Now, the a-holes have killed Captain America.

Oh, well…nothing lasts forever. Why should imaginary badasses get a pass, anyway? I reckon by now he was agonizing over hair product. If they start fucking with Davy Crockett and Jim Bowie, though, I might snap. Even an old man needs some role models.

Via AoSHQ…

In honor of my old friend Molly, who’s married with about umpteen kids somewhere down on the Third Coast, and it’s her birthday today:

That’s seriously wacked out, man. THREE EYES!!!1!

Happy birthday, Fucker!

Back in the old days when some rich Rethuglicans published what was called a “newspaper” every dang day, and then delivered it to your front door, we used to cut these kinds of silly nature-gone-wild things out and put them on a bulletin board in the kitchen. Along with the weekly Ugly Bride from Sunday’s paper, and then we’d have a March Madness of Ugly Brides. Sometimes, I miss newspapers. When I’m in my cups, I miss all that mess. Of course, I only cared because I was drunk all the time back then.

In which I endorse a fake referrer to this idiotic waste of storage on a server somewhere in Texas (I’m so provincial that I only use Texas hosting service):

800cc Breast Augmentation | Breast Augmentation Resources

I’m all for ‘em. For it. For…yeah, big boobs. More big boobs. I love The Rack.

Whatever. Leave me alone. Leave me alone some more.

From a Pennsylvanian studying up on his Alamo history:

“Escucheme, bolillo [Listen to me, white bread],” he said sharply. “If Santa Anna would have won the war, this whole city would be a shithole just like Reynosa. Soy tejano [I'm a Texan]. Mind your own goddamned business. It’s my Alamo too.”

That brings a lump to my throat. It’s lost on millions, but hey! It’s good somebody, somewhere gets it.

Of course, the Tejanos ain’t really all that:

The Americans who flocked into the Mexican state of Texas were far from the best and the bravest. Many were land-grant manipulators and speculators; not a few were slave traders, bankrupts, or ne’er-do-wells. Their common goal was a potent desire to wrest Texas from the distant, ineffectual federal government in Mexico City.

Yeah, we’re definitely a bunch of hoodlums. C’est la guerre, baby…it’s why I love this place. I’m dead lucky to be in this space & in this time. OK, I would prefer 50 years ago, but that’s a quibble.

My stupid inbox is filling up with hideously malformed HTML fliers from dorks who think I might possibly give a damn about their emo/screamo/folko/lameo band who’s playing at the Music Festival Originally Designed For Texans. I actually share two whole households with a wife who thinks these people are the, as the kids say, shizz-nitt. For my money, anybody who’d drive more than two blocks to play for that bunch of stoned, drunken, filthy, dirty hippies isn’t worth walking across the street to see. Much less pay and see.

OK, that’s very harsh, but I’d still rather see The Swindles or Cornell or Los #3 Dinners at a random, ratty honky-tonk dive out in the sticks. Or downtown Houston. OTOH, Herself is going to spend an entire week, wandering around Austin lost, fighting the crowds, and bitching about the parking, trying to see schmoes she could see any night of the week in most towns any other week. “Feel the energy!” Yeah, feel my…apathy.

You kids, if you don’t mind moving along and all…yall get off my lawn.