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Updated: 1 hour 32 min ago

Sex, Lies, and Body Cams

Tue, 04/23/2019 - 6:16am

Bill 357 died on the streets of Austin, shot execution style by Speaker of the House Dennis Bonnen. According to Speaker Bonnen an Open Carry Texas supporter, Chris McNutt, attacked his family with a fully automatic assault T-Shirt. Because of the danger to his family, corporate sponsors and his dog the Speaker then turned on a dime, a rather thin dime mind you, and went from supposedly supporting the second amendment to pushing gun confiscation.

And you just THOUGHT Joe Strauss was bad. Behold the bald headed wonder! Unfortunately our good friend and patriot, CJ Grisham happened upon this DPS body cam footage which put the lie to the Speaker’s claims. What you will see here is a very civilized interaction between two members of the Department of Public Safety and the OCT member calmly discussing the bill, OCT, and the respect to the Speaker’s privacy ending with the officer offering to place the document on the Speaker’s door himself. Indeed, saying he was going to look into OCT!


Now don’t get me wrong. Politicians will lie. But usually they do it in a way so as to give themselves an out. Like what the definition of “is” is. You have to ask yourself. If Bonnen knew the officers were there he must know that they had body cams. I mean this ain’t Arkansas, ok? And if he knows anything about OCT or CJ he must realize that in short order whatEVER was transmitted via said body cam (s) was going to become the movie of the week. And you are PAYING this guy people!

And he stood by the story. Yep. Hey, he lied when he took office. Told us he was a Republican. Even took his kid out shooting.
I erroneously claimed that he was born in California, but found he was from Houston, which is almost as bad, but if you will note I owned up to my mistake. I just couldn’t imagine a Texan getting caught like that.

So the quest to read the constitution as it is written forges on. But, with the Speaker of the House lying like this, and being stupid enough to get caught flat footed, we’ll be lucky to hold onto our sling shots! Point of fact: What do you think would’ve happened if the DPS officer caught the OCT member lying to HIM? SHOW ME YOUR HANDS!


The Butcher Shop

The post Sex, Lies, and Body Cams appeared first on Tea Party Tribune.

Infidel!

Mon, 04/22/2019 - 10:26am

A War started in the 7th Century and lasted through the 17th Century.

Many will contend it never stopped; the Facts below are Historically correct.

That is why many of us Choke when we hear someone say we will defeat or contain these Islamic Terrorists in a few Years, or even “30 Years” as has been stated by Leon Panetta.

If the latest batch of Murders, Beheadings, and Killing of Innocent Christians has at all shocked you, it is time for you to read this Compilation of Historical Facts about the Intense Hatred that Muslims have for ANY and ALL who are “NOT” Muslims!

In 732 A.D., the Muslim Army, which was moving on Paris, was Defeated and turned back at Tours, France, by Charles Martell.

In 1571 A.D., the Muslim Army/Navy was defeated by the Italians and Austrians as they tried to cross the Mediterranean to Attack Southern Europe in the Battle of Lepanto.

In 1683 A.D.,the Turkish Muslim Army, attacking Eastern Europe, was finally Defeated in the Battle of Vienna by German and Polish Christian Armies.

This Nonsense has been going on for 1,400 years! The SAD thing is that more than half of all Politicians do not even know any of this. If these Battles had not been Won, we would most likely be speaking Arabic. And Christianity could be Non-existent. Judaism certainly would NOT exist!

Reality check: A lot of Americans have become so Insulated from Reality that they Imagine America can Suffer defeat without any Inconvenience to themselves.

Think back: The following events are true historical facts. It has been many years since 1968, but History keeps repeating itself.

  1. In 1968, Robert Kennedy was Shot and Killed by a Muslim Male.
  2. In 1972, at the Munich Olympics, Israeli Athletes were Kidnapped and Massacred by Muslim Males.
  3. In 1972, a Pan Am 747 was Hijacked and eventually Diverted to Cairo where a Fuse was lit on Final Approach. Shortly after Landing, it was Blown up by Muslim Males.
  4. In 1973, a Pan Am 707 was Destroyed in Rome With 33 People Killed, when it was Attacked with Grenades by Muslim Males.
  5. In 1979, the United States Embassy in Iran was taken over by Muslim Males.
  6. During the 1980’s, a number of Americans were Kidnapped in Lebanon by Muslim Males.
  7. In 1983, the United States Marine Barracks in Beirut was Blown up by Muslim Males.
  8. In 1985, the Cruise Ship Achille-Lauro was Hijacked, and a 70-year-old American Passenger was Murdered and thrown Overboard in his Wheelchair by Muslim Males.
  9. In 1985, TWA Flight 847 was Hijacked at Athens, and a United States Navy Diver, who was trying to Rescue Passengers – was murdered by Muslim Males.
  10. In 1988,Pan Am Flight 103 was bombed by Muslim Males.
  11. In 1993, the World Trade Center was Bombed for the First Time by Muslim Males.
  12. In 1998, the United States Embassies in Kenya and Tanzania were Bombed by Muslim Males.
  13. On 09/11/01, FOUR Airliners were Hijacked. Two of the Planes were used as Missiles to take down the World Trade Centers. One Plane Crashed into the United States Pentagon, and the other Plane was Diverted and Crashed by the Passengers. Thousands of People were Killed by Muslim Males.
  14. In 2002, the United States fought a War in Afghanistan against Muslim Males.
  15. In 2002, reporter Daniel Pearl was Kidnapped and Beheaded by you guessed it – a Muslim Male. (Plus two other American Journalists who had just recently been Beheaded.)
  16. In 2013, the Boston Marathon Bombing resulted in Four Innocent People, including a Child, being Killed and 264 other People injured by Muslim Males.

NO, I really do not see a pattern here to Justify Profiling. Do YOU?

So, to ensure we Americans never offend anyone – particularly Fanatics intent on Killing US – Airport Security Screeners will NO longer be allowed to Profile certain People…So, ask yourself: “Just how Stupid are we?!?!”

Have Americans completely lost their Minds or just their “Power of Reason?”

As the writer of the Award Winning story “Forrest Gump” so aptly put it, “Stupid is as Stupid does.”

Now we can just sit back, keep complaining and do nothing.

As Barack Obama said in his book: “Nothing sounds as Beautiful as the Muslim Evening Prayers from the Tower.”

And now, we have Muslim’s in Congress and as Mayors of our citites??? What next??? Are you ready to convert to Islam yet???

The Butcher Shop

The post Infidel! appeared first on Tea Party Tribune.

As We Are One

Sun, 04/21/2019 - 11:48am

AS WE ARE ONE

It is Friday evening. The small girl knelt before the tabernacle to pray. She took out her Rosary, and loosened the white scarf that was around her head. Letting it drape loosely she began, “I believe in God, the Father Almighty, maker of Heaven and earth. I believe in his only Son, our Lord, Jesus Christ. . . ” As she prayed, she thought of each part of the prayer. The Rosary is a mental, as much as a verbal prayer. The repetition of the little prayers put her into the meditative state she was familiar with. She began to feel a warm glow. The rosary beads started to feel silky as she worked them between her fingers.

“Hail Mary, full of grace
The Lord is with thee. Blessed art Thou among women And blessed is the fruit of Thy womb, Jesus.
Holy Mary, mother of God
Pray for us sinners
Now, and at the hour of our death.”

Again and again, slowly, imperceptibly, the petite young girl’s voice faded to a whisper, and then began to sound like small pouts. Then it was gone completely. Her eyes were fixed on the statue of the mother of Jesus, but her soul was not behind them.

She found herself in a crowded passageway. People were crowding in from every side. The air was cool, yet the putrid odors of a large city alleyway were hanging all about. All the shoving and excitement seemed to be centered somewhere down the alley from where she stood, and it was moving in her direction.

Two ancient soldiers were shoving people out of the way. They threatened with their swords, raising them above their heads, and waving them about. She could see that the swords were sharp and weighty. She was well aware that even a small blow from them would be serious. The crowd was appreciative of this, causing them to steer clear of the soldiers when the tempers appeared to flare.

These were hard men. They had hard eyes, and they needed a shave. They smelled like sweat. Their uniforms, if they could be called that, were dirty. Their helmets were not shiny and new, but used, very used. They were using a language that she could not understand. As the lead soldier came near her she recoiled, but he put his left hand out and shoved her backwards anyway, not so much that she was in his way, but he used the action to demonstrate his authority to the rest of the crowd. Mashing his hand into her nose and eyes, giving a squeeze as he
pushed, further showed his position of authority. His hand was dirty, too. She instinctively took her scarf and put it to her nose.

The crowd became very agitated and she saw other men coming up the alley, surrounded by soldiers. The soldiers around these men were shielding them from the crowd. She could tell that the crowd had mixed feelings, some appeared angry with the men, and others looked sympathetic. Each man had a huge crossbeam on his shoulders. She was stunned by the size of the beams. They weren’t smooth at all, but rough and splintery. Great grooves ran the length of the beams. Large iron rings were fastened to either end. Each of the three men was tied to these beams. As they approached she could see that the beam had rubbed their backs raw, down to the muscle. How the men stood the pain was beyond her. Just then the lead man tripped and fell. The force of his fall broke the ranks of the soldiers, and he crashed down at her feet, the weight of the beam forcing his face into the stone of the walkway. He left drops of blood on the stones where he fell. She looked down at him as he pulled himself up, resting his weight on one knee. He looked into her eyes. The soldier behind him started to raise his sword. She thought that perhaps he would strike her, but it didn’t matter. Looking into those eyes was the perfect time to die. He was in pain, but his eyes didn’t show it. They’d broken his nose, but she could tell that it had been an exquisite nose. His beard was full, but well kept. She could see it was saturated with blood, too. His hair hung down stringy, filled with blood and sweat. She could see that it extended a length down his back almost to his waist. They had put a “crown” on his head, a crown made of briars. It had cut into the flesh very deep. One cheek was smashed in. It was not the face of an intellectual. It was the face of a working man. Still, this description doesn’t do the face justice. She’d seen this face a thousand times, on road gangs, in homeless shelters, yet it was all of these, and none of these. With one look at the face she was sorry for everything she’d ever done. With the sight of the raised sword still at the edge of her field of vision, she raised the scarf in her hands and wiped the face.


He closed his eyes, and struggled to get up. With a great effort he raised himself to his feet, and began to stumble down the cobblestones with the soldiers all around him. She followed with the crowd. Near the wall he fell again. This time the soldiers had enough delay, and took the beam from his shoulders. The cuts were much worse than she’d thought. The cross beam had relentlessly bore down into the gaping wounds. As the men pulled the beam off his worn shoulders, torn flesh clung to it. The man winced, but did not cry out.


They grabbed a man from the crowd and pointed to the beam. Even though she couldn’t understand what was being said, she knew the man was being ordered to carry the beam for the prisoner who’d fell. He obviously didn’t want to, but the authority of the soldiers was clear. She could see that any refusal, any hesitation, might even put the beam on the man’s shoulders for real!

