affectionately known as “The Supremes,” has a “number one hit” with their upholding of the second amendment, which is part of our constitution. Six judges voted to uphold and three voted against, which means they are against upholding the constitution, the main document they are supposed to protect and follow. It will be illuminating to see how the court acts on other issues coming next week. I’m anticipating Diana Ross throwing a hissy-fit.

The liberal and radical left will naturally set social media on fire and organize protests peppered with violence. What a glorious sight it will be to see hundreds of little college-educated snowflakes running down the street with their hair ablaze. I can’t wait.

The Biden White House is telling the peasants to purchase a $60,000+ electric vehicle and stop complaining about $5+ a gallon gas.” This comes from Karine Jean-Pierre, the young, highly educated, and perfect black-lesbian-immigrant-press secretary. For a change, she had to answer some tough questions from the reporters and folded like a cheap Walmart lawn chair. Her usual response to anything of substance is; “gaze upon my black lesbian perfection, I am an African goddess.” Yes, she might be all of those, but she is also a total moron. Infrastructure to support electric vehicles is still two to three decades away.

Did anyone notice good ole’ Lester Holt on NBC news last night? He was interviewing someone and he used the term “circle back” with the guest. Come on Lester, you are better than that.

The Magical Green Switch


Here it is Thursday, June 23rd, and our President, or should I say, “Resident,” has yet to flip that magical green switch that will lower gasoline to an affordable price.

Suspending the gasoline tax of .18 cents will yield the average driver around $2.50 per tank-full, almost enough to buy a half-gallon of milk or a loaf of Wonder bread.

Perhaps he should call former President Donald Trump and ask the location of the switch?

Biden; “Trump, this is Joe, you know the President; can you tell me the location of that switch that will fix everything?”

Trump; “Sure Joe, it’s in Oz, behind the green curtain. Dorothy, oops, I mean Jill can show you the way. By the way Joe, you know I won.”

The End Is Near, Save Yourself


Remember back in the day, all those cartoons in the magazines had a bearded man in a long robe carrying a sign saying, ” The End Is Near.” We laughed then, but we are not laughing now.

“It’s not like I can turn a switch and reduce the price of gas.” Yes, Dear Hearts, these words came from Biden’s mouth last week. These are things the moron says when his handler, Jill, lets him away from her side for a few moments.

The honest answer is, “yes you can turn that switch because you turned it off, and it can be turned back on.” Unfortunately, it’s not Fairy Dust and Unicorn Piss, Joe. The poor human is so stupefied, mentally unstable, and clueless that he might as well have his office in Disney Land.

Jimmy Carter and Hoover can rest easy now; they will no longer be remembered as the worst presidents in history. Biden currently holds that honor.

I’ve read up on Biden and his 49-year tenure in Washington, and it’s not pretty. The man never held a regular job, had 5 deferments to stay out of Vietnam (although now he remembers being in the service or something like it), was last in his class in law school, and was a poor student in high school.

“He may not be a smart man, but he knows what love is,” as Forest Gump might say.

He has never made a payroll, hired or fired employees, given a bonus to a worker, or produced a product or service for public consumption; Anything he did accomplish in the senate was for his minuscule home state of Deleware and not for the rest of America. The man is an actual mental midget regarding understanding the economy and how it functions.

People who worked with him in the early years remember him as a “bully and a thug.” He would, and still does, get in the face and threaten anyone that opposes him or ask a question he doesn’t like. There are more than a few tapes of his attack behavior on the public. In the last few years, it has gotten worse because that is what happens with dementia patients. They have no filters and are apt to say disgusting things anytime. This is the leader of the free world. Let that marinate for a bit.

Putting a hold on the federal gas tax of 0.18 cents will help no one. Maybe a few dollars a gallon would bring relief, but that will never happen. We will be staring at $8.00 per gallon by August, and that, cousins, will not only throw us into a recession, which we are already months into but a depression. Our country runs on oil and gas, and that drives the economy. There are no electric trucks or planes that deliver our goods. No electric tankers have our interests, and there is no infrastructure for electric vehicles. One day in the not-so-distant past, we were energy self-sufficient and supplying other countries with oil and gas. The next day, we weren’t. So WTF happened? The Democrats took office.

” Oh, Nancy dear, I signed the orders you requested and shut down our economy; now you can throw that cute little green switch and turn on the solar batteries and wind farms.”

