Category: politics

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Ask A Texan: Who Is This Rich Entitled Hypocrite They Call The Boss?


Unsolicited, Unfiltered, Demented Advice That Will Likely Offend Everyone That Still Remembers How to Read And Comprehend Directions On Putting Together a Piece Of Cheap Assed Made In China Furniture. Momo And I Did It A Few Days Ago And Likely Had a TIA or A Brain Hemorrhage….

The Texan

Straight up, I never cared for Springsteen, the little punk-assed in his jeans and white tee shirt touting ” Born in the USA. Well, he may have been hatched here, but he ain’t an American, at least not by Texas standards. The guy looks like an 85-year-old Lesbian Megan Rapinoe, holding a Fender Telecaster with The Roy Clark beginner stickers on the fretboard so he can remember the chords to Born To Run. Likely craps his diaper too. When I was a smart-mouthed kid, I would tell my mother, “You ain’t the boss of me.” Well, yes, she was, and that Tupperware cake pan would leave an imprint on my butt for a week or so. So, exactly is Brucie the boss of? His wife Pattie? Little Stevie? The roadies or the dudes that carry him on stage and operate the auto-tune machine loop?

His latest concert was a three-hour Bidenesque Rant about Trump, which highlighted that talent, which was always minimal, has taken the off-ramp to the nursing home in South Jersey. For those of you who care to contribute, let me know who the guy bosses around.

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Ask A Texan: Does Burger King Still Give Away Those Crowns?


Mostley irritating advice from an old guy that’s seen too much
The Texan

Yes, Dear Hearts, famous words from my favorite comedian, imagine 60 billion American people leaving their jobs, their homes, dyeing their hair odd colors, wearing clothing straight from the Goodwill Store, and crawling like babies, riding buses, planes, cars, electric scooters, skateboards, roller skates, 5 K runs, etc., and making their way to every major city in the US to protest a man who has done miraculous things for our country. The Burger King in our town closed, or I would have worn my cardboard crown all day.

Now, to even things up, the conservatives, you know those folks, the ones who have jobs in the private sector, go to church and praise the only real king that will soon be returning, and will be plenty pissed off. Let’s get those 60 billion other folks to hold a nice day of protest to celebrate Obama and Biden and all of their stellar accomplishments. Isn’t AI amazing? How can you take a small crowd and, with a computer, turn it into the largest rally in the world? Gotta love AI and how it’s ruining the world.

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Ask A Texan: Voting With No Pulse


Now that mail-in votes won’t be counted until election day, and not past, I’m sure both sets of my deceased grandparents can rest a bit easier.

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Ask A Texan: Did We Think This Would Not Happen? Welcome To Never..Never Land And Do You Want Peter Pan With Welches Jelly On That Sandwich?


Loosely Dispensed Common Sense Advice And Commentary Shot From The Well Armed Hip Of A Old Texan That’s Seen Too Much And Doesn’t Give A Rats Ass What Other Folks Think, Or Eat

The Texan

It took Forty-Eight Years for the Death to America and the Great Satan Party to take over the Middle East, like those morally depraved little shits took over Daytona Beach a few days ago and literally ruined the once nice state of Florida. Iran’s murdering demon-possessed regime robe-wearing ass is kicked so hard their butt is in their throat, but yet they keep issuing threats, shooting off those cute little Chinese and Russian missiles, and now claim they will nuke Israel, the UK, most of Europe, a good portion of the Middle East, and of course, America. I am anxiously awaiting what Elon Musk has in store for them. How many presidents in 48 years said they would be a problem to be dealt with, but kicked that Wolf Brand Chili can on down the dirt road for the next delegation of thieving, lying, scum-sucking politicians to deal with. FDR, the two Bushes, one fully grown to size of a Scotch Pine Christmas Tree, and the other a puny shrub planted in too much shade, gave a half baked attempt, Regan got a few things done, Carter made everything worse, Ross Perot ran scared and said screw it, Clinton took the white house to a new low in history, Nixon..nuff said about him, Obama gave his magic carpet riding bunch of cut -throat brethren billions in cash, and Biden tried to take most of it back.

