Last Day Until Santa Fe; Mooner Johnson- Poetry In Motion


So. You might think that the recent Texas Republican US Senate primary results would have my rankles so mangled that it would be all I could speak to. Hell, you might even think that I would be so rankled that those politics would be all to which I would speak.

But alas and dangling prepositions be damned, the fact that Texas Repubbies chose a Sarah Palin endorsed Tea Party Chinese jobs-supporting lawyer hack over Governor Prick Perry’s endorsed Lt. Pretty Boy David Dewhurst has barely registered on my ADHD-addled mental gyroscope. Texas politics is getting even more radically right-wing stupid and it has barely registered on my radar.

You might also think that I’m so pissed that asshole Christians flocked to show their solidarity with Chik-Fucka-Buckets that I stopped by at the lunch hour yesterday and flashed my ass at them. OK, you’d be right on that one. And, “Yes, Virginia, those handsome and quite manly hairy butt cheeks were mine on display as you waited in the long line to order your hormonally-enhanced soggy fried sandwich.”

I didn’t even know that those assholes had a rally planed or I would have made a sign to accompany my ass flashing. One side would have said, “Fuck Chik-Fucka-Buckets,” and the reverse might have been, “Everyone in this line is a bigoted asshole!”

Not very creative but as I say, I didn’t give it any thought in the altogether at all.

Nope, I’m riding a high these days—the high of dry mountain air and Enchantment. I’m loading the car today and leaving early in the am for Santa Fe! Two weeks this time while I get the new casita ready for Johnson family occupancy. I’m taking the dogs and the fucking cat this trip and we’ll be camping out of sorts. I have an air mattress and some canvas chairs for furniture and enough kitchen stuff to make simple meals.

Squirt told me that Yoda has already asked if he’ll be able to, “Mark all of our territory,” in the two short weeks of this stay. We started marking the three thousand acres here to the ranch a couple months ago and still aren’t done.

“Don’t worry, little guy,” I told him. “You can cover the new place once a day if you wish.”

Tears welled in the small puppy’s eyes as he thought of a manageable territory. Dogs like to have limits and parameters in their behavior patterns, just like kids.

I’m finding that the closer I am to New Mexico the less I care about Texas and it’s slippery slide towards right-wing Hell. I’m even starting to like my buddy Squatlo’s idea about encircling the entire state with a fifty-foot razor wire fence and then just dumping all of our country’s “right thinkers” inside. Let them call it The United State of Bigotry for all my give-a-shit. Knowing that Theo is moving to Austin has helped cement the building blocks of this idea.

But again to quote my Gram, “Who gives a shit, Mooner. Yer gonna be off over there to tha Land of Enhancements an’ I’mma be stuck here with yer fuckin’ mother. Now fetch me another beer an’ quit yer bitchy achin’”

That was last night as we sat on the flagstone patio watching smoke curl skyward from the BBQ pit. “It’s Land of Enchantment, Gram, and do you know how much I love you?”

My randy old grandmother cocked her head my way, smiled a wicked grin and replied, “Don’t you go getting’ all sedimental on me, boy. Now fetch me that beer an’ git them ribbies off’n tha fire. I’m hungry ’nuff ta eat a goat.”

I kissed the top of her head and she swatted me half-assedly. The ribbies were tasty and Mother was lucid during dinner and spreading the good cheer that Chick-Fucka-Buckets had record sales yesterday. Mother thinks that America has finally reached moral high ground.

My take is that America has achieved record levels of insanity and has reverted to its level of civilization found in the early 1800’s. At least in some states, like Texas.

But I frankly don’t give a flying fuck, my dear. I’m off to Santa Fe.