The crossbeam now repositioned, they all went through the outer wall at the perimeter of the city. They stumbled up a little rocky rise and some of the soldiers held the crowd back. The three prisoners were put on the ground. They were stripped down to a loincloth that each one had, and each was placed upon their respective beams. Leather bags were produced, and large hammers brought out. The men were stretched on the beams. While some soldiers held them down, another centurion would get a nail from the sack. Two of the men did not cooperate and one soldier struck one of them with the flat of his sword, knocking him unconscious. The nails were pressed into the wrists of each man, and driven all the way through into the beam with a single blow. The man, whose face she’d wiped, moaned a little. The other conscious man screamed something at the soldiers, and they slapped him.

When they were all firmly attached they were stood and ropes were run through the rings on the ends of the beams. The soldiers then threw the ropes over the tops of some upright posts that were situated on the little rise. Balancing the ropes so they would not fall to the side, they heaved each man onto a precut slot in his particular upright post, which was already firmly planted into the ground. Then a soldier went to each condemned man and put a single nail through his overlapping feet.

Then the guards threw all the possessions of the prisoners on the ground, then began to divide them up. She stood there with the others and looked up at the men on the crosses. This was not glorious, it was horrible! It was perhaps the most sickening sight she’d ever seen in her life! They were all straining against the nails in their feet to lift themselves up so they could breathe, and each effort to do so produced a moan, or a scream. With each beat of the heart the blood oozed from the wrists of the condemned, but she could tell that it was not from the loss of blood that death would come, but from the battle they were fighting for breath.

She could see some women on the far side of the rise, some crying and wringing their hands. One was on her knees. Tears streamed from her bright blue eyes, but she did not cry out. She kept her eyes directly on the man in the center. She breathed when he breathed. She shuddered when he shuddered. A young man was standing behind her with his hands resting on her shoulders. He was staring into the dying man’s face. The man on the center cross told him something, but she could not understand what it was. The man put his arms around the woman, then led her away down the rise.

Hours passed. During all this time there was no relief in the struggle to breathe. Every now and then one of the men would be still, perhaps hoping death would intervene, and end the agony, and one of the soldiers would go over and poke him with a spear, or sword until they screamed. Finally the man in the center cried out, “Eli, Eli, lema sabachthani!”

The soldiers looked up. One walked over and got a long stick. He fixed a sponge onto it and dipped it into a clay jar of clear liquid. Walking over to the center cross he thrust the sponge into the man’s mouth!

At this point she folded the scarf used to dry the face, and placed it carefully into her pocket. Suddenly, she found herself back in the church with a bloody scarf.

The Butcher Shop

The post As We Are One appeared first on Tea Party Tribune.

Two American Soldiers Detained by Mexican Troops NORTH of the Border!

Sat, 04/20/2019 - 8:37pm

I often get accused of oversimplification. When I first read this story I chalked it up as fake news. But, then it came back. The facts are simple. You see, there’s this river. The Rio Grande to be exact. If you are a Mexican on the south side then you are a Mexican. If you are a Mexican on the north side then you are an illegal alien, more appropriately known as a wetback. This designation stems from the fact that if you swim said river to obtain access to Texas your back will become wet, hence the name “wetback.”

Now look at the personnel involved in this recent “misunderstanding.” They’ve seen the river, folks. They had to pass it to get into Texas. Kinda hard to miss. Illegals know EXACTLY where it is. So they find themselves foraging around Texas and what do they come across? AMERICAN SOLDIERS patrolling the AMERICAN border. Damndest thing I ever saw. So they detailed them. Now please understand these Mexican soldiers are at this point technically wetbacks. So they come into America, disarm and arrest two American soldiers. Shades of Pancho Villa!

Eventually it all works out but those Mexican soldiers never did explain how they missed that river on the way north. I’m not going to say this is an act of war or anything like that, but I am going to say that we need to keep a closer eye on those brown folks without no GPS. VIVA ZAPATA!

The Butcher Shop

The post Two American Soldiers Detained by Mexican Troops NORTH of the Border! appeared first on Tea Party Tribune.

CigarBox – A Bend Wedding

Sat, 04/20/2019 - 9:16am

Saturday morning dawned bright and clear. The house at the Bend was prepared for the upcoming event. The last touches were added as the owner of the Daisy placed votive candles along the privacy fence to illuminate the guests that evening. All business, real estate, drinking, everything was put on hold. Dish Bob arrived about ten in the morning. Mike’s stepfather was making coffee as the doorbell rang. He went to let the preacher in. Bob greeted him warmly at the door. Coffee was poured and the pair went to the rear of the house, through the French doors to examine the set up.

“Now, this little table is gonna be the altar, am I correct?”

“Yes. They’ll stand right here and recite the vows and then turn and walk back through there,” he pointed to the French doors, “and we’ll commence with the party, I mean reception.”

“And how many do you recon will be in attendance?”

“I don’t know. We sent some invitations, but this is a ‘Bend’ happening, so most of the area will show at one time or another. The French doors will be left open so the guests can mingle out onto the lawn. We’ll keep the golf carts ready for those who want to cruise the course at night.”

“Accommodations?”

“Oh, yeah! We’ll keep the back bedrooms ready for those who want to stay over ‘till Sunday, and there is the apartment up at the country club, too. Hey, why don’t you stay over and preach on Sunday right here?”

The preacher smiled, “Well, I gotta be over at the mission Sunday morning, but I recon I could give a few moments of prayer. Considering the style of this reception I would want to hang around a bit to help a few souls, if you know what I mean?”

The other man smiled. He knew that Dish Bob would occupy one of the rooms. They always had a room ready for him. “Prophet’s room” it was known as. All the needs provided, down to a little bible on the night stand for him to read. Claudette always had a Bible, and bell and a small candle for him when he stayed over. Usually, when there was such a big “do” in the Bend people would drink and eat too much, and it was customary to let them “sleep over.”

At noon the refreshments began to arrive. Kegs of beer set up on the lawn, in the shade, hundreds of tacos, burritos, sandwiches, and all the “fixings” it took to throw a proper wedding at the Bend. What was normally considered the dining room table was covered with all manner of liquors, so that no taste was left unattended. Claudette had placed various lemons and limes in the refrigerator waiting to be cut and sucked at the opportune moment!

The fare of the day was prime rib, but the staple was smoked brisket. Mike’s stepfather, and Tommy had all sat up most of the night, drinking beer, and smoking briskets on the two big barrel smokers in the back yard. They had the firebox off to the side of each of them so the meat never touched fire, but only had smoke drift over them all night. One had hickory because Mike’s mom loved the taste of it having been raised in Tennessee, but the other was Mesquite, a true Texas flavor unique to the area. All the pieces of meat were saturated with Italian dressing and then the cheapest bar b que sauce that could be found. The following morning the briskets were finished by putting them in the ovens to make sure the internal temperatures were just right.

The kitchen in the big house was very large. There were actually four ovens and a six-burning gas stove. Pots hung from the ceiling all around, and there was a huge, “butcher- block” island in the center of the room. The briskets would be sliced to use all parts, both the lean and fat to make various sandwiches, plates, and just snacks that would grace the reception. Much more brisket would be eaten than prime rib. Brisket is just about the sorriest piece of meat you can legally feed to a human being in the United States, but it stands to reason that any state that makes a sport out of eating jalapenos would make a cut of meat such as brisket a prime cut!

Keeping the smokers at exactly two hundred degrees was in fact an art. The charcoal increased heat, while the soaked wood increased flavor, and the balance must be maintained between the two if one was to have a successful meal.

Dish Bob reached over and sampled a deviled egg as he continued to talk. “I need to consult with the couple before we perform the ceremony.”

“No problem. We’ll get them in the back bedroom for you.”

“They’ll get there soon enough. I would like to take them onto the porch.”

Mike’s stepfather added, “Oh, no. They’re going to San Antone for the honeymoon. River Walk Marriott! Can’t be no other place.”

The preacher smiled, “You do have style!”

“Oh, yes. They’ll stay there, and eat at the Casa Rio, Lone Star, and all the best places. June’s never been there, you know?”

“Oh, I didn’t know that.”

“She’s really never been much out of the county. That’ll be her first time out like that. We were all gonna go, but we’ll just let them. You know, give ‘em privacy.”

The preacher nodded. He rose and walked around the home a bit. He was familiar with the house, having been there many times. It was the typical ranch style home with the huge living room and even larger kitchen. There was a formal dining area, and a big master bedroom with several smaller bedrooms. Then, there was an equally large upper floor that overlooked the golf course. When the boys had all been home the home was full but now that they, and Dr. Angie were gone, it was very large and empty.
The lady from the Daisy arrived and began to make final preparations. About three that afternoon June came over with her mother. Barbara dropped her off and went back to her home to ready herself for the event. She walked into the house as if she’d never been there before. Indeed this time except for a trip to San Antonio, she would not be going home. She would not be going back to the shack behind Fat Eddie’s. She would live here, at the Bend. For a moment the weight of it overcame her. She sat at the huge formal table and considered what she was about to do. At this moment she truly loved Mike for having brought her to this point. The rich woods of the room, the paintings, even the little things made her stop and think. She’d come here a thousand times in her life, and yet she’d never really been here. Her mother would never live at the Bend. Just then she felt a presence behind her. It was Mike’s mom.

“Taking it all in, hon?”

She turned to see her, and said, “It’s all so grand. I never really looked at it all. Where did you learn all this?”

The older woman sat and smiled. When I was living in Tennessee I used to watch “Dallas” on TV every chance I got. I looked at all them fancy things on that show, and I studied them. One day I knew I was gonna have them.”

June looked down, “I’m too stupid to do that. I could never be a real estate broker, like you.”

Claudette looked her directly in the eyes. “June, I had to take that stupid test thirteen times! Did you know that? Thirteen times to get my license. Now I got it. You can do it.” She took June by the hand and led her to the fireplace. On it was a brass plate with an inscription. “Read it,” she told June.

The young woman leaned and looked at the plate and read, “Rise above every obstacle. Teach the angels how to fly.” She looked at the older lady. “Where’d you get that?”

“The saying, or the plate?”

“The saying.”

“My brother Mike told it to me when we were little kids playing on the Mississippi. He always said that man was created to judge the angels, and that it was really our job to teach them how to fly. That’s my motto. Never look up to anyone, or anything. Man was made to teach the angels how to fly. You learn to fly, and then you teach them.”

“Do you ever see him anymore?”

“Who?”

“Your brother.”

“No, he’s dead. He was killed in a car crash on Christmas day years ago. That’s when I decided to move here to Texas. Senseless, really. He didn’t need to die like that.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring it up.”

“Ain’t your fault. Ain’t nobody’s fault; just is! People die all the time. Some just affect us more than others, that’s all.”

“I’ll bet he was a lot like you. Strong, and kind. I could never be like you.”