Nancy goes into a vodka rage, “Ugh, Joe, you moron, we are three or four decades from having enough of those to power this country. What the hell were you thinking?

The Fathers Day Reel That Never Caught A Fish


A few nights ago, I thought about “Father’s Day.” I often wake in the wee hours, which are my most fruitful time to contemplate the state of the world. Things such as, did I forget to water my veggie garden or put the trash bin out for collection. The small items require as much thought as the big ones.

The restaurants will be packed to the limit this coming Sunday, and Bass Pro Shop and Amazon will be working overtime until Saturday night. But, of course, it wasn’t always this way.

Like Mother’s day, it wasn’t an official government-sanctioned holiday until the 70s, although the American public has recognized the special day since 1910.

During the second world war, it gained ground because the retailers figured out how to make a few extra bucks by plucking our heartstrings with schmaltzy advertising. As a result, hallmark has sold Billions of cards, and American retailers continue to milk this golden cash cow dry.

Around our house in the 1950s, “Father’s Day” wasn’t considered an extravaganza. My Dad mowed the yard or made repairs on our home, Mom made him a special meatloaf with cornbread, and my sister and I gave him our homemade construction paper cards. Sometimes, he received a gift, but not often. One year Mom purchased a fancy fishing lure for us to give him. Large shiny treble hooks and feathers were sure to make any fish want a bite. Another year, a nice shirt and a pair of fishing sneakers. He never expected much because money was always tight, and folks of his generation weren’t wired like they are now.

In 1969, I gave my Dad a Garcia saltwater fishing reel for ” Father’s Day.” Captian Rick Corn, who owned the Sports Center in Port Aransas, gave me a “poor boy’s” deal, or I could have never afforded such a gift. It was a beautiful bright red and chrome reel, nestled into a padded black leather case. Unfortunately, it was too pretty to use. The saltwater would tarnish the colors and the shining chrome within a few weeks. Then it would be like our other working reels.

For years to come, during our fishing trips into the Gulf, I noticed he never put the reel on a pole. He said it would be a shame to lose it overboard like we had a few others when a 40lb King Fish hits our bait at light speed, and the rod escapes the holder and goes flying into the water. He kept it locked in the storage closet of our family beach house. So I forgot about the reel for many years.

My father passed away in 1996. So when my sister and I sold the beach house in 2001, I ran across the reel in the storage closet; it had never been on a pole. It was as shining and beautiful as it was the day I gave it to him.

Years ago, I passed the reel on to my youngest son, Wes. He knows the family story behind the reel.

He and his family live on South Padre Island, just a short drive from Port Aransas. His home is on a canal that leads to the Gulf. His Blue Wave fishing boat moored to his dock behind his home. As of yet, I have not seen the reel on his rods, so I will assume he treasures the 52-year-old reel as my father did, by not risking its loss in the Gulf. One day, he may pass it on to my grandson, and perhaps he will catch a record-breaking Kingfish with that reel.

Thoughts From The Cactus Patch


If a Republican Senator or lawmaker had attacked a liberal Justice like Sotomayor or Kagan or Jackson, declared without ambiguity that ‘they will pay the price,’ it is virtually guaranteed you would see wall-to-wall coverage if an attempt was made on their lives,” he said, referring to Senate Majority Leader Chuck Schumer’s, D-N.Y., comments in 2020 about conservative justices, including Kavanaugh.” Taken from the New York Post.

It’s disturbing that the national news media outlets gave zero coverage to the attempt on Supreme Court Judge Kavanaugh’s life. True, the young man did not fire a shot or get into the house, but it was an attempt. When did one political party assume total control of the information on television, newspapers, and the internet? A guess would be in the early 2000s. Peter Jennings and a few other tv talking heads from back in the 90s, although liberal, attempted to give us the facts and the truth. I had high hopes for Lester Holt, but he caved in record time and fell into step. Who can blame the man? The networks pay these teleprompter readers extravagant salaries that have no base in reality. It’s a job, and they don’t write their own script.

Our Supreme Court judges are our most sacred cows deserving to be protected no matter the party affiliation of the president that appointed them. Not a concerned or denounced word from President Biden, Nancy Pelosi, Chuck Schumer, or others of their ilk. So, does that make them complicit in the attempt? First, it would be a yes, but maybe they are afraid to speak out against their radical base. They could be next in line. Silence can be golden, but it can be deafening and damning in the newsroom.