Manana, y’all. (Maybe)


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3 Responses to “Last Day Until Santa Fe; Mooner Johnson- Poetry In Motion”

  1. squatlo says:

    I envy your trip, but not for the Manuel Labor part. Between you and Cynthianne sending me emails and vids of New Mexico’s enchanting scenery, my camera Jones is on redline alert right now…

    About that fifty foot razor wire fence around Tay-Hass… hold up on that plan until Theo and the rest of the knuckle-draggin’ mouth-breathers are settled down for the night in the Loon Star State. I wouldn’t want to fence one of ’em out if they’d prefer to join the rest of the sheeple in Red State heaven.
    But you don’t have a monopoly on idiotic politicians down there, by any means. We have a state rep who’s warning his constituents that Obama and the Dept. of Homeland Security are plotting a fake assassination attempt in order to declare martial law and prevent the election from taking place. Pull your tin foil hat down around THAT one… that’s at least as batshit crazy as anything Louie Gohmert has said or done so far…

    I’m beginning to think those people (there’s that phrase everyone’s so upset about) won’t be happy until everyone’s on the same page as the craziest of their group… which means they’ll NEVER be happy. All my life I’ve heard the old saying Ignorance is Bliss, but if that were true these folks would have to be a lot happier…

    Wish BJ and I could join you on your camp out, just to share the Carta Blanca and a batch of pork barbecue. I’m looking into FED EX as a possibility for shipping a gallon to you guys as a housewarming present, so let me know when Gram and your mom and gay pigs and birds are settled out there in New Mexico.

    Adios, ameba!

  2. Parttime Texan, Mooner Johnson says:

    Squat. For some reason it appears that those of us residing in former Confederate States of America territory are the wacky most of the really dumb Right. As those states likewise happen to be the Bible Belt, I find myself making connections.

    Maybe the New Testiment contains magical words that diminish intelligence measurably. Maybe a Muslim jokester wrote the New Testament as a way to fuck with the Jews and dilute their bloodlines. Then again, this modern breed of American Christian don’t seem to be preaching the same religion as I was raised with.

    Would be funny if 2,200 years ago Abdul and Kariff Abdulla were sitting in their Bedoin tent after a long day of camel riding, toking a fat bud and bitching about the Jews. “Hey, Kariff, I just thought of something really fucking funny. How about we write a novel and pretend it’s the next bunch of chapters in the Koran…”

    Makes sense to me.

  3. squatlo says:

    You truly are the most inappropriate man in the world, know that? Listen, when the jihad is declared and they come for you in the middle of the night, try to hide Gram’s magic ‘shroom potion. We sure as hell can’t let THAT formula fall into the wrong hands… (think they’re crazy now? Shit, they’d be Michele Bachmann batshit crazy then…)

    And the Bible Belt thing has always befuddled me. You’d think people would be too miserable in this heat and humidity (to those of you who don’t live in the southeast, imagine being waterboarded every step of the way between your front door and the mailbox and back, only with warmer water than they use at Gitmo…) would be too worn out to worry about everyone else’s bidness. But you’d be wrong. I blame air conditioning. And indoor plumbing. When we had to hike back and forth to the outhouse, you didn’t sit around fussing about which fast food joints support gay rights or which contraceptive ought to be denied to women. You just tried to get through the day without having heatstroke. Now these prigs and prudes man the pews at Sanctimony Babtist when they aren’t casting votes in the state’s General Assembly.
    If liberals and progressives had the stomach for undercover work, we could do a lot more for our causes if we joined these congregations, went to ALL of their meetings, voiced our opinions on every little issue, brought actual facts to the debates, and worked to outvote them on every crazy rightwingnutter position of their church. I’m too old for that kind of work, or I’d volunteer. Besides, my head would spin around like Linda Blair’s and I’d have a seizure like Damien’s in The Omen if I tried to go to church. Probably be hard to fit in with all that happening, although I’m told some of the evangelicals and pentacostals do much the same every weekend. Hell, I might fit right in… jabber in tongues, carry a few rubber snakes around with me…

    Have a safe trip to Santa Fe and back, and let us know how you’re doing. No computer? You can still make a phone call….

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