Suddenly she didn’t want to crush June. She knew her to be just as she must have been at some point back in Memphis. She was a girl just trying to carve a place in the world. She took her out to the porch. The maid, and the cleaning woman were working, and June and Claudette sat in the lawn chairs and talked.


“June, I grew up poor, back in Memphis. I was so poor, heck; I thought the folks on welfare had government jobs ‘cause they always had a check! I remember one time when this local fat cat’s son asked me to sleep with him. I told him, ‘No!’ He asked me why. He would pay me; make my life easier, what ever I wanted. I still remember him saying, ‘Who’s gonna know?’ I told him, ‘The Lord will know!’ I ran outta there and never went back. You know what the Lord gave me for that?”

“No.”

“Nothing! Lost my job, went hungry. Had to marry Mike’s no account father! Took me seven years to shed that worthless piece of nothing! What do you feel, June? I mean what do you really feel?”

June felt nervous, but wanted to give the right answer. “Well, all I know is that I love Mike.”

The older woman began to laugh. “Love? You love Mike? Child, you’re too young to know what love is. You’re telling me that you love him? You get rich, and then you’ll have time to love.”

They walked out to the fence and looked over it to the golf course. The older woman asked, “How old are you, really?”

“Do you love your husband?”

Mike’s mom looked sly, just like June when she was hiding something, and replied, “Sometimes. I loved him a lot when we used to go down by the river and have our picnics. That was before that darn fool Stillwell blew his head off right on the very spot I used to eat.” Her eyes narrowed, “It don’t pay to totally love any man! Don’t think you’ll get in my good graces by feeding me what you think I want to hear. You show me you are smart, and that’ll go much farther down the road with me than all the little con games in the world! And don’t you love Mike! He’s got a lot of growing to do. You be smart like the fox.”

“I’m almost seventeen.”

“Sixteen!”

“Yes.”

“You pregnant?”

June looked at her. She was tempted to act like a little girl whose feelings were hurt, but looking into the woman’s eyes she knew that wouldn’t fly so she simply answered, “No. I had my period last week.”

“Good. I hate pregnant brides. We’re in the chute on this thing.”

“What do you mean?” June had never heard the phrase before.

“like a bull rider, sittin’ on a bull. They sit there for a minute or so and they’re in the chute. No matter what they think, or feel, that’s not gonna stop that gate from flying open and that bull goin’ crazy! It don’t matter if you’re pregnant or not, me and you, well we’re about to ride this bull! Only with Mike I can guarantee you it’s more bullshit than bull!”

June laughed. “I’ll try.”

“That’s all you can do child, but it’ll be easier to teach them angels how to fly.”

They turned and went back into the house. Mike was coming in just as they walked through the French doors. June ran up and hugged him. He felt strangely different to her after the conversation in the back yard. He put his arm around her and walked over to his mother, “Well, how’s it going?”

“Going good. You pick up the tux?”

“Yeah. Hey, how come I gotta wear white?”
“Because it’s a white wedding, and that’s what my brother, Mike wore to his wedding.”

“Just asking. I thought it was supposed to be
black.”

His mother looked at him, “It’ll be pink if I say it will. Take it to the back closet. I don’t want any stains on it before the ceremony.”

Buddy walked in about that time, and his mother asked, “Where you been?”

“Went into town to play pool last night and stayed over at a friends. I told you I’d get here, didn’t I?”

“Well, your sister’s on her way down from Dallas. You need to get with her and make sure Fat Eddie gets the cake over here on time, ok?”

“Fat Eddie will be here. He won’t miss a party.”

A stare from his mother sent him out of the front door.

Fat Eddie arrived with the cake about two in the afternoon. It was a three-tiered thing with the little bride and groom on top. He also brought the groom’s cake, which was small and square. It was set on the formal dining table. June came in and inspected it for the longest time, looking at the various levels, and the little dolls on top. Then Mike’s grandmother arrived to help her prepare for the wedding. She lived in an apartment in town provided for her by Claudette. After the death of her son she had existed poorly in Tennessee until Claudette had sent for her and set her up in her own place. She stayed mainly off to herself, but would come out for an occasional wedding, or funeral if the need should arise. Other people were coming in all the time. The wedding itself was going to be at 6:00 sharp, but the reception seemed to already be starting. The kegs were tapped early in the evening, and Tommy was the first to draw a glass of beer. He began to guzzle, but his girl friend kept him at a civilized level until the actual reception began.

At five June retired to the master bedroom to be fitted into the gown. Mike went to the back to put on the tux he’d rented. Mike’s grandmother came in and helped June. The gown slid onto her form smoothly. She was perfect! The older woman, like Claudette was
amazed at the perfection in this young lady. Tommy’s girl friend, Christina, came in toward the last to help. June reached over and opened a box. Retrieving a bolt of cloth from it she handed it to Christina.

“Here, this is for your wedding.”

Christina took the cloth and thanked her.
June stayed in the back of the room until Dish Bob came in to give her instructions as to how the ceremony was to proceed.
“Now, when they come in, you follow the group to the porch. Mike and I will be standing out under the roof. I’ll be behind the coffee table, and you in front, ok?”

“Ok.”

“Fine. Now, you’ll do just fine. Just be calm and repeat all that I say, ok?”

“Ok.”

The preacher looked June in the eye. “This is a big step for a girl. How do you feel?”

“You just tell me what to say, and we’ll get to the other side of this, ok?”

“Ok. You’ll be fine.”

A couple of her friends from high school were there as maids of honor. They all giggled like little girls, which indeed they were, as the whole thing proceeded. Then, there they were, all alone in the master bedroom, in the big house at the Bend. June had made it. She’d jumped the fence. She was in the Bend! Then, a woman came in to tell them to get ready.

“Now, there’s gonna be some music. Ray’s gonna come in to get you, June.”

This surprised her. She didn’t see Ray arrive. Just then he came through the door. He was dressed in a suit, with his hair neat, missing his ever-present cowboy hat, and wearing low quarter shoes.

“You ready, princess?”

She looked at him and said, “Yeah, I guess, if you are.”

Ray took her hand and said, “I’ll never be ready to walk you out that door. In my life nothing has ever been nice, or easy. I thank God every day that He gave me you, June. I always thought that I had more time, but I guess the prettiest flower on the hill always gets picked first, now doesn’t it?”

“How’s it feel to be in the Bend daddy?”

“Heck, been here before.”

“Yeah, but how does it feel to be here as a guest?” Ray’s eyes squinted as he smiled and he said, “Heck, hon, these people are just like anyone else. They ain’t no different. We are all the same. I don’t really look down on them, or hold it against them ‘cause they are rich. They can’t help it.”

They both laughed. Then he gave her his arm with much dignity and led her through the French doors in the master bedroom to the porch. The music was playing, but she didn’t hear it. Mike was standing there in his white tuxedo with Tommy slightly drunk on the side. Claudette was just off the porch. She looked around at the people. There must have been two hundred, and they were all looking at her. They were all looking at June the Cat. She deliberately looked down at her shoes and took steps toward the altar/coffee table. Dish Bob was holding his bible in his right hand as he reached for her with his left. Then, there she was standing before the altar, in the Bend, beside Mike, with the whole town looking on.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here, in the sight of God to unite this man, and this woman in holy matrimony.”

The crowd hushed and relaxed.

“In as much as a man must leave his father, and mother, and cleave unto his wife, this man has chosen to leave his father and mother and unite with this woman in the bonds of love, and marriage. Michael, do you take this woman to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer, to be your lawful wedded wife?”

“I do.”

“June, do you take this man, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer, to be your lawful wedded husband?”

“I do.”

She heard the words, but they seemed distant to her. They seemed as if spoken through a veil; a veil she could not see, yet it was there, as real as that fence she’d just jumped. Dish Bob went on, and on about the fidelity of marriage, but she didn’t hear. She was amazed at how this was a lot like an execution. It seemed to move slowly until the rifles went off, and then it was done!

“And so, by the power vested in me by the state of Texas I now pronounce you man, and wife. What God has joined together let no man put asunder!” You may kiss the bride.”

At this point Mike did not kiss her, instead he said, “June, I pledge my undying love to you for ever and ever. I will defend you against all others, and I will lay down my life for you. You are the love of my life.”

The people were stunned that such a declaration of love could come out of Mike. June, stood back and looked at him, but he pulled her to him and kissed her. Tommy stood there gapping at the whole scene, wondering when it would end so he could get back to the beer keg. And then, just as quickly as the wedding had begun, it ended, and the reception began.

The kegs having already been tapped, and the liquor was out, the only thing left to do was break out all the food. There were no formal plates other than the plates Claudette had made with their pictures on them for wedding cake. There were the paper plates that grace most back yard cookouts, which was what this thing really was anyway. The prime rib was cut and served by Fat Eddie himself, but as soon as that formality was finished the brisket was pulled out of the ovens and the real eating, and drinking began in earnest.

June slipped into the master bedroom and put on some jeans and a nice top and rejoined the party as fast as she could. Mike stood around in his tux. Tommy stood near the beer keg in his tux. Christina looked disgusted. There had been placed several cafeteria- style tables in the yard, with metal folding chairs for the guests to sit and eat and drink. Soon all were talking in various little groups about this or that. As soon as Fat Eddie had served the last piece of prime rib he went to the kitchen and fetched a mason jar. Returning to the beer keg area he filled it and began to drink beer with the rest.

Mike’s aunt, his stepfather’s sister in law was there. She was a scorching blonde beauty, but nowhere near June in rank, but her entire desire was to hold everyone’s attention for as long as she could. Someone was always trying to “rape” her, or “couldn’t keep their hands off her.” She slid up to the liquor in the kitchen and began to drink Black Velvet and coke until her eyes turned red. Then she eased back to the guest restroom and soon, right on cue, a scream was heard from that area.

Everyone raced to the room to find Luke Schultz, a local construction worker friend of Ray’s, staring in amazement as the woman trembled and wept and cried, “He just clutched me! He just clutched me!”

Deputy Dog came out of the crowd and put his arm around her and said, “Now now, little lady, just calm down.” The old deputy knew this woman and her game. He looked around the crowd and spotted Judge Potter refilling his glass in the back yard. “Somebody go get the judge.” A boy about fifteen ran out to the judge and told him Deputy Dog needed him.

“How can I be of assistance,” the judge asked as he came into the restroom.

“Well, your honor,” the deputy began, “Luke here seems to have ‘clutched’ Rhonda, and she’s beside herself with fear. I suspect charges will be filed.”

The Judge, who by the way was into his fourth mason jar of beer looked sternly at the woman and asked, “Is this true? Has this happened?”

Through her tears she cried, “Yes. I was just trying to relieve myself, and he came through that door and tried, “she lost control for a moment, “tried to touch my private parts!”

The judge looked at Luke sternly. “Rhonda, cover yourself! Young man, do you know how serious this offense is?”

The boy was shaking visibly. “Your honor, I was just trying to take a pee, and here she was on the toilette. I didn’t mean no harm. I was trying to get out of the room.” Actually he was lying. Rhonda had a way of making sure that she displayed herself at every opportune moment, and had opened the door slightly when she heard the young cowboy approaching.