I’ve seen much in my 73 years, but I must confess that 2021 and 2022 may win the golden calf or at least a plaster Saint for your garden. History denotes the effectiveness of presidents, starting with General George Washington. Up until Carter, Buchanan, and maybe Hoover was considered the losers of Washington. Jimmy and Rosiland Carter can rest easy now; our current president has taken the flaming torch and is leading a parade down Pennsylvania Avenue. He thinks he is going to light the Olympic flame. Please, Jill, take him home.

Maureen and I don’t take many trips nowadays. We did manage a family gathering in Fredricksburg, Texas, back in May for Maureen’s 70th, but that was before the gas prices went south. Galveston was on our agenda for July, but with the cost of fuel, hotels, and food, we will be sticking close to home. Maybe a short day trip and a good meal will suffice. The days of long hauls in our trusty Honda may be over for a while. I believe the Gulf of Mexico and Guido’s shrimp baskets will be there next year.

The tomato harvest is upon us. The backyard garden is fruitful this year. Small, medium and Godzilla-size orbs are ripening within a day. It’s either my taste buds or on the fritz, or the tomatoes this year lack flavor. The Squash bit the dust early on due to a disease or bugs. I blame it on the hot, dry spring and, of course, the economy.

” I Mean, You Know”


Photo by Lilly Munster

The president also dismissed the world’s richest man, seeming to mock Musk’s business endeavors in space exploration. “So, you know, lots of luck on his trip to the Moon. I mean, I don’t — I mean, you know…” Biden concluded on the subject, trailing off. 

This is the response from our president regarding Elon Musk’s take on our economy. Elon is a visionary, a genius, and an employer of thousands; he gets it and has the good sense to move his empire to Texas. Thank you, young sir.

Joe Biden is a man who never has in his long life held a private-sector job, owned a company, made a payroll, produced a product or a service that benefited the public, and made a career of using his elected office to make millions of dollars for himself and his corrupt family. Basically, Joe Biden is as worthless as a steaming pile of Racoon shit fermenting in a vacant lot in downtown Chicago. Makes one wonder how and why the state of Deleware still exists?

The Young Privileged Wokie’s


Photo by Diane Arbus

“As of today, every student deceived, defrauded, and driven into debt by Corinthian Colleges can rest assured that the Biden-Harris Administration has their back and will discharge their federal student loans,” Education Secretary Miguel Cardona said in a statement. “For far too long, Corinthian engaged in the wholesale financial exploitation of students, misleading them into taking on more and more debt to pay for promises they would never keep.” This also includes loans from other universities. Taken from an article published in American Greatness.

You didn’t call me for my opinion or advice concerning your college education?

I would have told you flat out that a degree in Ancient Greek Philosophy wouldn’t get you a job as a grocery checker at Trader Joe’s. Now, after investing five years and $150,000. You work as a fact-checker at FaceBook and think the rest of us uneducated peons should pay off your bloated loan for your worthless degree. You drive an electric car, but can’t go far, so you spend most of your time with your like-minded friends at a coffee shop staring at your phones. Woke-ism is what drives your worthless narcissistic life. You believe Jesus is a plaster statue in your grandmother’s garden. The focal point decor of your crappy apartment is a Hillary Clinton bobblehead, a signed photo of AOC, and a framed picture of Ruth B. Ginsberg.

How’s this Biden thing working out for you?

Deep Thoughts From The Cactus Patch; Things That Make You Say WTH? Updated 5/25/22


Most of my posts are comedy, poking fun at the ineptness of our government and our off-the-rails society; as both are so deserving of ridicule.

I didn’t watch television or listen to the radio yesterday until around 6 pm, and that is when my wife and I saw the tragedy unfold in Uvalde, Texas. 18 elementary school children and 2 or 3 of their teachers, and a grandmother, all killed by an 18-year-old deranged psychopath. The reports indicate the death toll may rise, let us pray it will not.

As a nation, in unison, we must mourn these innocents, but we also must find the reason why these mass killings are growing. What as a whole, are our society and our leaders missing? Is it gun control? likely not, any fool can buy an illegal gun from an individual or from someone in the wrong part of town. Is it the mental health of our nation? Partly, yes. Violence comes at us from everywhere. Video games on X Boxes or on our phones, music and music videos, movies, and television. An already unstable person could see this behavior as normal and acceptable, with no repercussions. It’s part of our society that now seems to be a surreal video game playing out 24-7. The final piece is social media. Facebook, Tik-Tok, Instagram, Twitter, and more are quick to fact-check and ban what they feel is misinformation, religious views, or the questioning of vaccines, yet they leave the crazed recorded rantings of killers to be shared with others, which in turn emboldens their actions. For the moment, they are the star of their own demented reality show. Millions will view the post, and some will agree, but most will cringe in disgust and question why is this allowed to be there for viewing.

