Pretty Weather; Petty Problems. Jailed Again, Grumble, Grumble.


So. I’m trying to get my mind off of the election results and start thinking about everything I love about the fall months in Austin, Texas. These months are the best- warm days and cool nights, UT football, and fewer hours needed in the garden.

But this year, UT football is in shambles. I’m OK with that, because we are always so good that we need a year like this to help keep us centered. Having an off year gives perspective and makes you willing to work harder to get better. Life just works that way- some good, some bad.

Knowing that doesn’t brighten my mood any more than admitting that I put myself in dubious situations makes me feel better as I sit in jail. As I sit in jail, waiting for somebody to bail me out after another unjust arrest. Like last night, as a perfect example.

See, there is a clinic where abortions are performed near Dr. Sam I. Am-Johnson’s house, and there are always protesters standing in the drainage ditch in front of the building. Among the usual protesters is this one particular Catholic lady, and this lady and I have a history. The two of us have tangled swords with cross words many times.

Maybe we crossed swords in a tangle of words, but I think you catch my drift.

Her Catholic brainwashing is so complete, and her anger at anything contrary so vehement, that she lacks any ability to engage in polite discourse with a naysayer. The attitudes and platitudes emit from this woman in waves.

Attracting me like a bee to a lavender field.

I was on my way to Sammy’s to collect the Squirt, and the two of us had plans to go fishing before going to dinner with SAC Ellen. As I passed, I saw Catholic Abortion Protest Lady standing with her anti-abortion sign in front of the clinic. I slowed my car to a crawl, honked and waved.

Since honking usually demonstrates support for the protest, she waved enthusiastically and with a huge grin on her face.

Then it registered that she had just been nice to me, and she shook her fist, angrily, and then did the unthinkable. She flipped me the bird.

“Hoo-ya!” I said out loud to myself. “Somebody’s having a very bad day.”

When I got to the house, Sam and Squirt met me at door. “Come in for a minute, Mooner,” my ex-wife/psycho therapist/fun killer said. “The weather has gotten nice, and you need to be reminded that this great weather brings out the worst in you.”


“Don’t look at me with that childish bewilderment on your face, Mooner Johnson. I showed you the historical arrest statistics last October.”

“Oh, for shitsakes, Sammy,” I responded. “I’m having a great day and I don’t need you to ruin it for me.”

She gives me the psycho therapist evil eye and looks down at Squirt. “And you, young lady, you listen up as well. I let you go with Mooner because I expect you to help keep him out of trouble, not to spur him on.”

Now, she gives us each the psycho therapist evil eye- looking from Squirt to me with this reptilian glare. It reminded me of this one time I was in the swamp over to Louisiana.

“You look like a crocodile staring down his lunch, Sammy. Verrrry sexy.”

“Get out of here you two. And remember what I said.”

“Vas es los?” Squirt asked me as we walked to the car.

“I think she means stay out of trouble.”

Anyway, I just happened to have my anti-anti-abortion posters in my trunk, and the Squirt does love to anti-anti protest. So when I asked if she wanted to stop by to visit Catholic Abortion Protest Lady for a few minutes, she wagged and wriggled almost out of her seatbelt.

“Si, Monsieur Mooner. Mi would like that muy mucho.”

I had these sandwich board signs made for Squirt and myself for when we anti-anti protest together. For yesterday’s festivities, I chose for myself the one that says, “The Catholic Church is an abortion,” on the one side, and “Fuck the Pope,” on the other. Both sides of this sign accurate expressions of my thoughts.

Squirt’s sign says the same thing on both sides, “Bet you wish he was aborted!”, and then there’s a caricature drawing of my face.

Clever, no?

Squirt looks totally fucking adorable in her sandwich sign, running to keep up with my steady pace as we walk the protest grounds.

As usual, Catholic Abortion Protest Lady kept bumping into me with purpose, an act of petty violence that makes my efforts worthwhile. But then she starts crowding Squirt, bumping and knocking her over.

“Bite the bitch if she does that again,” I instructed Squirt. “She has no right to pick on you.”

Have I ever told you about Squirt’s teeth- how sharp they are and how powerful her miniature jaws are?

They placed us in the same cell after our arrest, and we spent most of the time settling on our story for when Dr. Sam I. Am arrived to bail us out. But we also tried to decide precisely which of our actions actually led to the arrest.

Squirt thought it was because I didn’t distinguish between biting to scare the Catholic lady, and biting to kill the Catholic lady.

Me, I’m thinking if I took the signs out of my car trunk and store them in the barn, then I wouldn’t do any anti-anti protesting without aforethought.

But look. I was charged with, “Inciting a viscous dog attack.” There was blood and screaming and shredded clothing and shit, but nobody lost a leg, or anything. It wasn’t like Squirt killed anyone. I admit it appeared she tried, but her actions were not a direct reflection of my intent.

Anyway, we’re out. But Squirt is grounded for a week, and I am going to start the community service I just know is coming my way when Jeff pleads me out of this mess.

Drink Carta Blanca beer. Manana, y’all.

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