“Silence! Madam, will you prefer the charge?”
“Yes, your honor. I will.”

The judge turned to the lad. “Court is hereby
convened. You stand accused of molesting Rhonda here. What do you plead?”

The boy was positively white. “Hey, ain’t I gonna get a lawyer or nothing?”

The judge snapped his fingers and cried, “Thomas! Come over here.” A young lawyer in the back of the now gathering crowd came forward. He too had his mason jar full of beer. “Thomas, you are hereby appointed as this young man’s council. Plead him!”

The young lawyer looked at the boy, and then at Rhonda still zipping up her jeans, and said, “In light of the evidence I suggest you plead guilty and throw yourself on the mercy of the court, son.”

The boy looked at all the people standing around and bowing his head he said, “Ok, I’m guilty. But I only wanted to look at her.”

“Done,” the old judge cried. This court finds you guilty of looking at Rhonda here while she sat on the privy. Rhonda, before the court imposes sentence did he hurt you?”

“Well, no, not actually. He really didn’t ‘clutch’ me, just kinda fell into me.”

“Ok, then. This court finds you guilty of ‘clutching without a license,’ and hereby sentences you to ten hours of community service, that service consisting of serving drinks at this here reception. Now both of you get out of this bathroom, I gotta take a piss!”

With the legal proceedings out of the way the crowd retired to the back yard once again. Claudette asked Deputy Dog what the problem was in the house, having not gone in herself and he told her, “Oh, Rhonda got molested again.” They both laughed. The young man under sentence eased over to the beer keg and began to fill glasses, the judge’s first. Ray came up and made like he was going to hit the boy but leaned over and asked very quietly, “Well, was she a real blonde?”

The lad looked around for Rhonda and said, “No.”

Both laughed and the beer flowed. Soon Tommy was sitting beside Mike crying like a baby. “I love you. You are the best brother I ever had. I never thought you’d do this to me. Oh, Mike, what are we gonna do now?”

“Mike was feeling his beer by this time and he, too began to cry. Buddy saw all of this from the other side of the yard and just shook his head. The waitress from the bar was there with him. She would never come to the Bend on any other occasion, even though her father, Juan, was building a home there, but her dark beauty let her blend in well with the people there. Buddy watched her move among the people and frankly wondered just why he’d never really pursued this lady more earnestly. She was typical of the working class people in the little town. Her father had picked oranges in the “Valley” of South Texas, and they had settled here when she was five years old. He had now expanded his business to include several harvest machines and he worked his circuit all the way from the lower part of Texas up into Nebraska before circling back to the little west Texas town to ride out the winter. Her natural curl to her hair, and her little button nose made her very cute, but not the beauty that June had. She was not as developed as June, even though she was considerably older, but she was friendly and laughed readily, making everyone in her little circle of beer drinkers (most of whom she knew from her job in the pub) smile and relax.

Not noticed by the others, Ray went back into the house and let himself into Claudette’s private office. He had asked her earlier for a private talk about a venture he was considering.

“Ok, What’s the deal,” the broker said.

“Well, Claudette, work’s just about petered out here in the Bend, if you know what I mean.”

“Yeah, getting’ tight, I’ll admit, but what do you need from me?”

The sheet-rocker sat in one of the big leather chairs. “Well, I got this here idea. There are apartment complexes around Texas that need to be built up and fixed up, and I want to come up with a company to do it. I’ll let you in for half.”

Claudette looked at him and didn’t laugh. She developed estates, and built dreams for stars, but she understood that to Ray his dream was just as big as hers, and her Memphis roots would not let her look down her nose at him even for a minute. Still, she
didn’t want to be a partner with an ex-convict. He was a good man; she knew that, and she didn’t want him to be hurt. “Ray, I don’t want to own your business. Let me make you a loan, ok?”

“A loan?”

“Yeah. I mean, we’re family now, right? What do you need to get started?”

He thought a moment, “Well, a compressor. I know I need that. I got a truck, so I’m ok there. Some attachments. That’ll do it.”

“How much?”

He figured on a little pad for a minute,

“About ten thousand.”

She thought he was being a little soft with his bid, but she didn’t let it show. “Will that do it? Why don’t we give you a running start and give you fifty?”

Ray was taken aback. “I…I don’t know if…”

“Tell me about your idea.”

He fidgeted a bit and then began, “Well, I can get contracts to renovate broken down apartment complexes. See, you take these places they would tear down and you got the shell, and you just outfit ‘em ever how the owner wants, and you do it so cheap that they can’t rebuild it for that.”

“How bad of shape are they in?”

“Well, depends on the building. Some ain’t so bad, just fix up, paint up, but some; man, they look like a war zone, but if a man could fix ‘em then he’d have a good piece of property, and the rentals could come in again. You understand, Miss Claudette?”

She nodded, “Yeah. Me and my husband have always been into new sales.”

“Yeah, but them ‘new’ sales is runnin’ out here lately.”

“Tell me about it. We made good off this mess, but it’s becoming apparent that we’re gonna have to flush a new bird soon or we are gonna have to scout a bit. Tell me something, Ray; why do you insist on these building projects when you have a master plumber’s license?”

“Well, I don’t like plumbing. I only got that dumb license because my paw told me I had to have some kind of license. I’d been working with him a lot most of my life and plumbing seemed to just be the natural way to go, but Miss Claudette, plumbing is just plumb nasty. You ever hear the story about the plumber who dropped fifty cents in a plugged toilet?”

She shook her head and Ray continued, “Well he goes to digging in his pockets and pulling out dollars and dimes and such, and dumping them into the John. The lady who hired him asked him what the hell he was doing and he tells her, ‘If you think I’m a gonna reach down into that for just fifty cents you are crazy!”

The broker laughed and Ray said, “You sure you don’t want to be a partner in this?”

“Nah, that’s your bird. I’ll find bigger fish to fry. I’ll remember you when I do. Do you have a crew?”

“I will have. Just as many out of work around here as me. Finding a crew won’t be no problem.”

“Will the fifty be enough?”

“Yeah, that’ll get me going. I can pay…”

“Don’t worry about it. Just pay as you can. Go out and get all the contracts you can get, ok?”
He looked at the powerful woman across the
expensive desk, but did not hold her in contempt. She was just like him. Same background; same spirit. Ray knew he’d never be like her, but he appreciated the fact that they came from the same mold. Years ago, before Claudette was Claudette, there had been a brief moment, but the two ships passed too quickly in the night, and destiny took over for the both of them. Claudette wondered how Ray put up with Barbara. He was actually a sensitive man. He was a good man with many good qualities. How he retired to that shack behind Fat Eddie’s was beyond her! With the right marriage, and the right chance, Ray would easily have been a great builder, and here he was begging for lunch money on his daughter’s wedding day.
“I don’t know how to thank you Claudette.”

“Just keep me posted as to how your idea works.” She rose and shook his hand. He didn’t expect the check right then, knowing that she would handle all the details after the wedding.

Meanwhile Dish Bob was drinking wine in the kitchen from a paper cup. He didn’t mind people see him drink, but he didn’t make an exhibition of it. He had just about finished off an entire box of wine before he moved to the beer keg in the yard. Since Mike’s stepfather was Catholic, the local priest was there also enjoying the food and drink. Dish Bob eased over to the man and shook his hand. They knew each other, and didn’t bother to even discuss religion at a gathering like this one. The only thing the priest asked him was, “How many sixteen year old girls do you marry in a year, Reverend?”

Dish Bob smiled and looked over at June, sitting at a table with a group of people. She was drinking strawberry wine and laughing and talking. “You see her over there, Rev?”

The priest nodded.

“Well she just married a legacy, my friend. Hope she can live up to it.” He turned to leave, but then looked back at the priest and said, “I believe Mary was fourteen when she was married to Joseph.” The old priest smiled and walked off.

June was sitting at her table drinking wine with several people. They were mainly people from the Bend who wanted to get to know this newest member of their very elite club. The conversation turned from one subject to the next until it settled on the fact that no one was from the Bend, everyone having bought into the development when it was founded some years ago.

“I came here from Phoenix,” one older man offered. “Retired out there, but the price here invited me, and it’s close to everything. I like it.”

“I came here on a job doing a shopping mall. Found this place and was real taken by it. Quiet here, and the police have respect, you know?”

One man asked June, “Didn’t you grow up here in town?”

She was smart enough to know they were evaluating her. It was no secret where she’d grown up; she’d grown up in the shacks behind Fat Eddie’s, but she was married into the Bend now. “I lived in town all my life,” she said. “I’ve always wanted to be right here. The Bend is my dream.”

This made the old men glow with pride, to know that their little subdivision was so coveted by this beautiful young lady. June took another sip of her strawberry wine and looked across the table at a woman of about thirty years who was sipping dark red wine and staring right at her. Trying to be in tune with the conversation she leaned forward and in her best west Texas drawl she asked, “Where ya’ll from?”

The woman looked at the young girl with utter contempt and replied, “I’m from somewhere that people do not end sentences with prepositions!”

June was taken aback. Her feelings were actually hurt. She couldn’t understand just why this woman would act like that, but she was also June the Cat. She sized the socialite up physically and saw that basically she was no match. Her age, her slender arms, her frame told June she was a pampered pretty of some fat cat in the Bend.

“Well,” she said, leaning forward and getting about an inch from the woman’s nose, “pardon me! Where ya’ll from…bitch?”

It was a moment of truth for the socialite. She had to swing, or walk away, but before blood could be drawn Claudette intervened.
“Pat, I see you’ve met my newest member of the family.”

Both women broke their stare to look up and see Claudette standing there over them. “She’s feisty, isn’t she?”

“Yes, she is,” the older woman said, without actually looking away from June, who was leaning back sipping her wine through a grin.
The music began to play a bit louder and people began to get up and dance on the little temporary dance floor that had been placed in the center of the back yard. Mike’s stepfather came over and took June by the hand.

“I never miss an opportunity to dance with so lovely a lady. Might I have this dance?”
She broke her gaze from the lady across the table and, looking up at him said, “Certainly sir.” She rose and walked to the dance floor with him. The music was slow country, and invited him to hold her close. She leaned into him and followed his every move. People began to leave the dance floor and let the couple dance alone. She tucked her head beneath his chin, and in the dim light of early evening he noticed a slight tear beginning to roll down her cheek.

“Don’t ever let them see you cry Cat.”

She looked up at him and winked. She used his shirt to wipe the tear without the guests noticing it. The party drifted on and on until mid evening. The beer flowed, the brisket was eaten, and arguments flared, and went away. All of the forbidden topics were discussed. Politics, women, religion. The priest left early, and Dish Bob sat on the porch sipping beer.

Then Tommy appeared on the porch, “Hey, preacher, you up for a little deer hunting?”

The plump man looked at the lad, “Deer hunting? Where?”

“The golf course. There’s a bunch of us got our golf carts out and we’re gonna go and knock some deers in the head. They are all over the greens.”

