IT’S ALL GOING TO POT

IT’S ALL GOING TO POT

 Commentary by Bill the Butcher

As you may well have noticed, I tend to spin a yarn but there’s a method to my madness. You can’t know where you’re going if you don’t know where you are. I try to talk politics salted with human interest because if you don’t understand humans you can’t grasp politics and if you can’t grasp politics politicians will grasp you! The subtleties of the shaved ape are many and mostly subversive with the DSM or Diagnostic and Statistical Manual upgrading more times than your iPhone and we still have more nuts than a fruitcake. Ergo I will continue to marvel in the human condition and write between the lines.

I am a Texas National, not an American. I believe that my constituents and I have a duty selling Americans dollar a gallon gas rather than wasting our time chasing their Mexicans off our lawn. That having been said, it is our obligation to show ‘Merica that’s there’s still a place where men are men, women are women, and the sheep are nervous. And we feel if we can set an example that good people will follow to truth, justice, and what used to be the American way.

America is the greatest country in the world, unfortunately we had to take it to Austin for safe keeping until we reinstate the man was really elected and ya’ll can get back to business. The land of the free, the home of the brave and little girls can use the restroom unimpeded! My articles are soaked with hidden meanings. Those who have eyes let ‘em read. Those who don’t, have a “Shirley Temple” and listen to this song . . . about fifteen times!

Now, on with the article!

There are only two things you must know if you are to navigate the tumultuous seas of this new age that has been cast upon us. What talks and what walks. I’m being politically correct here by not using the word, “Bullshit” because that would trigger the more sensitive of my readers not to mention ALL of the alphabet people, my grandson “New Baby” being a proud member of that society, and various social police under whose watchful eyes I labor day in and day out to receive my daily bread.

That having been said just what am I talking about. The Lord gathers and the Devil scatters. Write that down, there’s gonna be a quiz later. With social media, news services, the police, city, state, and federal laws, not to mention the daily grind of trying to secure a What a Burger without getting salmonella, the human brain fizzles out about 10:37 AM on any given day. Usually five days a week if you aren’t working Saturday to get overtime. Sunday is no longer a day of rest but the day you are forced to look at the people (formerly known as “family”) that you have been avoiding all week. You should be in church but, as the song says, “The Father, The Son, and The Holy Ghost took the last train for the coast” a long time ago, which is where you would be if you had any sense at all but you still believe in the dream. Well wake up!

As you all probably know, three years ago I had a health crisis. Now many have surmised my affliction from COVID to malnutrition to Alzheimer’s but truth be known I was just a drunk who ran out of luck. I refuse to say I’m an alcoholic because I don’t like to go to all them meetings. Before it was over I found myself at the Wellington Institute where they put old drunks who have insurance.

When I came out of my coma I found that my loving family had made plans for me on, shall we say, a more permanent basis? If not for my life partner, Pamela, I’d be there this very day, drooling on my shirt with all the other old fools who couldn’t put the cork back in the bottle while my “family” was satisfied believing that they had done the right thing! Have you ever noticed that when your family does the right thing you die?

While laying there in that room I continued to write. After hearing John Fogarty on the radio sing his song “Someday Never Comes” I began a novella called “Someday.” Only made one mistake. Told my nurse I was a writer, he wrote that down, they labeled me as “delusional” and made preparations to put me in “the special place!” Thank God we don’t have lobotomies anymore!

But while writing I met someone. A girl of about fifteen. When I woke from my coma I was Jonesing for a cigarette like you read about. Suffice to say there were no cigarettes about. Yet, I could see clearly through my window that there was a slew of old farts just like me, sitting out in a garden smoking their asses off. Now, I was either hallucinating or we were short a couple dots.

