I might seem down in the last few posts. As I re-read them, I’m clearly quite crotchety and old-man like. Fine, I am. But, never mind the bitchin’ bollocks, here’s some completely awesome surf music by a guy from Texas wearing a cowboy hat folded up like a damn taco shell:

If I could just everyone in America to realize the greatness of surf, we’d be so utterly awesome, the Red Chinese would quail in terror before our greatness.* So, I reckon if I can get 10 or 20 on the surf tip, I’ve done my work. You can’t listen to surf and not expect anything but the brightest damn future ever.

And go see Junior if you ever get the chance. Don’t let anybody put you off. He’s a master.

* As we all well know, Charlie don’t fucking surf. On orders from Peking, I bet. We, on the other hand, surf. When and where we want. Thank God the governor isn’t involved in giving out licenses to surf. Yet.

BONUS EXTRA ME THINKING OF YOU: My pal Otis love this song:

“and I can see that one of us will have to leave this town”
Now tell me, who here hasn’t been right damn there?

And totally out of left field, try some Al Dimeola on:

It ain’t no video, but the guitar is superb. Don’t know why I thought of Al, but I did.

I think it would be pretty cool to be able to carry my handgun in the open.

Good God, it’s within my lifespan that my father and both of my grandfathers didn’t fear John Law throwing down on them because they were carrying sidearms. I can name each one of their preferred choices right now and even see them in their evening resting places, not to mention where they were carried on their persons. My mama never didn’t have a weapon close to hand, and I simply can’t imagine either one of my grandmothers not being able to knock down the random chucklehead. That’s the way it was.

But, in my lifetime, we’ve allowed the state to tell us when and where and how we can carry an equalizer. You’re going to tell me that’s progress? That my mama can’t pull a gun out of her purse to put down a nut? Without having the governor giving her license to do so? Wrong. Plain wrong.

Of the three, I’ve got my one granddad’s 32-20 Colt Police Positive. I hope to pass it on to my grandson(s). I wish I had my other granddad’s long-barreled S&W. My dad, a very utilitarian man, traded guns for booze or other guns till he died, and mostly liked the Smith or Colt snub-nose. Being in a wheelchair, he figured on letting ‘em get close. I can still picture that taped-up handle he preferred. I guess I’m the first of the family to fall for the new-fangled semi, though I’ve got one cheap-ass .25 of my dad’s. It’s not worth the caliber on the market, but I do love it.

Is there a single parent anywhere near these vicious little bitches?

No, there’s not. They’ve so clearly turned over the house for the night to their child for a sleep-over. Why was there not one single, lonely, ass-whipped parent within hearing distance of this ghetto beatdown? Too busy, I’m sure.

Life Amongst the Savages, indeed.

I went to the League of Shitheels to watch the game, as I was feeling voluble and social, and I had to leave when I heard a fat, balding, gray-haired sixty-year-old son-of-a-bitch ask a 20-something barmaid extremely mechanical questions about her by-God sex life. I’m sorry, but nothing in my travels or travails has prepared me for that, and I’ve spent some serious time in some pretty damn low-rent joints. I’d wager far more than you’ve spent, except maybe JD, who’s got a few years on me.

The sad thing about it is that I was the only one, of about fifteen, most within 10 years of my 47, who was offended. I told them all as I left that I will pray that the Good Lord gives them only sons and that all they ever have to worry about is his dick falling off. Hell, I’m still blushing, just thinking about what came out of that grown man’s mouth, completely unsolicited. I guess that’s the way people talk these days, but I sure don’t like it.

I think I want to move to the desert and kill everything I eat so I never see people again. I’ve just about had enough.

Record every single bit of anything remotely political on the teevee, then scan it all for any thing remotely approaching a conflict between what the person is saying and what the network might break in with.

Freaks.

I guess it would be harder if they didn’t have a captive network at MSNBC, though. I’ll give you 4-1 odds that someone got a heads-up that was going to happen. Probably no one died as a result of that bit of genius blogging. I sure hope, anyway.

…that Barry NMI Hussein is going to win. I just left a bar full of white-bread, brisket-smoking, general-contractor, cold-dead-hands rednecks telling me, the lone voice of reason, that Barry is The Man because he’s “a change.” They don’t care, and don’t care to know, that he’s only slightly to the right of Karl Marx. All he is to them, is what he’s successfully represented himself to be — a change. To hell with economics, to hell with political philosophy, to hell with conservatism and Constitutionality — change.

Changie “Changerpants” McHoperson is in. We aren’t all going to have goons kicking down our doors to get our guns. We’re going to get voluntary registration forms in the mail, and we’re going to have tagged ammo. We’re not going to have our blogs shut down, we’re going to have non-anonymous publication rules enforced by the ISPs. We’re not going to have Universal Health Care in the first year, but when it gets here in Year Two or Five, we’re going to get toilet monitors that measure the size and content of our turds and remind us that we really need to be cutting down on the booze and the butter. What’s more, everyone is going to be thrilled to death that Big Mommy is helping them be a healthier, better-adjusted, less-environmentally-impactful comrade citizen.

Yall laugh and laugh at me, but that’s the way it’s going to go. Good God, I hope I’m wrong on this, because I’m more frightened than I’ve ever been. We are so on our way to Idiocracy. Nobody cares, because that’s what everybody wants…a nice, warm, cuddly Mommy to kiss their boo-boos and give ‘em a sandwich. Start talking to your neighbors, folks. We’re in for one hell of a ride, and if you’re not a lawyer and you haven’t gotten really good at not just finding that state trough, but shoving your fellow citizens piglets out of the way, you’re gonna get real hungry, real quick.

There’s just too many pockets to check for important stuff when you get home.