The preacher rose and followed Tommy to the front of the house where he found about ten men and boys and five golf carts waiting.
“Now I think a one wood is the best. Pop’s ‘em ‘long side the head and boom! They are gone!”

“I use a six iron myself. Ah, Dish Bob, you got a set of clubs with you.”

“Why no brother, I don’t. Might I borrow one?”

Buddy stepped up and said, “Here Dish, use this three wood. It’s good for beginners.”

The reverend took the golf club and balanced it making a practice swing, but Buddy took it back and, holding it like a baseball bat said, “No, like this.” He swung at the air. “Try to clip ‘em right behind the ear, if you can!”

Taking the club back again he asked, “Might I inquire what we are about to do?”

“We’re going deer hunting preacher. This time of year, at night, them critters go out there and eat all the grass off the greens. We get out there in our carts and try to knock a few of ‘em in the head. You up for the sport?”
“What about the law?”

“Well, preacher, we’re bringing the law along with us. We got the judge right over there in cart number one.” He pointed to the inebriated jurist in the front golf cart.
At that they all climbed in and proceeded down the road to the little concrete driveway that led to the course. Within moments Dish Bob saw that sure enough there were deer all over the place; all munching down on the best turf in the area.

“Get him!” One of the carts commenced to chase a deer across the green. The deer easily outran the drunken men in their golf carts. They had grown so used to the smell of humans that once the cart had missed it’s mark the deer would simply stop, and continue to eat their favorite green, until the next cart came along. They were all whooping and hollering and swinging clubs until a bright red and blue light brought them to their senses.

“Ya’ll just get them carts back up to the house, or I’m gonna haul you all in,” Deputy Dog’s voice boomed over his P. A. system from the car.

Just then he noticed the judge leaning back to get a beer from a box in his cart. The deputy got out of his car and ran to the judge, “Oh, your honor, I didn’t see you.”
The old judge looked up at him and said, “I just imagine you didn’t. Is that boy Luke still serving drinks at the house?”

“Your honor, I believe he has gone.”

“No matter. He’s in contempt of court.” Then the judge yelled, “Ya’ll round ‘em up and take ‘em to the house. I’ll ride with you deputy.”

“Me too,” Mike’s stepfather added. Just as the men were about to get into the car Dish Bob was trying to get the cart he was left with in forward gear. It lurched forward a bit, stopped, and lurched again, throwing the round preacher onto the ground.

The deputy ran over to him, “Dish Bob, are you ok?”

In a drunken drawl the minister burped, “I have been stricken, even as the Philistines!” He got off the ground, remounted his cart and preceded to the house, with the other carts in single file behind him and the Sheriff’s car, lights going, behind them all.
At two that morning the party had all but died. June went to get her luggage that she’d brought from the shacks that had been left in the formal dining room. To her surprise she found it gone!

“Has anyone seen my things,” she whispered?

“I took them to town. Gave them to the church,” Angie’s voice came from behind her.

“All my clothes?”

“You don’t need them anymore. In your room, you’ll find a new wardrobe, and all of your drawers are full. There is new lingerie in the dresser, and you’ll even find a new toothbrush, and make up in the bath. Forget about your past in the shacks. You are one of us now.”

Mike came out of the rear of the house. “We gotta get! We need to get to San Antonio. Mom’s made all the arrangements for us.”
June went with him out to the car and got in. The taillights disappeared into the night. Standing beside a crepe myrtle tree Buddy sipped a beer and watched as they drove away.

And The Black Hole Smiled Back The Devil You Say! The Devil You Say! Crow Mackerel Snappers and Goat Eaters Facebook Haters And The Wall Gets Higher Mackerel Snappers and Goat Eaters The Butcher Shop

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Sanctuary Neighborhood Prepares to Repel Invaders

Fri, 04/19/2019 - 11:33am

Arlandria is a sanctuary neighborhood in a sanctuary city next to a sanctuary county in the Commonwealth of Virginia. Residents there are worried about a caravan of Prius–driving invaders that threaten to change the culture of the neighborhood.

This concern requires some clarification.

Arlandrians aren’t opposed to semi–literate identity thieves sneaking across the border to depress US wages, burden the schools and require the rest of us to ‘Press 1 for English.’ Those folks might be relatives! Residents aren’t opposed to Hispaniards gaming the ‘asylum’ system to take advantage of US welfare. Nor are they against chain migration that U–Hauls entire Latin American villages north.

Why that would be wrong! That sort of thinking is classist, ‘racist’, xenophobic and anti–Democrat.

What toasts their tamales is the prospect of well–paid, highly literate, childless Amazon workers moving into their “transplanted Hispanic culture” and buying a house while making a significant contribution to the tax base.

The Washington Post’s coverage of this example of NEMPTism (Spanish for NIMBY) is additional proof irony is dead on the left. The WoePost reporter can’t see the humor in a neighborhood that turns a blind eye to illegals protesting when citizens might move in, too.

This quote says it all, and in Spanish no less, “We have to organize, we have to be unified, we have to have one objective, one solution,” Luis Salmerón, a 17-year resident, said through a translator. “This is as much for me as for our kids, our grandkids and future generations. We want to be a collective force to preserve our community.”

Arlandria is where “More than half of the residents are younger than 30, and nearly half were born in Latin America, according to the 2017 U.S. Census American Community Survey.” And “men lean on cars to discuss in Spanish the issues of the day.”

In the mid–1980’s so many “residents came from a town called Chirilagua, fleeing civil war” the neighborhood was soon called Chirilagua. That was then. Today these refugees enjoying the laughably termed “Temporary Protected Status” are still there lingering on through the decades.

The civil war is long over. Now Salvadorians remain claiming fear of gang violence, political oppression or bad weather (global warming), while simultaneously providing a beachhead for illegals heading north.

Gentrifying Gringos have already made attempts to impose their will on the neighborhood. “Some Arlandria residents still resent a developer who renamed a strip shopping center in the heart of their neighborhood “Del Ray North” and rented space to an upscale pet store.”

Why the nerve of that capitalist! There is no market for Corgis in Arlandria.

Now Amazon is building a headquarters in Arlington and Virginia Tech is constructing a $1 billion graduate campus in the vicinity. Employees, academics and students will have to live somewhere and Arlandria residents are thinking “there goes the neighborhood.”

That’s why la gente are up in arms. Or at least the gente with a media connection.

Sinister market forces are at work right now. The man who owns the Tiger Market grocery and deli was presented with “a buyout offer that would pay him $1.5 million more than what he owes on the property” and activistas want to put a stop to those shenanigans muy pronto.

Meanwhile the Tiger Market jefe intends to stay put and upgrade his inventory to attract “more affluent customers.” It’s unknown whether activistas will consider the addition of kale and free–range tofu to be an insult to the barrio.

The owner of a barber shop believes Amazon means jobs for his clients. The non–entrepreneurial agitator fighting Amazon believes, “What is coming is displacement.”

And there you have it. It was one thing to flee MS–13 in El Salvador and only to discover the gang is now next door. It’s another kettle of pez entirely to flee Amazon in Virginia.

The situation does disprove one conservative complaint regarding mass illegal immigration. These Arlandrians have taken a tentative step into the much despised “melting pot” and potential assimilation. They now fit quite nicely into the mold of the left’s permanent grievance industry.

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The Politics of Hate

Fri, 04/19/2019 - 9:53am

The politics of hate have become the norm. We can’t seem to build a wall to secure our border, but we built a wall down the isle of Congress just fine. Do you wanna know what gets me? Politics have become so utterly predictable. You know exactly what Pelosi, or Cortez or Beatoff O’Rourke are going to say in any given situation. And the right is just as bad. If this bunch of pakayadis had been running America in 1941 we’d all be speaking Japanese now.

If the president declares Thanksgiving, the Democrats instantly start talking about animal cruelty. If Nancy Pelosi makes a statement at a press conference Fox News has some doctor come on talking about Alzheimer’s or dementia. But, they are not paving any highways people! They are playing to the hate groups.

There is no more bipartisan. That’s just something you order on pizza. I don’t know why they even bother to mix Democrats and Republicans on the various committees. Let’s see, on one committee you have five Republicans and eight Democrats, you know exactly how each vote will go. Right along party lines. Congress is the same way.

And the disrespect! Calling the president of the United States an “orange fool?” How about that black fool we had for eight years? Oh hell! Now, I’m a racist. I actually listen to what Cortez says. In person I’d never argue with her because she’s twenty-nine and from New York. I am a misogynist. On top of that she’s a bartender. You can take the bartender out of the Bronx, but you can’t take the Bronx out of the bartender. Let your mind wander on that one for a while. I usually agree with drunk young girls for obvious reasons. Yeah, yeah, yeah. #YOUTOO Omar! If I could just get those two chicks together with a bottle of vodka. Maybe get Omar to take off her hijab . . . NOW, where was I?

Fact is there’s no more room for humor, bi-partisan, understanding, or progress left in America. Only separatism, hate, ultra right, left whatever. Nobody’s listening because the singing to various choirs is drowning out all discussion. Sometimes I’d just like to buy the world a Coke!

The Butcher Shop

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Mackerel Snappers and Goat Eaters

Thu, 04/18/2019 - 5:16am

I have a good Idea! Why don’t we give people the right to speak their minds without resorting to death threats. DEATH THREATS? Because some slip of a girl ran off at the mouth? Look, I don’t like what she said any more than anybody else, but I wouldn’t kill her for it. Ok, the Muslims blew up three of our buildings. We blew up three of their countries! We all need to realize that WE (the American people) are NOT the problem! The people who have been running your government since King George I are the problem!

We need Donald Trump. Wanna know why I know that he’s the solution to this problem? Because both houses of Congress hate him so bad, THAT’S why! When he handed Pelosi her face this weekend I laughed my butt off. She makes a career out of getting as many Mexicans into our country as she can, and the Orange Terror just gave her some! Viva Trump!

Texas is no different. We have a governor down here that says he’s adding to sales tax in order to lower property tax. Then raises the property tax TOO! Hey! #USTOO! And they’re everywhere. We have given birth to a form of American royalty. Look at Hillary. Woman holds no office. Doing a whistle stop tour right now, and for WHAT! Dog catcher?

It doesn’t matter who the president is so long as the royal court is still in session. And you people (that’s right, I really just said that) YOU PEOPLE let them push your buttons. Wanna piss off a conservative? No problem. Just propose a law restricting one grain of gunpowder. Liberal? Just address Bruce Gender by his DNA!

What would scare the pants off of the Washington establishment is if they threw a protest and nobody came, but we can’t do that! We’re too busy threatening the life of some dizzy girl who exercises that nasty old first amendment right, freedom of speech! We need to all stand back, take a breath, and pull our heads out of Mr. Ass. She is one vote in Congress. Cortez is one vote. That makes two. They can’t even agree on lunch. One’s most likely a mackerel snapper and the other one is probably a goat eater. Who cares what they say? And let’s face it. Crazy as they seem, they are young enough to believe in what they say. Life will take it’s toll on them just like it does on everyone else.

