Windows Are Not Impediments in My World:

Merely Distractions.

How did I get so drunk so fast?

I only had sixteen glasses of wine in twelve minutes!

Scuze for a moment.

Bill Gates is on CNN.

I have to remove a shoe, so that I might puke into it.

BRB!

OK.

I tried and tried and I tried!

To get through this CNN interview with

Bill Gates.

Could not take any more!

Picked up my TV and threw it out the window.

(It, the window, was not open)

It is open now…

I hear sirens in the distance.

Growing louder, and louder!

Ooops!

“And you can’t find your waitress with a Geiger Counter.”

Been there.

Too many times…

The computer has been Drinking.

Not me!

Vid Credit: MasterBiblicalMemory

Genius!

**********

I only Drop This In Because I like It!

This Would Not Be A Proper TT&H Post W/O Some Joni!

(And I Love Joni!)

Y’all Know That!

.

“What you don’t know about women is a lot.”

–Rose Castorini (Olympia Dukakis)

In This Vid Clip, You Will Discover Lance.

Video Cred: Ted Reinert

Lance loves women;

He just cannot help Himself.

He does not understand them.

Therein lies that magic…

“Moonlight in a Martini.”

(Volumn is fukked. Crank it up!)

Lance Romance.

Added Value:

“Breaks Your Heart Just Lookin’ At Her.”

Snakes and Ladders

–Joni

(If you do not listen carefully to the song… I dropped it in For A Really, Really, Really Good Reason)

(Figure it out–If You Can)

I am flying SOLO NOW!

WISH ME LUCK!

https://texantales.com/2021/02/26/farewell-forevermore-to-my-best-ever-friend-my-abusive-muse-i-am-sad-but-also-happy/

“He Gave up Happy Hour For Her.”

Joni/Muse!

Musing…

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

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 and right.

Quiet.

Then

Fire!

Firefight!

Ambush!

Pandemonium!

He caught one in the chest.

And got busy with 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 by-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.

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.

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

Institutionalized ‘R’ Us: Or, That Place I Need/Want To Be

How I sometimes See/Experience My Mental Life:

I have come to the stark realization that I am at my best when institutionalized.

Long and varied History of this

Follow The Orange Brick Roads if You Be Fearless, or Feckless–Either Works For Me:

My point, if I have one, is that I need ‘Structure/Routine/Schedule’ in my life.

Without routine/structure in my life…

This is one reason I was a good SFM/Egypt/Israel Man.

And such a great Sailor/Military Man.

And such a good Iraq Man

And such a good… Fuck it!

Y’all have picked up on my point.

Without routine/structure in my life…

I become self-destructive.

No! I do NOT slice my wrists.

I do NOT (overmuch) eat garbage food.

I do not (overmuch) drink too much OK, THAT is a Bald-Faced Lie.

I do NOT Listen (overmuch) to Disco.

I do NOT (overmuch) watch CNN.

I do not (overmuch) shit-post on Facebook.

But What I actually do and do too overmuch and over the top, is think too much.

Way too much

Reflect too much.

****

Returning to the original point of this post:

I need to be institutionalized.

Or as my Father once confided in me:

“I live in my own little world, but it’s okay: They know me there.”

****

Flash Forward to ‘Present Day’:

Here we discover Lance, Living Large in The Lion’s Den.

No schedule.

No responsibilities

Nowhere to need to be

Sustainable cash inflow (Thanks Social Security)

Minimal Friends, FaceBook or otherwise to fret over.

Don’t feel compelled to answer my telephone if I don’t want to.

Valhalla, Right?

Heaven, Right?

Waco Texas, Right?

Wrong!

I am in Peril: With a capital ‘P’.

Left alone to my own devices and vices…

Well, it ain’t pretty.

And it ain’t nothin’ nice.

*****

I may or may not expand upon this derailed train of thought.

We’ll see.

(If I get any feedback, I’ll make an effort)

But, Y’all do realize, I am so busy right now going insane—almost a full-time job—requires almost all of my creative capital and ‘mental’ energy.

But, Please Stay Tuned.

Because if I know nothing else, I know I love my Readers.

Cheers Y’all,

–Lancers

P.S., Fairly Certain I would do quite well in Prison

(I have already been over the years)

But Pretty sure if I wanted to go to a ‘Real’ Prison, I could figure out how to get my cab fare–gratis

–L

“The Reports Of My Death Have Been Greatly Exaggerated.” –Mark Twain (And Now Shamelessly Stolen By Lance Marcom)

This is a True, Recent Story: Not Something From ‘The Archives.’

No Names Have Been Changed To Protect Innocents

(Because I Don’t Know Any)

*****

It was recently brought to my attention that there is a rumor making the circuit in My Home Town of Honey Grove:

“Lance Marcom was found dead.”

(Not sure where or why or how they found me, but those would just be superfluous details—no need for them—not in a small Texas Town)  

And ‘THOSE‘ would (most likely) just be Tales Told By Idiots, Full Of Sound And Fury, Signifying Nothing

–Sorry Will

Of course this made me laugh hysterically—and also made my day—no such thing as ‘bad press’ for a wanna-be fledgling writer.

So, ‘Thank-You-Very-Mucho-Much’ to whoever started this story.

While I was still laughing my ass off on the phone with my very good old friend who had brought this News to me, a brilliant idea began to gestate in my mind:

“Hey Johnny! Let’s run with this. You tell everyone that you have confirmed the veracity of this report. Then you set up a GoFundMe page for the Funeral Expenses—Should Fly—My Poverty is Well-Documented.

We’ll split the ‘Charitable’ Proceeds 50/50.”

(I have always had a bit of larceny in my bones and in my genes and in my heart)

“I’m on it.” said Johnny, “But do you honestly think anyone gives a shit about “Lance Marcom?”

“Print Up some Flyers; scatter them around in Ladonia–the ‘Marcom Name’ still carries a bit of weight there, Because of My Grandfather.

You know of him. He was the Town Doctor who would accept chickens, or pigs, or heifers, in lieu of money. He was loved and belov’d.”

I detected a ‘smirk’ (Remotely–on my Smart-Phone) crawling all-over-the-face of my Friend at the mention of ‘Heifers.’

“Johnny, they were ‘four-legg’d heifers–that’s all.’ My Grandfather Marcom was a Fucking Methodist!

And Allow me to reiterate.

I’ve been riding fare-free and care-free on his ‘Fame-Train’ all my life. “

Plan Incubated and Hatched—Now for the execution of same—no Pun

*******

As an aside, if the Police Do Get Involved, The Numero-Uno Prime Suspect Will Be Guess Who?

Yep

*******

“I’m not dead.  I feel fine. Think I’ll go for a walk…”

Causally Related: