Monthly Archives: February 2021

“Texan Snowmageddon: A Play in Six Acts,” Or “Thanks 2020 for Bringing 2021 Up-To-Speed.” Nice Hand-Off

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My Frozen FORD NON-EXPLORER

First of All…This is a Happy Texan Story,

So do not get prematurely bummed out.

And you may ignore the ‘added value’ of the music and the vids, but you will not experience the ‘full benefit’ if you chose to do that.

“Snowmageddon” has finally been Kicked-to-The Curb.

Texas Survived.

I survived. Had to treat myself for surviving:

HEALTHY CELEBRATION FOOD

HEY! Them crackers had my name on ‘em!

So did that bottle of wine: ‘Lance Gallo’

(Had to peel the label off to discover it, but from past experience, I knew it was there.)

Had to buy ‘em! And bring them home

And Celebrate!

They say (Always “They.” Who are THEY by the way?)

They say, “Bad News Always Comes In Threes.”

Just for me, They Doubled Down:

Three X-2

Yeah, I got far enough in math to learn my multiplication tables.

But not much else…

Here is how it broke down for me:

  1. No electricity
  2. No water
  3. My Ford Explorer Died
  4. My neck is fucked—probably slipped a disk—‘tis a misery, painful
  5. Ran outta booze
  6. Dangerously low on Copenhagen snuff

OK Gonna Break it Down:

Beginning with #2:

“(Ice) Water, water everywhere. And all the boards did shrink. Water, water everywhere, nor any drop to drink.” Thanks Sam Coleridge.

Throughout it all, The Wonderful Staff here at Lion’s Den were phenomenal.

Every day Deb and Cynthia would deliver bottled water. And following hard behind was the maintenance man, (name escapes me) pushing a cart with two large plastic trash cans full of water. He would provide a bucket of ‘flush water’ to each ‘inmate,’ er… ‘tenant’ for our toilets.

Not sure which I appreciate more.

Nope. That’s a lie:

Appreciated the flush water the much more. (I am a nasty enuff Mo’Fo as is—needed to flush that bitch—trust me on this one Y’all.)

Besides, I had already figured out that I could scoop up fresh snow, let it melt and drink that.

(Shame I had no milk, sugar, and vanilla extract. I could’ve had snow ice cream, and re-visited my misspent youth—alas—missed opportunity)

*****

#1: No Way to Fight The Power—Were’t None

Vid Credit: Joni Journey

No electric was the worst. No electricity meant no internet. No internet meant I was cut-off from the world (And not particularly “up” nor ‘hip’ with my neighbors) I just do not ‘roll’ that way, being somewhat of a “Herman Hermits’ kind of guy…

I did have a flashlight though. It kept me company. I tried to boot up my laptop just to have someone to talk to (yes, I talk to my computers), but I could not remember my password to get it to boot. After the third failed attempt, my laptop told me to fuck off and then she called the NSA.

The roads were impassable so I was not concerned.

#3 Heart of Darkness

I discovered something about myself: I am afraid of the dark. How fucking funny is that?! Me! The two-time almost Navy SEAL!

OK, I was not really afraid, per se, but I was not happy.

What to do?

I climbed into the helm of my ‘Labomba’—Esoteric Peanut vernacular—cranked her up. Turned on the interior lights, the heat, and KETR.

Sat there, listening to NPR’s shit for an hour.

Glanced at my gauges.

Oh SHIT!

Alternator had left town! Battery gasping. Dying.

LaBomba officially dead in the water.

Lance now properly, futurely fucked.

#4 I Drink Alone

Nothing to do now but go back into my sans lightness hovel.

And face my daemons.

Out-Drink ‘em.

Did that.

Drank up the last of my booze.

Sat in the dark for three hours.

Sun came up and I went to sleep.

I had survived.

#5 Pain In My Neck

Been already having this horrible pain in my neck.

Well, Guess what?

It is almost debilitating

And Getting worse.

But I ‘Sailor On.’

“And that is all I’m gonna say about that.”

Thank you Forrest

#6 Out of Copenhagen Snuff.

I am gonna put this one to bed.

Hopefully, ever hopefully,…

I hope y’all have enjoyed my ‘Report’ on how the shit went down for me during the Snow-Apocalypse.

CNN is NOT Calling me for ‘Local Color’ commentary.

I was so hoping and prayin’ and hoping and prayin to talk to Erin…

Is This Love Erin? Yep. From Where I Sit It Certainly Is

Erin never called

But then,Guess how many fucks I give.

Cheers Y’all!

Snow, Texas (NO) Power & Light, Abusive Muse: True Love of My Life, All Mish-Mashed Together

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Vid Share Credit: Retrospective Soundtrack

(An aside: Katherine Ross is The Most Beautiful Woman In The History of “Woman.”—Precisely Why My MS Muse is Moniker’ed “Katherine.”)

And “The Graduate” is one of the Greatest Movies Ever Made.—Don’t Believe Me?—Just Ask My Muse, Katherine. She’ll Set You Straight as you are picking yourself up off the floor. (Remember, She has that Devastation Right Hook. And, Trust me on this: She Does Not Suffer Fools)

Woke up in Total Darkness

And To The Sound of Silence. 

No CNN White Noise.

No computer purring/whirring.

Not even MS Muse Snoring.

WTF?!

Power was out!

Looked out my back door.

Then it all made sense.

Shut the door and went back inside.

Fumbled around and found my flashlight.

Discovered a note pinned to my pillow.

It was from MS Muse (Who else?)

It Read:

“Hey Asshole, (She is so sweet), I am mounting my broom and flying the fuck outta this dump. You may reach me at The Magnuson Hotel (they have a backup generator) once you get this shit sorted and the lights back on.

Meantime, Light a candle and continue working.

I’m watching you. Never think I’m not”

First time I heard this Bill Withers’ Masterpiece, the Radio Man came on immediately after the song had finished and provided his ‘insight:’

He said,

“I counted the ‘I know, I know, I know’s’

Twenty-Four.

And you’re welcome.”

I had to laugh because I was tryin’ to count them too.

I lost count and failed. DJ Man succeeded.

Guess that was why he was spinning records for money.

And I was spinning my wheels in Small-Town Texas World.

For No Money

**********

And Never Forget Ann Bancroft, aka:

‘Mrs. Robinson’

Video Capture Credit: 05vs1

*********

Added Value For “Upbeat” Happy Purposes Only…

Few Better Than ‘The Dino’

FOOTBALL! The Stuff That Makes Dreams

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“Welcome to The Real America.”

I was Born in Texas.

I grew up in Texas.

This is my fault.

However…

This is (Above) THE BEST Television Show About Growing Up Texan That Ever Was,

Or Ever Will Be.

Case Rested.

Believe it not, I lived this life.

I grew up, immersed in this culture.

Ass-Deep.

And I loved every second/minute of it!

Will never lose those memories.

TEXAS!

Texas!

Texas FOREVER!

Now!

And Forever!

Y’all!

Vid Compilation/Share Credit: Chris Spags. Orig Vid: K. Ryan Jones

Clear Eyes

Full Hearts

TEXAS!

Forever!

*****

Late Entry:

I wanna be Tim Riggins.

Shit! I WAS Tim Riggins.

Still Am Tim Riggins.

Conceited conceit?

Yep.

But Truth.

“I’m happy, and I can honestly say that.”

–TR/LM

(Vid compilation Credit: Nic Ignite)

Birth of a Writer, Via a Football Coach—Ludicrous—I Know, But A True Story.

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Young writer searching inspiration, with an old typewriter.

No one cares about your novel!!!

Sitting in a classroom.

Football Coach at the helm.

Year: 1974

Assignment: Write an essay.

I was, back then, a better middle linebacker than I was a ‘writer’

But, what the hell!

I gave it a go.

Tried to anyway.

Sat at my desk, pen in hand, staring at a blank page.

For two minutes.

Then something magical happened:

Very, very Young Muse

Touched me

(Yep, Same One Who is Still With Me, all these years later)

She was, of course, younger, and Prettier, but then again, so was I.

Some ‘Magic’ Happened.

I started writing.

Wrote a long story about a young soldier serving in ‘The Nam.’

He was ‘short’, — Meaning he had just one more week ‘till he got to ride that ‘Freedom-Bird’ back to ‘The World.’ The land of the Big PX and the ‘All-Night Restaurant.’

He was Happy.

But, one last order of business:

One more routine patrol.

No worries—He had been there, done that, too many times to even think on.

He geared up with his platoon.

Day-Dreams flooded his mind.

Dreaming of his young, beautiful, wonderful wife

Dreaming of his farm in Texas

Dreaming of fishing for trash fish in the ponds on his land

Dreaming of how his wife would laugh at him for being such a lousy fisherman

Dreaming of just going to a Texas Bar and ordering a ‘Lone Star’ beer

Dreaming more and more of kissing his wife

****

“Move out!”

(Shattered his dreamy state)

The Platoon was ‘on-the-move’ now.

Pretty much routine, far as that goes.

Began routine enough

Walking down a path, M-16 at the ready.

Looking left, looking right.

Quiet.

Then

Fire!

Firefight!

Ambush!

Pandemonium!

He caught one in the chest.

And got busy with his dying.

Lying on the floor of the jungle, he managed to pull the photo of his childhood sweetheart, his wife, his LOVE out from beneath his flak jacket.

He regarded it, gazed at it, put it to his lips and kissed it.

Then he died.

*****

I handed in my paper when prompted.

Coach read all the submissions as we all departed for lunch.

Came back to Home-Room after lunch.

Coach said,

“Y’all did real good with your writing assignment. I am gonna read one of them.”

Coach read my story to the class.

Then he said, “I never knew Lance could write. He is just average as a linebacker, but as a writer, he is good.”

Did I give a shit for his praise?

Nope.

Remember, I was an asshole back then.

Still Am.

That was a ‘Red-Letter-Day’ in my ‘Writing Career.’

However, I had a football career to attend to:

“Go! Honey Grove Warriors!

Beat Cooper!“

I love My Texas!

The HG Warriors Stole this as our ‘Fight Song,’ as most every other School-Boy Texan HS Football Team did back in The Day. We were all so very Proud of Our Texas Longhorns!

They kicked some serious ass back in those bye-gone days

Knowing full well that the Dixie Chicks can still bring out ire and even bona-fide rage in some folks, I drop this in anyway.

I did not, never did, will never, agree with Natalie’s politics.

HOWEVER, 

I stood by her then and I stand by her now.

I have spilled a lot of virtual ink on these Gals

She is, in my not humble opinion, a prime example of the Quintessential Texan Woman:

Outspoken

Brave

Fearless

Loud & Proud

(And Gorgeous too! LOL)

“Nat, You GO Girl! I have your back!”  

(Love You Emily!–Marry Me?)

PLEASE.

I’d Stop drinking for You–But Only For You.

There is too much Nat in this Vid and not nearly enough Emily!

Just Sing, But Never Shut Up! This is Still a Free Country

P.S., I won’t lie (I do not write Fiction)

I never got shot at while in The Nav, well, maybe a little, by Dem Iranians,

While ‘Independent Steaming in the Northern ‘Moist’ Part of the IO.

But I did get shot up,years later, as a Civilian,

Just outside of Fallujah.

Fallujah.

That was my Baptism of Fire.

I saw my entire life replayed in my head that day.

In an instant

Cheers!

Hey! Fuck You WordPress!

You are lame!

There’s My Trouble.

With You

“Just One More Year/Beer? And Then I’ll Be Happy?” Talk Comes Cheap.

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Not That Fridays, or Saturdays, Or Sundays, or Mondays Mean Fuk – All to Me,

But I do recall, Once Upon A Time, That The Day-of-the-Week was important.

These Days, Not So Much.

One Day Just Bleeds Into The Next.

But Y’all know what? I am Good with that.

“Just One More Year And Then I’ll Be Happy.”

I’ve been blowin’ this same old, recycled smoke up my ass all of my life.

The Jews had a better, more sophisticated version:

“Next Year in Jerusalem.”

(Halfway to Jerusalem)

They ‘got theirs’ in ’48.

Cemented in, in ’67.

Where’s mine?

Funny, or perhaps ironic thing, or stupid thing:

I still ‘Mantra’ this Mantra at me, aloud even.

(But always while Alone—Don’t want people to think I AM THAT much Certifiable)

Point is, and I have written on this before…

Point is, I am a Cock-Eyed Optimist.

No one, No Event, No personal Tragedy, No Spilt Booze Will Ever Rob Me of My Naïve Optimism.

(OK, Spilt Booze just Might Make Me Waiver—For a Moment)

But other Than Spilt Booze, Never Gonna Happen. Never gonna lose my optimism

And for that resilient resilience, I am grateful.