The killer in Ulvade had a presence on social media; it’s not known at this time how much, but it was there and known, yet no one came forward with a warning. Friends and the authorities did nothing. The school was left unprotected because of budget restraints within the district. Everyone gets that reality until it’s too late. There will be hearings, firings, and lawsuits, and the state of Texas will likely introduce new laws and protocols for schools. But, it’s too late and has been for decades. Every administration has dealt with mass killings on their watch, only to kick that can on down the congressional road. Unfortunately for our resident president, there have been numerous attacks, and still nothing except speeches, rantings, and blaming the other political party and conservative Americans. There is no unity in this nation, and until there is this type of evil will fester and grow.

Biden praises ballooning gasoline prices and says, “Americans have to go through a transition to learn their lesson.” Well, Joe, the electric so-called car experts, believe we are approximately 20 years away from having a minimal infrastructure to support electric vehicles. So what does Joe do? The minute he gets his Mont Blanc fountain pen in his shaky hand, he attempts to kill the oil and gas industry, the main lifeblood that drives the country and our economy. America doesn’t run on Las Vegas magic, Unicorn Pee or Fairy Dust. I hear that Jill ( not a doctor ) and AOC are working on a children’s book that claims it does.

“Mommy, you don’t need gas for our car anymore; just fill it up with Unicorn pee-pee.” It will be a New York Times bestseller.

Signing one after another freshly printed order, Joe remarks,

“I’ll show those gas-guzzling, Trump-loving deplorable racist how it’s done; Oh, Nancy dear, is there anything else I can sign that will turn our country into a third-world nation by tomorrow morning?” Nancy brings another stack of executive orders and leans in close so Joe can sniff her freshly washed hair. The American public doesn’t know, or will ever know, what the dementia-wracked old man signed. He thought he was approving checks to pay the utility bills.

Is the White House green? Do they have solar panels and windmills in the backyard? Nope, I believe they still use good old coal-fired electricity transmitted through a building-mounted meter. Makes one wonder about that monthly charge.

The Catholic Archbishop banned Pelosi from taking communion, causing the green-haired fishing- tackle-faced Wokies to organize and go after the church. Now he may have to reverse his order. He may want to phone God or perhaps the Popester on his magic red phone for this one. The problem is, Sir Archbishop, the Wokies don’t attend church and are not Christians, so does it matter what they think or do?

How about sticking to your holy-six- guns and having some big gonads like you possessed back in the good old inquisition days when the church didn’t take kindly to Heretics (a 14th-century term for Wokies) and burned them alive tied to a nicely carved wooden stake, threw them over cliffs, and, while still alive and protesting, tore their limbs off and fed them to the hounds. It worked wonders back then.

Since Pelosi’s religious practices are in the news, did anyone notice how during Lent that she and Biden wore their forehead ash blessing for days so the easily impressed public would believe they were “real Christians?” There will be a unique dinner table in Hell for them, right next to Hillary and Bill Clinton’s table. Jeffry Epstein will be their Maitre-d’ and everything will be burned to a crisp.

Trying to pull a fast one on the local school mothers of the country, State Farm Insurance backed a “secret squirrel” program to put LGBQRSTUVWXYZ-themed books into our elementary school classrooms. Unfortunately, some sensible employees at the “Farm” spilled the beans, and they were forced to end the program before the company imploded. Too bad for Flo, I’ve Seen a Thing Or Two, and the lizard; they missed out.

The greatest scandal hit Washington since Watergate; Hillary Clinton has been outed for orchestrating and paying for the Trump Russia BS smear. Where are Bernstein and Woodward? Where is Forest Gump? Old NBC Lester hasn’t said a word about it. Old Joe is filling his diaper, knowing he and Hunter are likely next.

That cute little press secretary is such a moron that she can’t answer a question without sounding like a 4-year-old caught telling a lie. Her stock, circle back answer is; I’m a proud black immigrant lesbian woman; I don’t need to answer anything, just marvel at my perfectness. She checked all of Biden’s boxes except the one for IQ. Bring back, Peppermint Pattie.

Did I say too much? Probably so.

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