This girl would come in each morning and tidy up my room. She was a comely lass, but I’m long past that sort of thing and if I weren’t I don’t have twenty years left so she was like Chief Dan George was referring to in “The Outlaw Josie Wales” . . . some candy is just for “looking through.” But we did talk and I found that she was not an employee but a patient. Cleaning rooms was all part of her treatment. And she’d been under treatment so long she’d forgotten her middle name so I just called her “Hoodie” after a character in a series of articles I’d written. You know, back when I was imagining myself as a writer. By and by I asked her how I might acquire a pack of cigarettes. I didn’t really expect an informed answer, but I was wrong.

The Hoodie had developed a rather lucrative black-market operation right under the stiff noses of the staff and could provide anything for a price, and I do mean anything! There’s your American Dream for you! She told me a pack of cigarettes could be had for fifteen dollars. I asked why so much and she told me the mark up was for her cigarettes. Get up off your prayer blankets folks and look at the situation.

Fifteen dollars later I too, was smoking in the garden and had found a very useful little friend in a red hoodie. As I said before, my life partner came and sprung me. But the Wellington had done me good. Not on purpose, mind you, more from my own cognition, but improvement, nonetheless. I was focused. I didn’t quit drinking I just chose not to. And I formed a movie company with Vic Quinton. Not so surprisingly our first project was a film named “Someday,” later changed to “Gabe,” which was bowled over by another film, Kielia” which has, and still is taking national and international awards. Either that or I really am delusional, which is always a possibility.

But during my focus I filtered out things like News, social media, and FakeBook. I also began to ignore the thoughts and advice of family and so called “friends” who’d never brought me a pack of cigarettes during my tour at the Wellington. I listened to my life partner, Vic, and my dog, Cleo because, like me, my Chihuahua had an alcohol problem too, and together we were working through a twelve-step program. Hey! She gives better advice than a room full of drunks shaking for a drink!

I have come to some pretty profound conclusions. I was scanning the news today and I noticed several things. Most, if not all of the stories had absolutely nothing to do with me! I don’t know anyone in Gaza save one nice lady but all the others? Screw them! Should’ve left town when the Jews told them too! And don’t sit there judging me unless you are prepared to give your house to an Apache!

Then there’s the war in Ukraine. Boy! Putin sure screwed up those meth labs didn’t he! What’s Hunter Biden to do. Daddy’s about to lose his job, Putin chased him out of the whorehouse and he’s coming up for trial. Weeeeeee doggie.

And the coming election. Beware if adjectives. Instead of saying, “Trump made the claim that the election was stolen,” the cackle babble heads in a box must add the adjective unfounded to the mix. Trump made the unfounded claim . . . That’s called an opinion folks, not news. Oh, my bad. You believe the election wasn’t stolen. Oh you good Democrat you. You obviously think that your vote has always been counted, God’s in His heaven and mom’s apple pie does not contain potassium sorbate! If you believe that, have I got a bridge for you and it’s on sale! A two for one sale.

I won’t even get into global warming, at what point a fetus starts smoking, or how some Mexican kid came up with a new way to refry beans. (Racist enough for you?) The point of this article is trying to convince you to declutter your life. Money talks. And money drives the news. The news is not pertinent information anymore. It is entertainment! Ok! The Arabs shot up a rock concert and the Jews shot them up and up and up. Now the news is screaming about World War 3. Why? Why would any nation not eating goat want to get involved. And say we did, and we won. Won what? Oil? Texas has oil. And cars are going electric anyway. Just as soon as they can drive to a store without a charge and stop blowing up because you turned on the radio. And what does any of that have to do with the price of marijuana anyway. The good stuff. Not Mexican dirt weed.

Free your mind and your ass will follow. This is the walking part. I’m a Stoic. In Stoicism if something screws you over or irritates you walk away. You’d be surprised how much time you have after you turn off your phone and liberate your thumbs. And your blood pressure will come down, and you will sleep better, maybe with someone nice. And your family will be there for you. Well maybe I’m pushing it. Family will not be there for you. Laundry! Laundry will be there for you. Until next time . . . God Bless Texas.

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