*********

Here is the Lame FaceFuk Post which was the Geneses of this TT&H post.

I drop it in only for full-disclosure / transparency purposes.

******

 “You used to think that it was so easy

You used to say that it was so easy

But you’re tryin’, you’re tryin’ now

Another year and then you’ll be happy

Just one more year and then you’ll be happy

But you’re cryin’, you’re cryin’ now.”

(Shared By Lance: “The Happy, Upbeat Camper”)

And Thanks to Gerry

P.S., “And then he’ll settle down, in some quiet little town

And forget about everything.”

Yep. Did that. Doing that.  Livin’ The Dream Right Here in Commerce, America. Who says ‘You can Never Go Home Again?” I call ‘Bullshit’ on That Sentiment.

******

Gentle Readers,

Realizing full-well that I have been on my ‘Soapbox’ of late, and I may have come across as somewhat ‘Preachy,’ but please understand:

I am NOT trying to tell ANYONE how to live their life.

I am merely communicating how I choose to live mine.

For me: It is a ‘Survival Thing.’

And if, by some Disturbance in the Ether, just one person ‘Gets’ me.

That is just gravy—and worth my efforts.

Cheers Y’all!

–Lance

*****

I drop this in for levity.

Because, as is my wont, I always try to end a post with a bit of humor.

This clip is not at all germane, but actually…

If you explore my archives and read about my relationships with women, it kinda is…

Germane

Roach Motel

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SEE YA! WE BE OUTTA HERE!

BUGS!

I LOVE You Bobbie Gentry!

“Hey Look At me! With the DDT!”

Naw, that would be ‘against-the-law!’

And your point is?

Hehehehe…evil laugh

“Hey MS Muse, Reach me that spray can of DDT: The one we got from the feed store.

Oh! And ‘Please & Thank You’ in Advance.”

(Don’t need no more ‘Muse-ic Drama’)

She put down her Rubik’s Cube, grabbed the DDT can and bounced it off my head.

That’s my Gal!

BUGS!

Video Credit: benjichilders

More Unsolicited ‘Opinion’ From Y’all’s Favorite Asshole: C’est Moi.

“Donovan:”

Child–King of The Boy Wonder, One-Hit Wonders:

“Atlantis” Way down below the fuckin’ Ocean. You shoulda remained there. Dear Donnie. Just sayin’.

Bobbie Gentry Did him a Solid by even allowing him on her TV show.

How lame was he?

Trust me: The Math breaks down at this point.

But He was Pretty-Boy Lame

******************

So… I’m sleeping one off when I felt something tickling.

Woke up and discovered a rather plumpish large roach parked on my nose.

(Had to go cross-eyed to look at him—yes, I am assuming gender here—my bad)

He jumped off my nose onto my chin.

Then he spoke to me:

“Hey Bubba, we be outta here.”

Still half-asleep and somewhat groggy, all I could muster was, “Whaaat?”

Mister Roach continued, “We are leaving your Dumb Ass.”

I bolted upright, causing Mister Roach to tumble onto my mattress.

“Take a gander Mutha Fukker!” He shouted out of his Little Roach Lips.

But I heard him well enough.

Focused my eyes on the floor. Sure as shit, there was a single file line of cockroaches, some carrying suitcases, some wearing backpacks, all marching quick-time toward my back door. I looked up and saw a squadron of gnats flying over the marching roaches, providing air-cover I quickly surmised.

Spokesman Roach was preparing to jump off my mattress, but before he leapt down to join his comrades, he turned to me and said, “Don’t you wanna know why we are leaving your sorry ass?”

“Not really,” I replied. “But I figure you’re gonna tell me anyway.”

“Damn Skippy Asshole.”

“Well, get it off your chest then. Does your kind have chests, by the way? I have spent many a sleepless night pondering this heavy mystery.”

“Very Funny You Schmuck,” He shot back.

He coughed up some vile phlegm, depositing it on my mattress.

And continued, “For your edification (This was a literate Roach, with a solid command of The Queen’s English) For your edification, he repeated, we have thoraxes.”

“I am praying you will soon arrive-at-the-point,” I said.

He obliged:

“Here is our list of grievances,” He said, handing me a sheet of toilet paper. “Read and Weep. Then wipe your ass.”

