Out in the West Texas Town of El Paso

I knew El Paso pretty well in my more youthful years, even though I did not fall in love there with a Mexican girl.* My West Texas memories are of hot, dry semi-desert, a fine place for hiking and casual shooting in a landscape so deserted that you barely worried about where your bullets fell to earth.

But a blizzard? I know it happens once in a while, but it's still disorienting. Blizzards happen in places like Iowa and South Dakota, not down in the Sombrero provinces.

Anyway, Texas authorities are asking folks to kinda avoid Interstate 10 in the area until they get things sorted out. Texas authorities, being what they are, seem to have asked nicely instead of issuing decrees and threats as do our Road Masters** up here in in the Ethanol regions. And Texas citizens, being what they are, think it over and come to a friendly conclusion. "Yep, Roy, I think them highway cops got it about right, so we'll wait a day or two and not go over there gettin' in their way."

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Yes, I rather like Texas and Texans.  Always have. Taken as a whole, they are no more full of shit than us Yankees, and their lies tend to be quite a little more entertaining than ours.

In fact, I'll shortly  announcing my appointment of a certain Texan to be secretary of defense in my first administration.  He'll be fine, although I'll have to remind him every once in a while that Texas is not permitted to conduct its own foreign policy.

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*Not with Ciudad Jaurez so close, but that's another post.

**Make up your own Buick pun.

Duuuhhhhhh Darwin nomination

Hi guys. Any convicted felons out there?

Okay, you fellas with your hands up. This is for you. Until you get your full pardons, I recommend against appearing in public with AR-15s. But if you must do so, make every effort to avoid getting your shooting session taped for You Tube.

My hat is in the ring

Haven't meant to seem standoffish lately. Forgive me. My decision-making process to run for president required long and prayerful consideration. So did my platform which begins with the carefully researched and elegantly worded

TMR ANTI-PISSAWAY PACT.

Plank 1:  No tax money for bike trails. Not one f--king cent. Savings: $85 million per year at the federal level and God knows how much more extorted by subordinate commissars.

Observation:  $85 million would pay for at least 850 professional armed security guards to protect our innocent children in the nation's schools. (N.B. -- If said guards are also required to protect guilty children, the added cost is to be a local responsibility.)

My campaign motto: There Is Some Shit We Can't Afford.

Et voila. The Kharmic cycle renewed

It still 72 degrees, but I am warmer. It takes either a theoretical physicist or a metaphysician to explain that.

Note: While I can't imagine a reader dense enough consider  the TMR  a how-to manual, you never know, so:

This is not the way to run your fire. All that dancing flame has but two purposes. (1) to get the hardwood going and (2) to make a pretty picture for the internet.

It's the soft squaw wood burning with open drafts, extremely hot. Watch it with a hawk's eye and the same sense of terror Senator Feinstein reserves for shoulder thingies that go up.

In a few minutes you'll see the week-long fire you want, two or three hard logs on a red-hot bed, the logs themselves barely aflame. I report this at the command of the TMR Legal Review Department.