With the proliferation of automatic weaponry in our schools, the national conversation has briefly turned to outrage and disbelief.
And before you check to see if hell has indeed, frozen over, consider this.
A politician told the truth.
Faced with questions about gun control that are oft-repeated and never addressed, Congressman Pete Burchett, Republican from Tennessee, said, “If you think Washington is going to fix this problem, you’re wrong. They’re not going to fix this problem. They are the problem.”
So, Democrats shut the fuck up about not being able to “reach across the aisle” to your Republican counterparts.
That’s bullshit.
And Republicans, shut the fuck up about your imaginary moral high ground. Like common sense in your leaders, it just does not exist.
Scientists (professional “guessers”) say that holes in the sun could produce two million miles-per-hour winds which would potentially destroy our power. Oh, yeah, it could completely destroy us as early as next week!
I freely admit that I am no scientist, but is something, anything, that is racing toward our planet, at two million miles per hour, going to merely knock out a few telephone poles? Much less a few pieces of the fiery sun itself?
Oh yeah, they are several times larger than our own planet.
You remember that place where we can’t seem to eliminate the word dominion from our vocabulary?
Who in the hell gave ANYONE dominion over another?
Human or animal?
Since I do not trust anything anymore, I can’t tell if the space photos are real or shopped.
But it was enough to scare me from ninety-three million miles away.
Give my little Cocker Spaniel son Murphy a penny to end his amateur status, and I am sure he will scientifically predict (guess) a totally different scenario.
One that includes lots of kisses and treats.
ad infinitum.
I have yet to see the film, but long before there was a Cocaine Bear, there was Acid Annie.
Annie, my little Calico kitten, was my best buddy, and we were inseparable. I even had her sit on my guitar case at an outside gig my band Duck Soup was playing.
One night, we were playing a country bar in North Tucson, and after we broke down and packed up, the party shifted to my place.
Annie always came out the doggie door to greet me when I jumped down from my truck. She instantly went airborne and she would lick my cheek with her eager sandpaper tongue.
After several cases of beer and a few bottles of Mescal, our bass badass Non, a Thai, pulled out a baggie of what looked like were several pieces of paper.
Paper.
LSD-25.
Right.
After each of us drooped the paper on our tongues, there were twenty hits left in the baggie which sat in the middle of us. We started to play some dumbass board game, and as we stared peaking, the incessant laughter followed and we ended up plugging in and getting ready to ROCK.
It was five a.m.
Long story short.
Neighbors.
Cops.
Silence.
When I came back and gratefully locked my door, I was curious.
Where was my little Annie?
She ALWAYS greeted me.
I looked on the table and there was the baggie Non had placed the blotter acid in.
No paper.
Just as I started toward the door, Annie burst through the doggie door like a cannonball.
Talk about wide-eyed.
For reasons which seemed to be very clear to me at the time, I did not try driving Annie to the vet.
For the next three months that I had Annie, she would hide and jump out at imaginary “visions” (flashbacks) all day long.
A very loving lady ended up keeping her and spoiled her rotten, which was less than I did.
Stay well.