The Butcher Shop

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Trump and the Roar of the Paper Tiger

Wed, 04/17/2019 - 10:49am

After spending the last two years on the sidelines warming up on a stationary bike, President Trump has decided it’s time for him to get into the immigration game. When Agent Orange is unleashed illegal immigration will once again be, well, illegal!

The situation is grim. The Get–Tough–on–the–Border–Guy will be taking in more illegals than Obama did at his laissez-faire peak. Estimates for this year alone are in the neighborhood of 1.5 million more additions to the diversity that is our strength.

So, it’s probably a good idea for Trump to stop being a figurehead in his own government and get serious about fulfilling his primary campaign promise. Or as the Washington Post puts it, “As Trump struggles to curb unauthorized immigration, his rhetoric gets tougher, but quick solutions are elusive.”

That could be because Trump’s a paper tiger. Even his “tough rhetoric” comes with its own set of problems. His pronouncements have a tendency to expire before the problem is solved.

Trump promises to close the Mexico border and then before traffic cones are airlifted from a factory in China he changes his mind and avocado shipments are safe until the next temper tantrum.

Trump tells one audience the US is full up of immigrants and it’s time to call a halt until he can build a fire under the melting pot. Then he tells another he’s decided to double the number of H–2B guest worker visas.

That will certainly cut down on groundskeeper arrests at Trump resorts, but the increase will continue to keep citizen farm wages at Juarez levels while Hispaniard workers brought in for the harvest can scout locations for the rest of their family who will join them after the visa expires.

Our Border–Guard–in–Chief has a list of culprits he’s blaming for the immigration crisis including Mexico, Guatemala, Honduras and El Salvador. He rails against the judicial system. Trump has special scorn for Democrats who won’t help. And he attacks illegal–enabling lawyers who coach fraudulent asylum applicants on the exact language needed to trigger the conveyor belt of US largesse.

The truth is the person responsible for the failure to keep Trump’s immigration promises is the same person he sees in the mirror each morning when the president conducts a muster drill for his hair. Trump bears 80 percent of the responsibility for the failure and passive–aggressive, housebroken conservative Mitch McConnell, Curator of the Senate, bears the rest.

I’m with Michelle Malkin who told Breitbart, “I don’t want to hear empty threats anymore about how [Trump’s] going to do what he should have done many, many, many months ago. What are you waiting for? Do it.”

Every suggestion that follows should have been done in January 2017. Clean house at the Department of Homeland Security. Kirstjen Nielsen was a start but there are plenty more like her.

Why is the present legal staff incapable of finding loopholes in immigration law that Trump can exploit to expand enforcement? Evidently leftist lawyers can find plenty because thousands of illegals are currently streaming through the gaps. Only those ‘serving’ the Trump administration find the immigration code impervious to an interpretation that puts citizens first.

Jessica Vaughn of the Center for Immigration Studies gave Breitbart seven actions Trump could take, some of which you’ve read here before. The new ones are force Mexico to sign a Safe Third Country Agreement so ‘asylum’ applicants can wait for a ruling in México lindo. And stop issuing work permits to asylum applicants already in the US.

The Trump voting base was under the impression they were electing a man who would reverse the tide of illegals streaming across our southern border and deport the 25 million illegals, including their dependents, who have taken up an unvexed residence in the US.

Nothing has changed during the months Trump dithered.

A Pew Research Center survey says Republican voters still rank sealing the border and deportations as “their top priority to ensure a better quality of life for themselves and their middle–class families.”

Meanwhile voters are coming to the realization they elected Jeb Bush without the naps.

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And The Wall Gets Higher

Wed, 04/17/2019 - 8:27am

THE WALL

No wonder that the POTUS can’t get the funding for his top election topic, the wall.
Today another Republican is voting to block the POTUS’s Emergency Declaration for more funding to build the wall across the southern border.

Think about it people. With crime running rampant in America, Would you leave your house unlocked when you aren’t at home? Do you trust all of your possessions to whoever visits you or would you like to have someone move in and take over your house and property?

The Democrats or Never Trumpers must want just that. Every day we read or hear about another anti Trump issue. If Trump could have been bought by the special interest groups like most of the rest of the Congress or Senate, would he be having the difficulties he’s facing during his presidency?


I for one believe that the Congress and the Senate would have gotten something done in the past three years. A budget may have been passed so that the Government wouldn’t have been shutdown. Maybe if they (the congress and senate) didn’t get paid during the shutdown some work would have been accomplished. It seems that all that gets accomplished on Capitol Hill is a mass delivery of The Doctorate Degree for Debate.

The Butcher Shop

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Facebook Haters

Tue, 04/16/2019 - 5:55am

From the Mind of a Dumb ole Biker from Alvin, Texas:

Those who forget history are doomed to repeat it. So a friend of mine is banned from Facebook again, this time because they didn’t like what was said on his radio show.

Does anyone know why the Marine Corp Hymn starts out with the verse, from the Halls of Montezuma, to the Shores of Tripoli? In 1789, we were sent in to fight the Barbary Coast Pirates who were attacking commerce ships that got close to their coast. These were Muslim Pirates. When asked why? They responded because we are commanded to take from the Infidel…This has nothing to do with hate, it has everything to do with History. The same thing happened during the Christian Crusades in Europe, the Muslims started migrating into Europe, peaceful at first, but as their numbers grew, they started attacking the Christian Churches and killing Christians, Again, this has nothing to so with Hate, it’s a matter of history and it’s documented for those who want to research it.

This is nothing new, When Mohammed started the Islamic Religion it started out peaceful in Medina, but as it grew, they moved into Mecca and it turned violent, it turned into a religion of submission or die. Again History, and I repeat, there is nothing hateful about it.

Now fast forward, Muslims have been telling you for a long time, they had a plan to dominate America, The United States, they have repeatedly told us they were coming for us. They even bragged repeatedly about their sleeper cells all over the United States, They’ve told you, they were first going to infiltrate our local governments, then as they got stronger, they would infiltrate our state governments until one day, they would end up in high positions in our federal government. They have told us over and over what they were doing, and no one is listening. Today, after President Obama intentionally brought in millions upon millions of Muslims and stacked them into certain districts, giving then the majority of the voting block in their districts, they have indeed infiltrated our federal government at the highest levels and have managed to become extremely vocal in our halls of Congress.

It’s a sad day, when they tell you what they’re doing, even tell you play by play how they’re doing it, and we still turn a blind eye. Again, this has nothing to do with hate, it’s all historically documented, this is nothing new, they’ve tried to do this before. I started this conversation with the quote, Those who forget history are doomed to repeat it, and I’ll end this conversation with the same quote.


God Bless, from the Mind of a Dumb ole Biker from Alvin, Texas. It would appear that Truth is now the new Hate Speech.

The Butcher Shop

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Crow

Mon, 04/15/2019 - 6:01am

The Butcher Shop is about to take a decided shift to the right. With the events of the last week, both public and private it’s time to take the gloves off. Now, I’m talking about discussion!

The Liberals love the sound bite, the innuendo, the smart remark. When challenged they chant like Buddhist Monks. We are a divided nation. When corporations were deemed status as actual beings they became our rulers. Now consider this. The Republican and Democrat Parties are corporations. They are opposed. Opposed now on a violent scale from the actions of the beings making up their body. In effect we ARE at Civil War.

We walk on eggs. Our government runs slip shod over the Bill of Rights, and the left cheers it on. Losers such as Booker scream, “Impeachment” every time the President shaves. A simple barrier to keep criminals, and disease out of our nation becomes a major feat. I truly believe Howard Carter found Nancy Pelosi in King Tut’s tomb!

California makes itself safe ground for anything that slithers across the border, and the Democrats cry, “Impeachment” when the President makes them live with it. We murder babies! One state is right on the edge of allowing the starvation of people with dementia. That was the first group Hitler practiced the gas chambers on! Where are your minds?

Adults, pursuing their various perversions inflict them upon our children in public libraries while the parents stand by proudly being “inclusive.” So consider this; If you’re lucky enough to be born, you’ll probably get molested by the age of eight, and if you survive and it gets to be too much for you, well, your grandkids will just starve you to death. Stewed, screwed, and tattooed! We are a nation of fools!

So, in response to this, The Butcher Shop is serving up a new cut of meat. Crow! Bitter, dry, and hard to swallow, but proven to clean out your bowels. Bon Appetité!

The Butcher Shop

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The Devil You Say!

Sun, 04/14/2019 - 8:23am

Thoughts for a Sunday Morning

First, and foremost, congratulations for living through another Saturday night without dying of alcohol poisoning, the rage of a jealous lover or the bacteria now invading our great nation via our southern border courtesy of the Democrat party. I, myself abstained last night and arose disgustingly clear headed this morning, but I will muddle on, waiting on the sun which invariabaly rises, even at this time of day.

Last night i found myself binging on Netflix’s ”Lucifer” which I promised myself that I would never do again, much like an alcoholic promising only one drink, but like the drunk, eight hours later found myself still watching, and finding that I actually began to agree with the Devil.

The Devil is a human creation, dont you know? When humanity cast about, observing the condition of the human race it deduced that this simply could not be by chance, it simply must be other-worldly. In our day you cannot look at Nancy Pelosi, AOC, Omar, or that cotton-picking Booker and ascribe a navel to any of them. Oh my! Was that racist? My apologies.

So, the loyal opposition is still clamoring for Donald Trump’s tax returns. Don’t you think that if there were any abnormalities there that the IRS would be all over it? I mean they’ve never balked at stealing every dime possible. And the likelihood of the Democrat Congress being capable of understanding those returns is beyond reality. I mean, they still can’t comprehend ”border.”

The President found a way to house all of our uninvited guests. Hollywood opened its arms and the great unwashed showed up. Pelosi lost her mind, and simply could not understand the connection between ”santuary” and ”santuees!” To be perfectly honest, Texas has a goodly number of such cities, mainly in Democrat strongholds such as Austin and Houston, but our perception is a bit different. When our police stumble upon such a situation no arrests are usually made because no one is there but the help.

I ended my night thumbing through my Facebook Newsfeed ( Oh GOD! Why do I do that?) and for the record I did not find the Holy Grail. I did find numerous debates among people who should be taken to the Escalanté and left naked with a pint of vinegar to drink. Oh, and a very delightful picture of one fetching young lass, completely nude, hitchhiking to Woodstock. The Devil you say!

The Butcher Shop

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And The Black Hole Smiled Back

Sun, 04/14/2019 - 6:15am

This young woman had a dream. She wanted to be able to produce an image of a black hole. The scientific community deemed this to be impossible. How can you take a picture of an object so dense that not even light can escape its grip? She figured out that while you couldn’t do that you could string together the image of the anomaly’s effects upon the space around it. She knew that at a certain distance the light would escape, and the image of that very light would produce a visible void, in effect the blank image of a black hole!

