Category: Religion

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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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Pick The Hill You’re Going To Die On


Our democracy is under siege from the most radical movements since the Weathermen, The KKK, SDS, and The Black Panthers; they are called the Democratic Party, and by crook, hook, and techno-magic, they own the top of the hill with their handmade banners flapping in the wind and weapons trained on us conservative Americans that gather at the bottom of the slope, scanning the horizon and turning every stone, searching for our General Washington to lead us into victory.

We want to think of them as a ragtag bunch of college-educated losers with green hair and piercings that march on with minimal leadership and with no purpose but to disrupt our lives and further their warped agendas.

The unspoken and ignored truth is that they are well organized, backed, and wholly protected by Biden’s minions and our corrupt media.

These are people that want conservatives and Christians dead. That means you, your family, and your dog.

If a priest on the steps of St. John’s Cathedral was set on fire, they wouldn’t piss on him to extinguish the flames, so don’t expect sympathy, logic, or reasoning from them. They are Godless people with no remorse or accountability. They are a tribal mass of evil that will be wailing the loudest when the gates of Hell welcome them home.

Roe vs. Wade is their holy grail, another divine distraction from the disaster that is our president and his declining government.

The blackest and most evil part of this news week is the leak from within our nation’s Supreme Court; the judges appointed to uphold our constitution and laws. The bedrock of our country. Not a word from the liberal judges condemning this breach of trust, so it appears the martyr is most likely a clerk for one of them.

Faint whispers in the tidal wind say a birdie from Sotomayor, the wise Latina. Unfortunately, Roberts doesn’t possess the balls to see the investigation through, so America may never know the truth unless the ignorant fool exposes herself on social media, which will likely happen soon. It’s just too damn good to keep it a secret. Perhaps a Nobel Prize awaits or a cabinet position in the Whitehouse.

Threats against the conservative judges have been made, and some are in hiding, afraid for their family’s safety, and still, the DOJ and the demented man in the nation’s nursing home say nothing. Instead, they condone the anarchy of their people.

Our laws of the land and the sacred paper they are written on have become no more than toilet paper. The radicals have assumed rule, and the nation is on the verge of ruin.

The Republicans are useless. Emasculated wandering gypsies searching for their next country club meal and drinks at the 19th hole. They have their full pay retirement, so the rest of their voters can fuck-off and eat dog food or shit sandwiches. Storming the castle with pitchforks and torches comes to mind.

Don’t speak of the second coming of Christ set for next Tuesday at 3 PM or lofty sermons and fiery speeches calling for divine intervention to save our nation. God will not lift a finger to stop this insidious destruction. Instead, it will play out as the Bible intended it to be. There will be no victor and the land will lay in ruin. We will reap what was planted.

The Revolutionary War, The Civil War, World War II, and Vietnam all had hills to be defended or taken. The good guys won some, and the enemy took a few. There was no divine or government intervention to determine the outcome. The battles were bloody and murderous affairs, killing fields that knew no mercy or remorse. The result was won by the side that killed the most men of the enemy. It was often futile with nothing gained.

The radical Democrats, Antifa, Black Lives Matter, Ruth Sent Us, and more fringe anarchists have chosen their hill and are well equipped to hold it at all costs. The ruin of America is but a by-product of the slaughter.

Conservatives and Christians now know the hill they must choose to die on, but, do we have the guts to take it back?

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Committing Myself To New Years Resolutions


As a child growing up in 1950s Texas, I never understood the need to put myself behind an eight-ball with proclamation’s I had no way of keeping. New Year resolutions were the worst of them all.

My parents made them by the dozens and broke them without batting an eye.

My mother was the worst of the family bunch. Every year, on the eve of midnight, she would make a grandiose announcement to the family, usually after a few glasses of sparkling Cold Duck wine or too many Old Crow eggnogs. She made many resolutions in her day, but her yearly favorite was “kicking the ciggies.” She smoked like Bogart, one in each hand with a third, lit and waiting in the ashtray. My father, a lesser smoker, was a rank beginner compared to his bride. As a result, our household had more ashtrays than dishes. My sister and I also enjoyed the mild smoke from the ever-present Chesterfield cloud that hung in every room. Mother finally kept her favorite resolution at the age of 74, with some help from emphysema.

So, here I am at 72, and for the first time, I am considering making a New Year resolution or two.