Truman had the balls to use the big firecrackers, Churchill had the guts, and a country full of English, Scottish, Irish, and Celtic patriots behind him, and Margaret Thatcher was likely the toughest of them all. Now we have a president who clearly sees this must be dealt with, or Jesus will be coming within the next six weeks, and he will be plenty pissed off upon arrival.

Momo and I are not afraid of the nuke over downtown Fort Worth, we would sit in our backyard with a nice whiskey and put on the Solar sunglasses we purchased at 7-11 as our bodies are char-broiled to Texas BBQ perfection. I recently purchased some 6666 BBQ Rub from Taylor Sheridan’s Ranch in West Texas.

I’ve become testier in my old age. The IRS has been holding our 2024 tax refund for a year now because we overpaid them, and they can’t bring themselves to give it back to us, saying we committed fraud. Fraud against whom, ourselves? I hate every politician on all sides. You bet if I could pull it off, I would jump at a $185K a year job and leave a few years later having accomplished nothing and pull a wagon load of 30 Million to the bank, that’s the real reason these narcissistic bottom dwellers run for office and try and stay in as long as modern medicine can keep replacing their bodily parts. Greed and Power, once that rhinestone-encrusted crown is put upon their head, it’s almost impossible to relinquish it to another greedy bandit: one size fits all. God has a plan for them, and I hope I get to witness their time out and try to bullshit God, who my pastor says has a good sense of humor and won’t be afraid to use it.

The US has more oil than the Middle East times ten, so these high gas prices are driven by the stock market and speculators, denizens from the depths, and yes, Quint will need a bigger boat to land those bastards. Enjoy that PB&J sandwich and that glass of Jim Beam. Sorry about all the swear words in this post, I told you I was getting testier and meaner these days.

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Music, Worship And War: Ask A Texan


The Texan on his first typewriter that took two adults and a child to lift….Note the resemblance to Earnest Hemingway

Down Home Often Correct Advice And Old School Teachings For Folks That Live In Other States And Want To Move Here…Please Don’t. We Already Have Too Many Californians and New Yorkers, and There Is No Parking Left at Walmart or H.E.B.

After a rousing set of worship songs yesterday at our Generations Church, myself on my little mandolin, Eric on bass, Momo singing with Isabella and Ester vocals and acoustic guitar, Larry on Sax and Clarinet, Sandy on Cello, Ephraim on drums, and his daughter Victoria on keys, Monday morning is always a let down, coming off of a great set of worship music and Pastor Alan lighting up the church, like a Texas A&M bonfire, plus the spaghetti lunch and bake sale for the youth. I’m plum wore out and already need another nap.

Then I turn on the news, and reality hits me in the face like a Soupy Sales cream pie distributed by White Fang or Black Tooth. For those too young for real comedy, Soupy had a live TV show back in the early 1960s that actually was funny and made us laugh, much like the Three Stooges poking each other in the eyes. I almost blinded my best buddy, not knowing that Moe poked Curley in the forehead, not his real eyes. I am still amazed I made it to this age without being disabled or permanently disfigured. Momo says I still have time left to accomplish both.

World War 3 is in full swing and living color, minute-by-minute coverage of what Iran is planning for Israel and the rest of the Middle East, not to mention the good old USA, which is just a short missile hop from Tehran. Does the current Ayatollah think that he is safe from a smart drone missile that has more brain power than his entire staff of twelfth-century Zealots?

Maya Sharona, the on-site news person for NPR, was interviewing Iranians on the street. One group of young women was without their head-to-toe tents with eye holes, long hair flowing, full face makeup, smoking cigarettes, drinking a beer, and cursing the current regime. Ms. Sharona asked one of them whether they were excited that the current Ayatollah was on the run and that Iran might be free again. The young lady replied, ” We are ecstatic that we may return to the 70s again, we all have our Sony Walkmans and bell-bottom jeans ready, and Jane Fonda workout tapes are on sale at the bookstore, and oh yes, Death To America, but we really don’t mean that, it’s what we were taught to yell in school. God bless the USA and Sydney Sweeney. “

There is an old Texas saying that I still use to this day: “Hide and Watch.” Which, according to my late, late, late, and wizened old grandfather, meant hide behind a rock or a wagon and watch what happens when a few cowboys or a group of Indians on ponies try to attack a bunch of pioneers armed with Winchester repeating rifles. Sometimes it’s just best to peek over the edge of the rock and wait for the results before you get involved in the fray. I’ve got the Winchester and the pistols, and there are a lot of rocks around my hilly, rocky mountain home, so Momo has the Jiffy Pop ready, and we are stocked up on Dr. Peppers. Stay tuned, and Paul Harvey used to say, “Good day.”