In a time of anger, of political turmoil, a bright young lady giving this light to the world should be lauded. Totally harmless. So shy that she covered her smile with her hands. And internet trolls attacked her without mercy!

It all stemmed from a chance shot when she first beheld the image, or rather the lack of one, and beamed with joy. She saw something in that image. It was far easier to relate to that one expression of wonder and joy than the more than two hundred faces behind the photographic revelation.

The hateful calls streamed in. The fake social media accounts, the wry Facebook remarks and memes. It is well and good that Katie Bouman plunged into space looking for answers for we have become the planet of the apes!

If you believe in the end times then you know well Revelation 20:3 “And cast him into the bottomless pit, and shut him up, and set a seal upon him, that he should deceive the nations no more, till the thousand should be fulfilled: and after that he must be loosed for a little season.”

If the sixties was the era of love the millennium is the beginning of the “little season,” for hate is the driving force today from politics to a young lady’s smile. And as bad as I hate to say it the internet is at least one of the heads on the dragon.

Anonymity is a powerful thing. A way to say things that you would never say to someone in person. A way to take out your anger and frustration on people that you don’t really know, and you most likely will never meet.

We no longer form our own opinions. They are formed for us. If you are to be a loyal soldier of whatever faction you find yourself to be a part of then you must agree. You must toe the line, but most of all you must hate! You must abandon all reason, follow the lead. You must chastise a pretty girl’s smile!

Somewhere out there, in a galaxy far, far away there is a black hole. It has been waiting for eons to have its picture taken. Then it happened. And a girl gasped in amazement for she saw what the trolls all missed. The black hole was smiling back!


*

The Butcher Shop

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CigarBox

Sat, 04/13/2019 - 8:58am

The week wound down to Saturday with the entire town waiting to see the outcome of the marriage of June and Mike. Old ladies gossiped, teenaged boys lusted, and Claudette and Barbara became bitter enemies. Barbara was pushy. She always had been and would be forever. She had no class. She was a liar and a manipulator and she didn’t have the money to manipulate so she was just obnoxious! Claudette had come from a similar background, and didn’t want Barbara to get one bean from her plate that wasn’t given to her willingly. The difference was that Claudette did have a sense of grace and dignity. Life had a spiritual meaning for her, and that had deepened since the death of her brother back in Memphis all those years ago on Christmas day. This was not a union of two great families; it was blackmail, plain and simple. Mike was marrying June to take the gun out of Barbara’s hand. Now it would be dishonest to say that Claudette did not have plans to dispose of June once the vows were read. After a divorce, Barbara would have no hold on Mike anymore, and she could take her little daughter back to the shacks behind Fat Eddie’s before the ink was good and dry on her divorce papers!

Click For Book Site

Barbara, on the other hand did not intend to let something like this happen. She knew the game. She also knew June. June would be pregnant, if she wasn’t already, and that baby would seal the union, because that particular baby would be the first grandchild, and that baby would be a citizen of the Bend, born and true! She’d let Claudette play her little society game because she knew that while she could toss June back across the tracks that a baby would be far more difficult to get rid of. That would be the first grandchild and all the bullshit and excuses would not erase that! There was a history behind this mental attitude.

Years before Barbara had slept in the Bend, before it was the Bend. John Stillwell’s wife was dying of breast cancer, and he hired the then young and fetching Barbara to take care of his house, and tend to the lady during her final days. Barbara had a room up in the loft of the old house. Days passed and one night Stillwell went to bid her good night and his passion overcame him. He fell into the arms of the eager young woman, and stayed there most of the night.

Mrs. Stillwell eventually died, and the old man found that he could not keep the attentions of the girl. A young man fresh out of prison caught her eye. Ray married Barbara a few months after June was born. Even though Barbara knew who June’s father was, she told the girl as she grew that a gambler who’d come through the dusty little town was her father to keep the sparks between Ray and Mr. Stillwell at a cool limit. Barbara actually breathed a sigh of relief when Stillwell committed suicide that sunny afternoon at the bend of the river where she swam naked with him so many years before. Barbara found it poetic that the house that June would move into was actually on the very site that she’d been conceived. She found it amazing that no one in town had ever told June who her true father really was!

The Daisy was decorating the house, and the cake was in the oven. The blood tests arrived, and to no one’s surprise both June, and Mike had a clean bill of heath. Thursday night the seamstress called and the ladies, June, Barbara, and Claudette went to have the final fitting done. When they entered the shop, it was on a display mannequin. It was all white. There was a modest train behind it, not Princess Diana’s, but a nice train for Texas. As June began to put it on, Claudette was amazed again at how lovely she truly was, and how small. She was so small. She slipped it on and stood up while the seamstress buttoned the back.

Claudette noticed that her stomach was flat. No sign of any bulge at all. Then, the lady came and put the veil on her blonde head. A real blonde! No dye had ever touched that hair! June looked at them. The crystal blue eyes penetrated all in the room. No bride was ever more beautiful. And June was not pretty in a dusty, Texas sort of way, but in a classic way. She was a goddess! She was the girl at the Parthenon!

She looked right at Claudette and whispered, “Thank you.” It was in direct opposition to her mother and everything she had stood for. June was not back at the SPJST hall and she was not down in the bushes with some horny cowboy smoking a joint. She was a member of the Bend now and Claudette had brought her here. At this moment June the Cat became June Montgomery! At this moment she left her past behind.

For a moment, Claudette felt the innermost twinge of sadness. She felt as if she were looking at something that was so precious, so lovely, that God would not allow it to stay. She knew in her heart that there had never been, nor would there ever be, such a creature in this little desert town again. Her beauty was indeed timeless.

She drew a breath and told the proprietor, “Have it delivered to the Bend, will you?” She looked back at June and the two realized the import of the statement. This dress, this woman, was not coming out of the shacks behind Fat Eddie’s. This dress was going to the Bend, and this lady was walking onto a porch at the Bend to be married! No Justice of the Peace would hand her a box of soap and shoo her out of his office; she was to have a reception! And at the same time, the bride would be a debutante! She knew that such an event could not occur and not change this girl. She would be of the Bend. She would! The two thousand year old statue had come to life!

Later that evening Veronica and her spiritual escort sat on a bench at the fourth hole of the golf course at the Bend. The stars were very bright indeed that night. She looked out across the little pond and sighed. “Ever live like this ‘Dr. Angel?”

“No. I worked all my life. I knew no privilege, no circumstance.”

“Well let me tell you. People come in breeds, like dogs. Some are pure bred, some are mutts.” She rested her elbows on her knees and put her chin in her hands. Then, cocking her head at him she said, “I’m a mutt!” Pointing to the houses in the Bend just beyond the golf course she said, “Those people over there who own those houses work very hard to keep mutts like me out. Look at them houses. You see them houses.”

The spirit nodded.

“Well, you see that high fence around them?”
He looked and replied, “No, none. Very few
fences in fact. Seems like a secure place to live.”

She laughed, “Well it is secure, Dr. Angel, but there’s a fence around that place that you can’t see and you’re a ghost! Mutts like me try to jump that fence all the time, and very few make it.” She looked at him
and grinned, “I made it!”

“But you didn’t stay there.”

“A mutt is a mutt, is a mutt. I jumped the fence, but the mutt part of my life followed me. It’s such a shame. I had it all, and wanted more!”

“But didn’t you have it all?”

She looked at him and smiled a wry smile. She was amazed at how naive he really was. For all of his spiritual “wisdom” he really hadn’t learned anything. She began to see why he needed her. “When you build a fence, like the one we’re talking about, how many nails do you put in the top of each board?”

“I don’t know, one, maybe two.”

“Well, some people think one’s enough, but I’ve always been a ‘two-nail’ person myself. Never leave to chance what you can insure.” She shook her head. “You know, for high bred people they sure are dumb! In a lot of ways you’re dumb, Doctor Angel.”

Ignoring the insult he asked, “Did you put two nails in your fence, Veronica?”

“I sure did. I nailed it good and tight, or at least I thought it was good and tight.”

“Did your nails come out Veronica?”

“Yeah, sure did.”

“What happened then?”

“Another mutt jumped the fence in my place.” Veronica walked down by the pond and dipped her fingers into the water. “It gets hot in west Texas, Dr. Angel. You know that?”

“Hotter all the time.”

Veronica smiled, “Yeah, and all the Yankees living over there say every year it’s the end of the world; it’s the end of the world, but you know what?”

“What?”

“When you try to nail that fence the wrong way; that’s the end of the world.”

“If I had blood it would run cold, Veronica.”

She looked at him with clear blue eyes, her face lost all expression, “It should.” She continued to play in the water. “It should.”

Trump, Boeing, and God Buttholeary Once Upon a Time Inna West! Buy The World a Coke The Enquirer, CNN, and Wikileaks Population Control The Real June Montgomery The Butcher Shop

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The Real June Macgomery

Fri, 04/12/2019 - 1:44pm

Tomorrow we will run another installment of CigarBox. This has been personal journey for me. The book appears to be a well written piece of fiction. It is . . . somewhat. The flesh of the story is cleverly contrived to hide the bones of a very real person. Her name was April.

April was born in Hollywood and grew up in Copperas Cove, Texas. The “Bend” in the book was the Turkey Creek section of that town and was as close to aristocracy as “PoDunk” Texas could manage. There was a real golf course, and little April was really a catfish girl at Eddie Henderson’s café on Friday nights. He became the character, “Fat Eddie” in the book.

The #METOO Movement would freak out if they knew that we raised “June’s” age to sixteen so as to be more politically correct than April’s fourteen years. April wasn’t a #METOO, she was a #MEINSTEAD. A Texas girl determined to get out of the shacks behind the café and in the area that would later be the model for “The Bend!” The real June’s statements in life are in part of tomorrow’s segment. She explains ambition to nailing up a fence:

“When you try to nail that fence the wrong way; that’s the end of the world.”

“If I had blood it would run cold, Veronica.”

She looked at him with clear blue eyes, her face lost all expression, “It should.” She continued to play in the water. “It should, Doctor Angel.”

What makes CigarBox so good is the reality of it. If you watch a romantic story on LifeTime it’s entirely predictable. Only the names have been changed to hide the fact that you’ve seen it dozens of times before. June is the personification of a real girl finding her way from poverty to wealth and ultimately losing it all, even her life.

But, April never left our family. As we raised her little boy we would often smell baby powder. April rarely if ever used perfume. Dove soap and a liberal dash of Johnson’s Baby Powder. You gotta live in Texas if you wanna know about them things. When the smell comes we all know it’s just April dropping by for a visit.

Today, as I did the edit for tomorrow’s article, sitting at April’s little round table, drinking coffee from her cup the smells came, I realized that she held this family together. From the grave she did more than we’d ever know, and made us realize that there is always tomorrow, and hope. Why is my face wet? It’s not raining.

The Butcher Shop

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The Enquirer, CNN, and Wikileaks

Fri, 04/12/2019 - 9:00am


This ain’t rocket science folks!

