So. We’ve been back to Austin for a full day and it’s as though we never left. My mother came back to the ranch from her forced stay over to the hotel and has already set my teeth on edge; it’s been raining since Monday night—a good thing so long as you like your watery precipitation in the form of steam; and Texas Governor Rick “Can Somebody Pass Me Another Helping of Stupid?” Perry has pulled another bone-headed publicity stunt.
Ahhhh, home, sweet aggravating and gut-wrenching home.
Mother was sent packing to temporary quarters when we celebrated the gay marriage of my pet pig and his ostrich lover. Being a right-wing Christian religious asshole, Mother refused to attend the holy wedding ceremony of Rush and Rick. As a free-thinking somewhat liberal accountability freak, I kicked her ass out of my house for the wedding and it’s attendant festivities.
Then, as a hard hearted and slightly gloating Lord of the Manor, I invented attendant wedding activities to prolong Mother’s banishment until I could get car and animals packed and off to Santa Fe for our escape. Among those frivolous nuptial activities you could count a fishing trip, washer and horseshoe tournaments, and the first annual “Rush Limbaugh and Rick Perry Calf Cutting Ceremony and Mountain Oyster Dinner”.
For those of you new to the musings on these pages, Rush Limbaugh is my pet domesticated hog named after the piggish, priggish and bigoted asshole radio host of same name. Aptly monikered, my giant pig mimics the worst of his namesake’s attributes and—if he weren’t so handsome—would make a suitable stunt double for the right-wing yakker.
Said another way, if I hadn’t paid an exorbitant price for Rushie at the Travis County Livestock Show and Rodeo, he’d have been assorted cuts of prime pork years ago. And Gram would have gladly wielded the butcher knife.
Actually, her exact words have been, “If’fn ya don’t git that fat fuckin’ pig outta my earshot I’mma shove my 12-gager up his ass an give it tha twitchy eye. Now pass me tha fuckin’ butter.”
I love my grandmother and her fractured prose, and I never need wonder where to find the potty mouth genes in my own DNA. If memory serves me, one of the first dozen words I heard when exiting Mother’s womb was, in fact, fuck.
As for the ostrich, I named him after our governor because… Well, to put it as simply as I can, my 350-pound bird is dumb as a rock. He’s just plain dumb. But unlike the Governor, my Rick Perry has a heart of gold and a giving soul and to be brutally honest, it breaks my heart that he fell for Rush Limbaugh the pig. But love is blind and so are many of the followers of religious institutions. Like my very own mother, Mother.
OK, my ADHD and its little brother, the ADD, have derailed this train. While my derailments lack the fire and possibly toxic chemical fumes of today’s train wreck up to Columbus, Ohio, they are no less dangerous to your health. As my ADHD is of the contagious variety, it might be a good idea to inoculate yourself against my infections prior to each reading.
Vaccinate yourself daily with heavy doses of Carta Blanca beer, Cannabis or any other naturally occurring hallucinogenic agent. To be safe, mix-and-match for maximum protection.
In Austin’s weather news, my beloved home city was 91 degrees for the duration of a two-hour storm yesterday evening. The poor raindrops were so afraid to hit hot pavement that they converted themselves into steam and hung in thick clouds at ground level. They hung (hanged?) there in a smoldering mass of steam until midnight. When Cinderella’s hour struck, the moisture reconverted into raindrops and affixed themselves to everything exposed.
They clung separately in fat drops, struggling to avoid Nature’s water controlling physics force—surface tension. But gravity being what it is, by this morning most of the individual drops had been glued together to reach the critical mass required to fall to the ground.
Mother, at breakfast this am, had arisen before me to grab the newspaper before I could. She was sitting at the table when the dogs, the fucking cat and I came into the big kitchen. I deeply sighed my surrender of the paper to Mother, fixed a cup of strong coffee and took my seat at the table next to Mr. Dave. He leaned to me and whispered in my ear. His hushed breath was full of Kahlua’s rich aroma and his words were slightly slurred when he said to me, he said, “I did all I could, Mooner. I tried to love some of the hate from her heart, but she spent two weeks with Mrs. Browningwell, and she’s been saving up. Will you make an appointment for me with Dr. Sam I. Am-Johnson? I might have a drinking problem.”
Mrs. Browningwell is wife to Baptist Preacher Browningwell, and Mr. Dave is the giant-peckered old geezer I hired to service Mother and the rest of the women at Johnson Manor. Sounds like Mr. Dave is suffering from a Mother overload.
Which reminds me. Our governor has announced that Texas will not participate in the bounty of health care options offered to our state’s citizens by The Affordable Health Care Act. That’s right, Texas will not be accepting and participating in the programs. What that shithead has said, effectively, is that we will not accept heath care programs that were paid for by we Texans in Federal taxes.
That dumbass bitches about paying taxes and then refuses the public services already funded by those already paid taxes.
“Oh, Reeeeckyyyyy! Reekyy Peeerrryyy! Remove your head from your ass for a minute and listen. It’s already funded programs, son, you and I and our brethren have already paid for most of this. Instead of rejecting it to salve the hurt feelings of your Tea Party buddies, take the money, dude.”
How about you say, “While I adamantly disagree with the SCOTUS decision and feel that Obamacare is unconstitutional, I will allow our state’s citizens to enjoy the benefits of these illegal programs we already begrudgingly funded, and I will do all I can to help remove Obamacare from our future lives.”
But Governor Rick Perry is an asshole. Fuck Rick Perry!
Oh, and I just saw a sound bite of Herr Schmidt Rommel at the NAACP. Hilarious, and sad. How can a candidate for President of the United States not understand what bigotry is? The Mittster really is big money’s Manchurian candidate sent to destroy America’s middle class.
Ugh, need beer. Manana, y’all.