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Looking At 2025 In My Rear View Mirror


I lifted the title line from Mac Davis’s hit ” Looking At Lubbock In My Rear View Mirror.” He’s gone for a while now, so I don’t think a fellow Texan would mind.

As this year slipped by, I want to thank all of you who follow my blog and comment. I’m too computer-challenged to thank an entire list like Max, so this will have to do for now. I’m hiring a six-year-old down the street as my PC tutor.

Who would have thought that our country would be in such an uproar about every darn thing anyone could dream up, but here we are.

I think Mark Twain says it best:  No matter how healthy a man’s morals may be when he enters Washington politics, he comes out again with a pot-marked soul. Makes you wonder if any of those flamboyant bastards will ever make it to Heaven? I certainly hope they find the Lord, but I still don’t care to patronize them when I get there. Sort of like a high school reunion: I wasn’t buddies with you then, so what makes you think I want to hang out with you now?

All of these privileged, university-educated white kids running around carrying signs, wrapping their heads in checkered tablecloths, and throwing objects at our Jewish Americans and our underpaid and overworked police. They seem to be mostly young white women, so that doesn’t say much for the future of marriage and child production for the good old U.S.A. Did they learn this behavior at home, or are they so misinformed and ignorant that they follow any evil cause that greets them when they wake up in the morning? Not enough caffeine, and too much weed, will alter one’s consciousness and turn their brain to nursing home gruel. They need a good ass whooping with a Mesquite Tree switch, and then give the same to mommy and daddy, and maybe the grandparents as well. Sort of reminds me of the sixties and the young folks protesting on college campuses, in between cum-by-ya campfires, pot parties, and humping like wired up Rabbits, but at least then, they had a real cause, like the Vietnam War and their dislike for LBJ and Goldwater. It got messy and dangerous at times, like in Chicago in 1968. The National Guard against the radical students at Kent State University brought it all to a nasty head, and the protest dwindled after that, but the well-informed students and older Americans did make a difference, and the average law-abiding citizen did listen and learn. I was fresh-squeezed out of high school in 1969, waiting for the draft board to send me to Asia, and a long-haired, rock ‘n’ roll-playing musician. I put myself right in the midst of that mess, but refused to buy into the radical side of it. You could call me an anomaly of sorts. Conservative before it was cool to be. I felt that my stance on things had brought my depression era Roosevelt-Democrat Kennedy-voting parents over to the other side, changing coats in the winter of chaos. My father became so conservative that he couldn’t force himself to make a left turn when driving, so many days he drove in circles or took hours to reach his destination. I am not kidding.

September 10, 2025. Free speech and Christianity in America: do we still have it? Charlie Kirk certainly thought so and put it into practice in a brilliant way that no one in the media would have thought possible. Now we have little trophy-winning kiddos like those I described in the paragraph above, thinking they can assassinate someone because they don’t like their speech or ideas on religion. One more trophy his parents can add to his childhood bedroom shelf, next to his Star Wars posters and action figure collection. They must have missed the weapons stored under his trundle bed.

Christianity. I am a Christian, proud to be so, and I will tell anyone, anytime, that I follow Jesus Christ and his teachings. As a child, I was dunked and baptized so many times that my hair smelled like river water, and I learned to swim. Dear Hearts, we are under attack most cruelly. Our attackers are Islamic, and our castrated politicians have given them total approval to rid our country of us Christians. Maybe we Christians should take matters into our own hands and rid our country of both. I might write more about this, but the time feels off today. Besides, I have to clean my guns and go buy some ammo before The Walmart stops selling it as well.

