Tag: Roswell New Mexico

Posted on

Ask A Texan: Wife Tries to Sing Like Willie Nelson


Pretty Good Advice For Folks That Don’t Live In Texas, But Wishing They Did

The Texan

Mr. ET ( Ernest Tom ) Home from Roswell New Mexico sent this Texan a long letter written on a McDonald’s takeout food bag. His wife is attempting to become a country singer and has gone to extremes, and he’s hoping I can help.

ET Home: Mr. Texan, about a month ago, the wife, Willowmina, decided she was going to become a country songstress. Well, that’s all fine and dandy, but the poor gal, bless her heart, sounds like Phyllis Diller when she sings. Both cats have left home and the neighbors are knocking on our door, a lot. She see’s old Willy Nelson on the View and he’s bragging about how he gave Beyonce some of his strongest weed and it turned her into a country singer. Well, that’s all it took. Next day, we drive to Ruidoso and visit the Miss Dolly’s Weed Emporium and Desert Shop. The wife asked the young lady manager what is the best and strongest stuff she has from old Willy. She leads us into a back room, then into a closet and down some secret stairs into another little room. She hands her a small box and says this is the best stuff on planet earth: Willy’s “Hide And Watch” secret stuff. I hear it can be a life changer, and not always in a good way. Well, we take the stuff and go back to Alien city.

She’s been puffing away on that stuff for a while now, and I hear her singing in the shower, and will admit, she is getting better. Then about a week ago, she put her long gray hair in braids, put a bandanna on her head and starts playing songs on our granddaughters Taylor Swift plastic Ukulele. She’s starting to look like old Willy, face stubble and all, and I think I must be losing my marbles. So’s, I calls the daughter, Little Tator, and she drives down from Raton Pass, walks in the house looks at her mother and says, “You ain’t crazy Daddy, that’s Willy Nelson in a Pioneer Woman house robe and Pokemon slippers.” Looking for an answer here.

The Texan: Well, Mr. ET I was at a loss on this one so I called a friend of mine, Dr. Scaramouche at the Fred Mercury Hospital For The Deranged in Queens, NY. He says this derangement is new and becoming more common thanks to entertainers like Taylor Swift and the Kardashian clan. Folks think that by eating, drinking, ingesting things, or dressing like their idols, they can glam off their talent and become a version of them. Willy was right, Beyonce is about as country as Martha Stewart. I would start out by taking away the weed. If that doesn’t change things, you might consider buying a used tour bus and going “On The Road Again.” I hear it can be a lot of fun. Keep in touch, and I am sending her a box of Little Debbie snack cakes.

Posted on

A Roswell Encounter of The Worst Kind


The rugged mountains and the slow-mo village of Ruidoso, New Mexico, are two of my favorite places. Momo and I try and visit a few times a year, and this year, in February, we are taking a road trip to the mountains and hopefully some snow. Momo likes communicating with the wild Deer via nose-to-nose rubs and feeding them Quaker Granola cereal. She’s quite popular with the local wildlife, and they seem to know where we are staying and what time we arrive. Word travels fast in the forest.

One stop we look forward to is the McDonald’s in Roswell, New Mexico. This isn’t a run-of-the-mill burger joint; the building is built to resemble an alien saucer inside and out and is complete with small alien statues around the exterior of the building. We love it, as do thousands of other earthly visitors who flock there to take pictures and eat an alien burger.

On the first trip we took to Ruidoso years ago, I spent eight hours talking up Roswell, the saucer crash that happened in 1947, the government cover-up, and space aliens in general. Momo was worked up and ready to meet a spaceman by the time we rolled up to the space-age McDonalds. We had a burger, checked out the local costumed weirdos that hung around the place, and then got on the road to Ruidoso. I told her to be on the lookout for aliens, since the town is lousy with them. I had never seen her so excited and hopeful. She put on her tin-foil hat, got her iPhone camera ready, and was looking for a close encounter of any kind. A block or two from the McDonalds, she had a conniption fit and almost jumped from our moving car. Walking down the sidewalk with two larger human units was a small alien in a red suit and silver shoes. We pulled over, and she jumped out and started taking its picture. The parents of the big-headed little boy in a Spider-Man jammies didn’t take kindly to a crazy woman with a tin-foil hat taking pictures of them. I felt sort of bad, but not too bad. She still believes.