I’ve been kicking around the less painful ones, easy things like giving up red meat or sugar. But then, Ovaltine contains sugar, and there is no way I can sleep without my hot Ovaltine, usually taken between 1 and 2 am, which is also my writing hours so that one is out. But, on the other hand, red meat can give me gastronomical grief, and I like fish more so that one is still doable.

Abstaining from distilled spirits? Now that’s tough, but it seems to be the national favorite.

It’s immensely satisfying to hold a crystal snifter of Jamesons or Tullamore Dew while sitting on my patio admiring the beauty of our local mountain, Comanche Peak. Good Irish whiskey settles my nerves and fuels my literary creativity. Jack Kerouac and Truman Capote will attest to that. Reaching old age without dying is hard work, and suitable rewards are in order. So unless I plan to stop writing and live out my final days as a nervous wreck, that one is kaput.

Attending a non-denominational house of worship with my bride. I can do this one with a few exceptions. Firstly, how does the word “none” go with denominational? There are hundreds of organized religions out there, just pick one and go with it.

Secondly, I’m old school church. I need to hear “the word of God,” not some big-haired pastor with an expensive haircut using the bible as a Cliff Notes report. I don’t dance hip hop in the isles, or clap, or sing songs projected on a screen, or enjoy hearing a choir of off-key screeching women whining about their personal tradgadys to the accompaniment of a Led Zepplin tribute band. I need that old-time religion to soothe my soul. The bubble-haired lady playing that Hammond B3 organ; that old rugged cross hanging on the wall next to the velvet Last Supper painting. A yelling red-faced slobbering preacher that points to me and says I’m going to Hell in a used Honda if I don’t change my sinful ways, and then expects money for admonishing me in front of strangers. Uncomfortable seating is a must. I can’t be a Baptist again, that would require me to give up my Irish whiskey, so it’s best to move on to another resolution or consider becoming a Catholic.

Improving my health. Maybe the easiest one of all, except for the sugar Ovaltine thing and the Irish whiskey thing. I possibly can do this one and make it stick. I beat the snot out of Cancer, so what’s left that could get me?

My doctor is young and hip. He wears one of those Apple watches that keep you alive and listens to TED talks in his wireless earbuds and drives a Tesla. He recommends, walking, hiking, biking, going to the gym, meditating, using fewer medications, and eating less of everything that tastes like food.

I reminded him that I need a knee replacement and major back surgery, so the walking, biking, hiking, and gym are out. Using fewer meds? He’s the idiot that put me on them. Sorry doc, I am not eating bagged weeds, Kale, plant-based meats, or gluten-free anything. Lactose-free milk is as woke as I get. I could only achieve a meditated state after a pipe full of Maui Wowie and Cat Stevens on the stereo.

By writing my resolutions down, I realize that nothing has changed since I was a kid. I’m not standing behind that eight-ball at this age.

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What Is Christmas Without Charlie Brown?


Since I don’t subscribe to expensive cable television anymore, and my wimpy HD antenna receives only when it feels like it, I missed the annual telecast of Charlie Browns Christmas show.

Actually, there are only two parts I like; when they are dancing to ” Linus and Lucy” by Vince Guaraldi and when Linus recites his Christmas speech under the spotlight. The rest is also fun, but those two scenes make the show. Now I’m bummed because I missed it, and the networks along with Disney, who owns the rights, so they show it once a year and don’t let anyone know when, until the last minute. Sort of like Cong-television. Pop-up entertainment.

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“What In The Hell Is Going On with The Salvation Army?”


Photo by Santa Claus

The Salvation Army, the one outfit I have relied on for the past 50 years to do the right thing, is now going full-blown BLM, Biden-loving butt-kissing wokie bullcrap. Those red kettle bell ringers outside of Walmart and Hobby Lobby can count on nothing from me and most likely a few hundred million other Americans. I regret that this Christmas season, I have already given around fifty dollars to these beggars, and there is no way to get it back. The holidays tend to bring the soured cream to the top of the milk fat. It’s a sad day.

The news is that the Salvation Army hates white people. Well, guess what Salvation Army, it’s the middle-class white folks that give to the organization that allows you to exist and to help others.

Have a Merry Christmas and kiss my non-donating rear.

Maybe Santa can fill your red kettle. Well, maybe the Dallas Cowboys can send a few wokie bucks your way. Morons.