The NFL. Once again, the Dallas Cowgirls have blown another season. It’s been thirty years since old Jerry has been within sniffing distance of a Super Bowl trophy. One more thing: why is it called the Super Bowl? What’s so super or special about it? Just another game with self-serving, overpaid, obnoxious young men. And of course, Taylor Swift is in the stands with her five patented facial expressions. I don’t watch football anymore; it gives me a headache like the one I got the one time I listened to Taylor Swift sing one of her cartoon music songs. I had to take a Valium IV drip to get over that one.

I promised my wife, Momo, that I would refrain from writing about politics, and for a year now I have kept my word. It’s often maddening to refrain from grabbing the laptop and cutting loose. Let me say this: New York City electing a Muslim mayor who is a proud socialist and follower of Islam has sealed the fate of this once great city. In the near future, maybe weeks, we will be reading of large corporations and average citizens vacating to the south, mainly Texas, Florida, Oklahoma, and a few other states. I will welcome them to my small town of Granbury. One condition is that they must not bring their East Coast attitude and lifestyle with them and expect to survive in Texas. Fancy Italian olive oil suitable for bread dipping, and Texas spring branch water don’t mix. Driving through town a few days back, I saw a Tesla with New York plates, and it had a sofa, a chair, and other pieces of modern furniture tied to the roof; the only things missing were Granny and Elle Mae sitting in rockers. The exodus and invasion have begun.

I’ve received a sack full of mail and numerous emails from all over the country addressed to my Ask A Texan advice column, so there will be more of those posted soon. I can assume that, since Ann Landers is no longer around, folks think an old Texan can help them navigate this mess. Being a senior member of The Sons of The Alamo Lodge was the catalyst, and being a student of the revered Texas “word slinger” J. Frank Dobie inspired me to help, or at times, hinder others with often good but sometimes questionable down-home advice. See you later this year.

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Ask A Texan: Wife Moves To New York City To Be A Social Worker


Advice For Non-Texan Husbands Who Are Hearing Impaired

This Texan received a letter from Mr. Bobby Joe Boudreaux from Chigger Bayou, Louisiana. Seems his wife is determined to go to New York City and work as a social worker for the new communist mayor, Mamdani.

Mr. Boudreaux: My wife of thirty years, Lolita Belle, says she is moving to New York City to work for that commie whack job, Mamdani. Since he is replacing the police force with social workers who will talk to the criminals instead of arresting them. Lolita Belle is a world champion talker. She starts in around 7 am and goes until after bedtime. She even talks in her sleep, so I have to wear earplugs or turn my hearing aids off. She’s worn our four iPhones in the last year, talking to her relatives over in Shreveport. She stops folks in the grocery store and starts telling them about the nutritional values of the food they are buying. The poor folks are cornered and can’t escape. Our preacher at the Chigger Bayou Fourth Baptist let her lead communion one Sunday, and she got carried away, talking for an hour about why the church should be using real wine and Ritz crackers instead of Welch’s grape juice and crunchy bread. Now the church won’t let us in the door. She got stopped by a policeman for speeding, and she gave the poor cop a thirty-minute explanation on speed limits and why his uniform didn’t fit properly, and he needed to get his teeth whitened. The poor policeman finally gave her twenty dollars just to stop, and he got on his motorcycle and took off. She thinks if she can talk a policeman out of a ticket, then she can speak a criminal into being a good guy, just like that socialist street rat, Mamadami, who isn’t even an American, thinks will work. She read that all his new staff will be women, so she can have some sisters to talk to. I need some help down here.

The Texan: I hear your pain. ( pun intended ). Some folks are born with a genetic predisposition to constantly orate. My late, late, late, aunt, Beulah, from Santa Anna, Texas, ran off three husbands and at least a dozen dogs and cats for the same reason. When her priest was giving her the last rites before she passed away, she wouldn’t stop telling him what to say, so he just left. Short of using a shock collar like folks do with those noisy Beagles, I would let her go on up to New York and work for that commie pinko rat. If she can talk a cop out of a ticket, the poor criminal will probably give up and beg to be arrested just to shut her up. I’m sending her a CD language course on how to talk like a New Yorker, and to help a brother out, I’ll cover the cost of the airfare. I’m also sending you a box of Cherry Bombs to help relieve your anxiety. There’s nothing like blowing up Fire Ant mounds to calm a man down. Keep in touch.