I perused the paper and discovered this Piercing Eloquence:

“To Wit, Please Discover Below Our Valid and Legitimate Justifications For ‘Buggin’ Out.”

(I had to laugh at that—This Roach had a sense of humor—who knew?)

I continued my read:

  • This ‘Host Human’ is a nasty son of a bitch—no shower in weeks—even by our standards, this is beyond the pale
  • There is no uneaten food anywhere to be found in this ‘Mouse House’
  • The ‘Music’ he plays (too loudly) assaults our sensibilities and disrupts our concentration
  • He has been known to spray, indiscriminately, recklessly, RAID at our brother and sister gnats, thus branding him as a ‘Mass-Murderer’
  • He is ugly and disgusting
  • He is stupid

“Seems to me Y’all have put a great deal of thought into this… uh… ‘Declaration of Independence,” I said, handing him back his manifesto.

“Yes, we have. Now will you kindly get the door so that we may make good our departure?”

“Sure,” I said. But one question before you ‘Bug Out.”

“Make it quick Jerk; we have somewhere to be.”

“Where are you going? What will Y’all do?”

“Never mind what we will do. Just get the damn door.”

“But how will you get to where you are going?”

“If you must know, there is a ‘Roach Coach’ headed here as we speak. Catch ya laters.”

I opened the door and waited until the Caboose of the Bug Train made it out into the parking lot. I stood in the doorway and lo’ and behold, I saw a Roach Coach (Meskin, judging by the paint scheme on the vehicle). Seemed fitting I suppose: La Cucaracha.

Even though MY Roaches were all Texican/American Roaches and spoke even less Meskin than me.

I wished them well.

Oh Well.

I suppose they could learn. MY Roaches were not idiots. I mean, under good leadership, they had the intelligence to abandon a sinking ship.

I stepped back into my hooch; shut and locked the door; sat down on my bed. Was thinking,

“Well fuck them! My Ingrate Pets. I need to adopt a Dog, or a Cat, or an Armadillo, or an Ant Farm of Fire Ants—any one of which would be more loyal.”

As I was sitting there feeling all alone and abandoned, I became aware of a funky odor and it was ME!

So I spent ‘An Hour In The Shower.’

“I dream of things I can’t say, or I’ll get put away.”

******

To Put A Cork In This Story:

Never put your Faith in Roaches or Gnats. They are fickle and never loyal. They will not stand by you during the lean times.

Get Yourself an Armadillo.

Cheers Y’all!

P.S., “Never hit your Mother with a Shovel. It leaves a Dull Impression on Her Mind.”

–Butch Cassidy

****

Just for you, Donavan:

Credit where Credit is Due:

This was/is a great Song.

Too bad it is all you had in you.

But Hey! Ride that Fame-Train.

Until you run outta track

Video Credit: Carlos Lara

By the way, Donovan, you ain’t no Cat Stevens

Sorry:  ‘Yusuf Islam’

(Difficult to keep up with all you ‘stars’ name changes—Identity changes.)

“Yusuf Islam’—Gag me with the ‘Woke-Ness’ Monster spoon, but Cat,

Your wonderful music supersedes your lame-ass identity politics.”

Hey Cat/‘Yusuf!

I’m still looking for ‘That Hard-Headed Woman.‘

HBO?

Help a brother out?

And Cat/Yusuf, I too have known a lot of fancy dancers.

They need not apply.

I am in the Crusade of ‘REAL.’

****

Oh shit! A sudden fear comes upon me:

“What if MS Muse swerves into this post?”

I’ll tell ya what:

It will not be a pleasant experience for your humble servant, that’s what.

P.P.S., I LOVE The Art.

I Give zero shits about the ‘Artists’ Politics.

I love and Appreciate The ART

These sentiments of mine are well-documented in these pages.

One Last Addendum for You, Cat/Yusuf:

My Ph.D.,

University Prof/Third wife

said these words to me shortly after Cat Stevens changed his ‘Religion’ (and his name) from whatever-it-was to Islam:
“I always knew he was ‘that way.’”
“What way?” I asked.
“Islamic- Ass-Misogamist,” she said.
“You do not know that,” I said back. “You are ignorant on this topic.”
She stormed away.
Needless to say, I did not get laid that day.
And for many days thereafter.
Bitch saved grudges like cash money.