Did I say too much?

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Things That Keep Me Awake At Night That I Can’t Do A Damn Thing About And Neither Can You


It would seem that after 72 years on this doomed and dying planet, I would have learned the lesson of letting crap go. It’s impossible for me to do. My wife tells me, ” chill out, let it go, calm down, you are too serious, too hateful.” Yep, all that and more.

Just today, I honked at a lady blocking the driving lane in front of my local HEB Grocery store. She drove a lavish Black SUV and was talking on a jewel-encrusted Apple iPhone but could have cared less that she was holding up a line of cars full of starving people, so she could snag the closest parking spot to the store. God forbid she had to walk ten extra feet. So I honked to reprimand and remind her that there is accountability in this world. Then my wife tells me that she was waiting for a handicap spot. Sum-bitch, now I will worry about that tonight.

If global, planetary or even local events are going to mentally cripple somebody, that dumb ass will be me. I take on the worries of the weary, the worries of the ones too stupid to worry, or those who don’t know their ass from fat meat. As the Bible says, “bring me your unwashed, your worried and the habitually stupid and I will heal them,” or something along those lines. Unfortunately, Bible verses tend to get mixed in with modern lingo. Sometimes it helps them make sense.

Gas prices, now that’s a great one to start with. To fill up my Honda CRV today cost $48.00. Last December, when the world was sane and bordering on rock damn solid, it took around $18.00, and I had enough change left over for a Whataburger and a Dr. Pepper.

Now President “Brian Fart” wants to launch an investigation into our oil boys, saying they are gigging us, while he is shutting down our energy production, and giving 12th-century child marrying oil zealots in the middle east an early Christmas present and free rein to charge us whatever they see fit. At the same time, their citizens roam the streets chanting ” Death To America” while burning effigies of Trump, and he’s been out of office for a year. That’s the useless stuff that you or I can do nothing about, and that’s what keeps my eyes focusing on my bedroom ceiling and taking copious amounts of physician-prescribed drugs in an attempt to capture sleep. Please tell me that God did not purposely make folks as stupid as we have in Washington. But, I know the answer before it is asked. Yes, he did. And he is in on the big joke.

Sleep tight and don’t let the Covid bugs bite.

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“Things Learned On A Sunday Morning”


I was awake at 2: 45 this morning. I have learned that once my brain engages, there is no time for sleep. I get up, turn off the alarm, turn on Mr. Coffee and my laptop. I don’t bother with television news anymore, but I prefer to read news sites for my information. The coffee brews, a cup is poured, and it tastes darn good. After two cups, I forget about coffee and start making notes for a future blog post. Thirty minutes later, I decide on a third cup. Good grief, the coffee taste like swill, burned, and nasty. I learned this morning that if you leave the coffee on the burner for thirty minutes, it’s ruined, and you might as well pour it down the drain. This makes an excellent argument for using our Keurig machine, but the pods will break your grocery budget, so it stays in retirement. I am meant to suffer for coffee.

I follow many blog sites on WordPress. In turn, some follow mine. It’s an excellent trade-off. For example, this morning, I came across a blog focusing on religion, one of my favorite argument topics.

The writer, a Christian and a Catholic living in the UK, takes offense to music in church. Not so much the white-haired old lady playing the Hammond organ and a choir singing old-time religious songs, but the entire rock band on stage with a trio of singers wailing away about who knows what. He calls it “Jesus Rock.” I get it. I am a musician, and I know how music can move you. A well-played tune can energize your soul or take you to your knees in grief. But, unfortunately, the wrong kind of music can also distract your worship and send me running for the exit. I don’t need a Van Halen tribute band blowing the roof off the house of worship and the congregation holding up Bic lighters as they sway to the music. So I tend to lean more to the liturgical side of prayer. The old-style church service from “back in the day” is what I know. Damnation soothes the soul.

Sunday mornings sitting on a rock-hard pew, sweating, and fidgeting in my starched shirt and slacks while the Baptist preacher tells me I am going to Hell; now that is the real church of my youth. Although at six years old, I have no concept of Hell or why I am going there? My mother tells me to be still and then cleans my ears with a handkerchief and spit. The organist and the choir break into The Old Rugged Cross, the plate comes around and I deposit a dime. I am miserable. It is God’s wish.