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Coming Soon To Your City Whether You Like It Or Not


I promised Momo, my wife, that I would dial back my post on politics. So far, I have done well and only posted a few little blurbs in the last few years. I can let most things go, and go water my plants, or play my guitar, but this is one I can’t walk away from, so here goes.

As a proud American and Texan, I am one opinionated S.O.B., and I have lost all of my social filters as I have aged. My wife and I believe that the fall of New York City will affect everyone in this country, not just the residents of the city and the state of New York.

I live in small-town America: Granbury, Texas, a Christian town full of gun-toting, Bible-carrying, Jesus-loving, patriotic Texas folks. We may have a few socialists and Muslims here, but they keep themselves under wraps and don’t cause trouble.

If the young, liberal, elitist citizens of New York are ignorant enough to vote in a communist Muslim that will attempt to turn the most influential city and the hub of financial America into a third-world terrorist Disneyland, then they shall get what they deserve, and the good citizens of New York will either have to suffer through it or revolt against it. Do you think the Mafia boys are going to let this moronic little boy ruin their city and their business, no matter how illegal it may be? Do you think the good Christian’s and the Jewish community will stand by as he attempts to turn their city, their home, into a Muslim controlled city and come after them because of their religious beliefs? I doubt it.

Britain, France, Spain, Germany, Ireland, Scotland, and a few other EU countries are ruined. Their cultures are on the verge of elimination because of unchecked immigration, handouts, and crimes committed by illegals and from third-world countries that refuse to assimilate. Exactly what the US has been doing for decades. Muslims have taken over Europe, and if Zohran Mamdani is elected mayor of New York, this will be the start of the takeover of every large city in the United States, starting in the northeast and working its way west. The Democrats, along with Soros and a few more, will back the invasion and takeover. We have the young, university-educated, white boys and girls who will vote him in because they have been brainwashed to believe our country is racist, and capitalism doesn’t work. They all expect, after receiving their degree in Taylor Swift Music Theory or Middle Eastern History, a high-paying job, a Rolex, a rent-controlled million-dollar apartment, and a new BMW parked in their parking garage. Pipe dreams and speeches sprinkled in Fairy Dust never come true, and that smoke that has been blown up their rears will dissipate the moment Mamdani is sworn in with his hand on the Koran.

Have I said too much? Sure I have.

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The Banjo Boy Only Knows One Tune: A Recollection From Miss Sparkle


Breaking Real Hot News From; The Dead South News Service. Photo’s courtesy of author James Dickie.

Maya Sharona, reporter for the Dead South News Service and NPR is in Northeastern Georgia with a breaking story that is sure to get everyone’s attention.

Uncle Gus’s Riverside Rafting and Fish Camp located on the Chattooga River has been in operation since 1962 and is well known as the location where the actors and film crew stayed, and filmed the 1972 movie “Deliverance”.

Uncle Gus has long since departed the camp but his memory and influence are kept alive by his constant presence. When Uncle Gus passed back in 1982, his only daughter, Sparkle, had his body stuffed by the local taxidermist, and today, he sits in his favorite easy chair near the potbelly stove at the back of the camp store. For a few dollars, visitors can pose for a picture with old Gus and his two blue-tick hounds that are also stuffed and obediently sitting at his feet. Framed pictures of Uncle Gus and Sparkle with the cast of “Deliverance” decorate every wall in the store. A life-size cardboard Burt Reynolds stands behind the counter next to the cigarette display.

‘Miss Sparkle,’ as she is known around these parts, is a feisty red-headed single lady in her sixties. She contacted me on the Facebook saying she had a story that would beat all.

Miss Sparkle tells a whopper of a story so I will share it with you in her own words.

