Eight Feet Deep

It seems like the Republicanistas of the Texas Legislature are hell-bent on keeping the state safe from homosexuality. The House banned same-sex marriages today. Perhaps they should remember what Charlton Heston always says: “When they outlaw queers only outlaws will have queers.” Think about it. (Even though Charlton probably didn’t say that exactly. Or at all).

But there sure is a lot to ponder for the future of the great state of Tejas. Last time I flew past Dallas the skies looked like a slightly more artistic version of dog crap. And do you know what the water is like in many of the streams in Texas? It’s probably good that you don’t. And, I wonder if the Rio Grande is actually going to reach to the Gulf of Mexico this year as it has failed to in past years?

But by God, though, we won’t have HOMO-SEX-u-als nagging us as we cough and choke on the putrid air and gasp as we drink water from which cows would turn up their noses. All of you Lege members who pushed so hard for “Christian values” should be REALLY proud when you go home after sine die. Really proud.

I always wondered what happened to Mr. Pibb. Now I know thanks to this explanation by Coca-Cola:

Mr. Pibb was launched in Texas and quickly expanded through much of the U.S. Mr. Pibb appeals to 12-to-15 year olds who are just gaining independence from home and looking for things to call their own. Mr. Pibb enables them to have an uninhibited, fun and unconventional attitude because it has the sweet, refreshing bold taste they need to express their independence.

Ah yes, the 12-to-15 year olds certainly need a sweet, refreshing, bold taste to express their independence. And not to mention their need for zit cream and a healthy injection of self-esteem.

Will Congress blow our minds?

Is the nuclear option clearly what Democrats and Republicans want? Is there any way possible to stop this madness before it actually becomes radioactive, explosive, boom-boom?

It makes me wonder if anyone remembers the word “compromise.” You know, “com” for coming together, “pro,” for acting like professionals, and “mise,” for, uh, mice? Coming together like professional mice. Wait, isn’t that what Congress is doing right now?

I realize that everyone who reads this blog is insane. No. I’m sorry. That is no way to find your audience. Where is my audience? And why am I being stared at by six prairie dogs sitting on a fence with that sad look in their eyes?

These are questions along with many others that I will not be able to answer anytime soon. At least that is the case with finding my audience, as if my audience were like a set of car keys lost under the pickup seat, next to that stray French fry from the trip last year to Arkansas, along with exactly 12 cents in U.S. currency.

I know, for instance, that some would not understand my reference to Pope George Ringo (Pope John Paul George Ringo), the Beatles, get it? I worked with a guy in his very early 20s at my last job who admitted that until a couple of years ago he didn’t know who the Beatles were. I have no doubt this lad would likely not catch my reference to Frank Zappa in the piece I did today about Saudi Crown Prince Abdullah. The photo, for those of you who do not know and want to spoil it for everyone else (there!), is of Frank Zappa and not the Saudi prince. The late Frank and Abdullah appear at times to be separated at birth. Zappa looked frighteningly like Abdullah on the cover of his album Sheik Yer Booty, which is where Zappa’s picture originates.

So if you get stumped upon a reference that I make, just do what I do when it happens to me, cuss that $%^#@**^%*@@ writer and get on with your life. Also, if you happen to find my audience, please let me know. I like to get them rounded up and back in their pens before dark.

Crown prince? 

Crown Prince Abdullah will meet with President Bush in Crawford Monday. Will they talk about oil? Will they talk terrorism? Or will they talk about cosmic debris and the difference between a real poncho and a Sears poncho?