The Enquirer, Wikileaks, and CNN define what we call news these days. I ain’t even gonna lie to you. I can’t remember when anyone in the line at the supermarket actually looked at a copy of the Enquirer much less bought one. The last time I bought one was 1967 when the front page picture was a dead monkey with a cigarette in its mouth. Hey! I’m from Texas, ok?

Wikileaks. Julian Assange. I hope I got that name right. I did a quick check of my news services for it but the story is nowhere to be found. I’ll check the Enquirer when I go for cigarettes later. Anyway, you know the prick. This idiot made a career of being a snitch. He’d hack into someone’s email, find out that they were a crooked politician (is there any other kind?) and puke it out on his website so the great unwashed could roll in it like a dog in a dead armadillo. Then he screwed a little girl, fingered another one and holed up in the Ecuadorian embassy in London claiming asylum status for screwing without a license. I guess the age of consent in Ecuador is like what, TEN? God! The last time I did that the Mexicans just made me marry the chick!

So for the last seven years he lived in the building. Now consider this. You get an all expense paid trip to Vegas. Suite at Caesar’s Palace. Unlimited chips. Only catch is you gotta stay there until Jesus comes back, you can’t leave the building and all they let you eat is tacos! Hey Julian! You’d have made parole by now. Or married the girls. Oh wait. You’d have to be a Muslim or a Mormon to do that, but I digress.

So the government of Ecuador finally gets fed up and pulls his protected status and here come the Bobbies. Now this is good folks, save your fork. He sees the po po coming down the hall and runs to lock himself in his room. Not gonna work Jules. Even English cops kick in doors. I SAY! Does he go gracefully? Why hell NO! He makes ‘em drag him to the Paddy Wagon like a little bitch. NoGood the drug dealer was cooler than that. He pimp walked to to squad car saying something about they mamas. You can’t make this stuff up, folks. It wasn’t sex, but it was damn close!

For all the glamor pictures of him all over the internet this cat looked homeless. Bet that fourteen year old girl wouldn’t look twice at him now. It was just a failure to appear! Sheesh! Of course he’s facing five years in the states when Donald Trump gets his hands on him. Count your lucky stars Bill and Hillary didn’t snag you Julian. They tend to opt for a more “permanent” solution.

And last, but not least, CNN! I worked for CableVision for thirteen years so I tended to regard CNN as gospel. Boring, but accurate. It came out of Atlanta back then, an invention of Ted Turner. Then it got “acquired” by some yankee who bought up all the news services except the Killeen Daily Flabbergasted, and it went from gospel to something loosely resembling Jesus on the Mount of Olives smoking a joint with his three wives!

You can always tell when a CNN commentator is lying because their mouth is open. And as much as the liberals love a good “Trump Dump” even THEY are starting to say, “DAMN!” CNN makes Alex Jones look GOOD. They are so far left that when you have three of them on the screen they argue with their damn selves. I like to watch them when I drink vodka. I watch The Young Turks too, but only for the big busted chicks. I turn the sound down.

We HAVE no more unbiased news sources. It’s InfoTAINMENT! All about the views. The only reason the actual interesting and informative story about a team of astronomers recently photographing a black hole slipped by was that the fake news mistook it for a story about Whoopi and they misread the word “hole” for “ho!”

So, how do you stay informed? You don’t! Until you hear the missile whistling over your roof, or a SWAT team kicks in your door to take your guns don’t believe anything you see on the tube. Just pour a cocktail, tune in The Young Turks, turn the sound down, and enjoy the chick. She VIRGIN!

The Butcher Shop

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Population Control

Thu, 04/11/2019 - 5:10am

So there is a mandatory vaccine requirement in place in New York City now, even threats of imprisonment if you don’t get your child vaccinated. There is a large population of illegal immigrants in that city, Remember Bill Deblasio, even welcomed them there. Now there’s a measles outbreak. One has to wonder if they are bringing these people in on purpose, bringing these diseases back to force people into these vaccines. No one remembers back when Bill Gates said Vaccines could be used as a form of population control.

Forced Mandatory Vaccines, and the people will run straight to the government to demand these vaccines. Yes what in the world could possibly go wrong. They have already said they would censor people like me who spoke up against these vaccines, they have even hinted they would fine of jail antivaxxors or people who spoke out against mandatory vaccinations. So you have to stop and ask yourself, what is really going on?

We know these illegals coming across the borders are bringing these diseases back into the country, and in many cases it’s a variation of the disease that our vaccines might not even work. Diseases carry different strands in different parts of the world, what works here might not work somewhere else. We know this to be true with the different strands of the flu. So what’s the end game? Forced Mandatory Vaccines…Think about what’s really going on. Think real hard…

Do you realize that this mandated measles vaccine by the mayor of NYC is the combination MMR, and it is going to be given to 6 month old babies? It is usually given at 18 months. Of all the vaccines, this is the worst. Often autism occurs just after the MMR. Do you realize the gravity of this mandate?

IT IS FURTHER ORDERED that the parent or guardian of any child older than six months of age who lives, works or resides within the 11205, 11206, 11221 and/or 11237 zip codes and who has not received the MMR vaccine within forty eight (48) hours of this order being signed by me shall cause such child to be vaccinated against measles unless such parent or guardian can demonstrate that the child has immunity to the disease or document that he or she should be medically exempt from this requirement.

The Butcher Shop

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Methodists Decide to Believe the Bible

Wed, 04/10/2019 - 1:04pm

Recently the United Methodist Church held a denomination meeting in St. Louis and the outcome for Christians was almost as momentous as the lifting of the siege of Vienna in 1683. The threat to Christendom at Vienna was external. An Islamic army of Ottoman Turks was knocking on the door to Central Europe until the attack was broken by Holy Roman Emperor Leopold I.

For the Methodists, the threat was internal. A coalition of alphabet–apostates thought they were on the cusp of overturning thousands of years of instruction regarding homosexuality. The goal was to have the United Methodist Church endorse homosexual marriage and practicing homosexual pastors.

Delegates voted on three options. The ‘Simple Plan’ was essentially let it all hang out. Any language in the Methodist Book of Discipline that reflected the Bible’s clear instruction on homosexuality (the Washington Post reporter called it “exclusionary language”) was to be removed and let the good times roll!

The “One Church Plan” was endorsed by craven Methodist denominational ‘leadership’ and a grab–bag of therapeutic Christians who place feelings ahead of theology. This hypocritical approach let church leaders continue to ignore congregations violating the Book of Discipline. As long as the money keeps flowing into HQ, the ‘leadership’ was fine with these hotbeds of heresy.

The last option was the ‘Traditional Plan.’ That choice would return the Methodists to faithfully following Jesus and Scripture as regards homosexuality.

It looked as bad for the Methodists as it did for the Viennese.

In a supreme irony, the alphabet soup alternate lifestyle advocates used a message to persuade delegates that was biblically based. They asked the same question that the serpent used in the Garden of Eden asked, namely “Did God really say that?”

The Methodist delegates answered, “yes.”

There are a number of ways the media could report on this surprising development. One would to follow the headline of this column: “In an upset, the United Methodist Church Decides to Believe the Bible.” That covers the element of surprise and the Methodist’s return to their foundational belief regarding homosexuality.

Or the reporter could have focused on demographics and how African churches provided the votes to carry the Traditional Plan and what this means for the direction of the denomination in the future.

Instead the Washington Post choose ‘Christian bullies pick on innocent homosexuals.’ Only one person was interviewed who wasn’t part of the alphabet army and he was asked about statistics. Other interviewees were ‘victims of intolerance.’

That’s false because Christians aren’t singling out the consonant crusaders with ‘hate’ and rejection. How can one explain the vote to the irreligious chroniclers of ‘what’s happen’’ now at the WoePost?

How about this? WoePost owner Jeff Bezos decides to go to church. He has three options, two of which would meet with disapproval.

If lover boy shows up at the sanctuary with his adulterous squeeze instead of his wife, he’s not going to be welcome. If Bezos shows up with the squeeze and his wife, he’s not going to be welcome. But if Jeff appears with only his wife, the congregation will assume they’re working on the marriage and accept them both.

Christian churches don’t encourage anyone who demonstrates an open rebellion against God while in the pew.

This entire effort on the part of the alternate–lifestyle, alternate–Bible cabal was entirely political and not religious. As Kermit Rainman explains, “…homosexual activists and their allies know that the Judeo-Christian sexual ethic found in the Bible is the last bastion of defense holding back the widespread embrace of homosexuality throughout the culture. They understand that if Bible-believing Christians and Jews can be convinced that homosexual behavior is no longer sinful in God’s eyes, then the battle to fully implement their political and social goals will be won.”

Rewriting the Bible is a project of the left and it is purely secular and wholly selfish. St. Louis Heretics were easy to spot with their rainbow bandanas, Black Lives Matter t–shirts, “Justice for All” buttons, feminist slogans and their raised fists when the vote didn’t go their way.

Fortunately, Methodist delegates voted to return to following Christ and stop following the culture.

The post Methodists Decide to Believe the Bible appeared first on Tea Party Tribune.

Buy The World a Coke

Wed, 04/10/2019 - 6:59am

The politics of hate have become the norm. We can’t seem to build a wall to secure our border, but we built a wall down the isle of Congress just fine. Do you wanna know what gets me? Politics have become so utterly predictable. You know exactly what Pelosi, or Cortez or Beatoff O’Rourke are going to say in any given situation. And the right is just as bad. If this bunch of pakayadis had been running America in 1941 we’d all be speaking Japanese now.

If the president declares Thanksgiving, the Democrats instantly start talking about animal cruelty. If Nancy Pelosi makes a statement at a press conference Fox News has some doctor come on talking about Alzheimer’s or dementia. But, they are not paving any highways people! They are playing to the hate groups.

There is no more bipartisan. That’s just something you order on pizza. I don’t know why they even bother to mix Democrats and Republicans on the various committees. Let’s see, on one committee you have five Republicans and eight Democrats, you know exactly how each vote will go. Right along party lines. Congress is the same way.

And the disrespect! Calling the president of the United States an “orange fool?” How about that black fool we had for eight years? Oh hell! Now, I’m a racist. I actually listen to what Cortez says. In person I’d never argue with her because she’s twenty-nine and from New York. I am a misogynist. On top of that she’s a bartender. You can take the bartender out of the Bronx, but you can’t take the Bronx out of the bartender. Let your mind wander on that one for a while. I usually agree with drunk young girls for obvious reasons. Yeah, yeah, yeah. #YOUTOO Omar! If I could just get those two chicks together with a bottle of vodka. Maybe get Omar to take off her hijab . . . NOW, where was I?

Fact is there’s no more room for humor, bi-partisan, understanding, or progress left in America. Only separatism, hate, ultra right, left whatever. Nobody’s listening because the singing to various choirs is drowning out all discussion. Sometimes I’d just like to buy the world a Coke!

The Butcher Shop

The post Buy The World a Coke appeared first on Tea Party Tribune.

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