She tells it like this; “back in 1984, a bunch of rich bigshots from Washington DC came down to ride the Chattooga like in that famous movie that was filmed here. They were nice men and treated me with respect, even though I was just a river rat. Daddy hadn’t been gone long and I was real sad, so it was nice to have some company at the camp. One night the bunch of us were sitting around the campfire drinking daddy’s famous “shine” and this one fellow they called Joe B started sniffin’ my hair. I didn’t mind cause I had just washed it with lye soap and it smelled pretty good. He was a nice man, in a creepy sort of way. Too much “shine” always gets you in trouble, and I’ve had plenty of it since then. Well, about a year later the stork shows up with this bundle of joy. I call him Joe Bee. He ain’t no kid no more and doesn’t want to do anything but sit in that swing all day long playing the same song on that damn banjo. I’ll tell ya, it’s driving us all to drink more than we normally do, and that’s a bunch. We tried hiding it, but he always finds the darn thing. Little Joe Bee just wants to know who his daddy is. My two other boys, the twins, Smokey and Bandit, their daddy never comes to see them neither, but he gave them each a black Pontiac Trans Am for their sixteenth birthday. At least Joe Bee’s daddy could send him a monster truck or something.”

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The Old Time Revival Inspired by Charlie Kirk’s Memorial: A Soliloquy For Young Believers


It’s been a few weeks since Charlie Kirk was assassinated, and a few days since his memorial, which was a landmark television event in itself. Yes, many folks of high standards and lofty ideals spoke in eloquent tones, delivered soaring soliloquies on the life of a young patriot taken too soon. It was somber for the most part, but like any television production, it utilized technology to connect with the audience.

My wife, Momo, and I shed a few tears, moved by the words spoken by government officials that professed their Christianity to the world, and didn’t hold back. Near the end, when Charlie’s widow, Erika Kirk, spoke with humility and eloquence, I knew she had been chosen to lead a new revival of young men and women to Christianity and conservatism. She will lead them to reclaim our country as envisioned by the founding fathers.

Then, in a flashback, uninvited moments I often have as I grow older, I envisioned it as something entirely different. In crystal-clear black and white, it evoked the memory of an old-time 1950s Texas Christian revival I attended as a young child, held in a weathered circus tent in a field of drought-stricken grass near Santa Anna High School. Unlike the sturdy Baptist Church in town, there were no pews or wooden floors; only hard wooden folding chairs and a foot-trampled, grassy floor, harboring insects that crawled up my legs and delivered vicious bites. I yelped, and my mother smacked me on the back of my tiny, crew-cut-wearing head. “Be respectful,” she sternly whispered, “God is using the preacher as his lightning bolt.” No matter how hot the weather and the misery caused by pestilence, I obeyed. Pretending to listen to the droning sermon, half asleep from the heat and boredom, I would rather have been anywhere but that tent. My grandparents sat behind us, their hands holding heavy black Bibles that would leave a mark when connected to an insulant child’s behind. I could feel the searing stare of my grandmother’s laser eyes on the back of my neck. I looked straight ahead in fear, knowing that if my chin dipped half an inch or I wavered sideways, a bump from the good book would remind me why I was there. I was six years old and a reluctant, ignorant, bordering on a Christian at best. I yearned in silence to follow my older cousins; they were washed in the blood of the Lamb, bathed in the Holy Spirit, and had been dipped like spring sheep in a trough of holy water. I was just a young kid with no spiritual compass to guide me. It took some time, too slow to my mother’s liking, but I eventually came to Jesus in my own terms. Making me kiss the casketed, heavily perfumed body of my dead great-grandmother set me back a few years, from trauma alone. But God did find me, and I found him. It wasn’t the lightning bolt jolt from above, but a slow and gentle process that fitted my preciousness.

The memorial service in Arizona was similar, but in a larger way. Thousands gathered in air-conditioned comfort, with cold drinks and hot dogs served to feed the masses. Clean restrooms, paved parking, and ushers were on hand to help you find your seat. Believers and those seeking to become believers gathered to pay respects to a young man who will likely become the unofficially appointed sainted leader of the next Jesus Revolution, similar to the one started by Pastor Greg Laurie in the early 1970s in California. Take away the stadium, put the masses in a tent with no air conditioning, a grass floor, a rural setting, and a grieving, electrifying widow instead of a hellfire and brimstone preacher delivering the word of God, and you have today’s equivalent of an old-time tent revival. And, it’s about time.