Lyndon Johnson, Just Another Schmuck Lookin’ Out for His Nuts

Yes. A Repost. If you do nothing else, please scroll down and listen to the clip. It is hysterical (and real) Even better.

Cheers Y’all and Happy Saturday    Oops! Sunday (is it?)  


Lyndon Baines Johnson

Texan, Father, School Teacher, Rancher, & Much Maligned 36th President of The United States of America.

I love LBJ, or as Brother Dave Gardner ( once called him: ‘Daddy Bird’. Johnson was a divisive entity during his one and a half terms as president—primarily due of course to the Vietnam War—which he inherited. Yes, I realize I am gonna get some push back. Favorably mention ‘LBJ’ even today and you best stand by for some unhappy and contentious words.

Young Daddy Bird

Young Daddy Bird

The problem I have, in general, when talking to folks about Johnson is that most are ignorant of the man, his history, his upbringing; his good works: Rural electrification for Texas. Medicare, Civil Rights, The Great Society (never really came to fruition, due to Vietnam) and so on.

Once he became ‘The Accidental President’ he took JFK’s dreams and made them reality. Johnson could do that. Why? Because he was the consummate politician—far more effective than Jack Kennedy.

JFK’s dreams were hollow pipes. Johnson made them happen. This is historical fact: For those of you who would care to search it out. For those who don’t really care to do that: Just-Trust-Me on this one, ‘cause I am a Texan, and Texans don’t lie (overmuch).

I have read all of Robert Caro’s books ( on LBJ and I have done my own research, and I have my own memories.

During the Sixty-Four election, my Mom, the original Hippy Chick informed me she was voting for Goldwater.

“Goldwater! Mom! Are you serious?”

“Yes Son. He is right for America.”
“‘Right?!’ Right don’t even come close: just to the right of Attila the Hun.” (Even at that tender age of seven, I was politically astute. Honestly.)

Our country does not produce colorful leaders like LBJ anymore. 

Much of the blame must be placed on the information revolution and the manifestation of the instant sound bite. I am not bemoaning the Information Age. I would not be able to throw my thoughts so carelessly about to the entire world if it were not for this Internet Thing we all embrace.

All I am saying is one must ponder how many potential great leaders are out there, but refuse to step up to the plate simply because they do not wish to have every word they have ever uttered tweeted or twerked or posted or face-booked for all to see. Some things should still be classified as TMI. That is just good manners.

What if JFK had had the internet to deal with? We would all have known of his affair with MM. WWBS? What would Bill ‘Oh Really’ Say? We would have been ass-deep in the Cuban Missile Crisis, but Fox and CNN and even MSNBC would have burned more video on JFK’s infidelity. Castro would have loved it. Just sayin’…

My Step-sister worked for Oliver Stone on the film JFK. She was one of the on-set-dressers. We got into a heated argument over the whole conspiracy thing. She was convinced that LBJ was behind it all. I know quite a lot about LBJ as I have mentioned. I have done my research and I love Texas history.

Anyway I asked her upon what she based her unwavering belief.

She said, “That photograph of Johnson taking the oath of office on Air Force One in Dallas.”

Smug Ladybird?

Smug? Ladybird? (Just behind his right hand, in case y’all don’t recognize her) Of course, that is Jackie on the other side.

“You’re shitting me,” I said.

“Look at that photo and see how smug Ladybird looks in it. You just know then and there, she knew the whole thing.”

“I think I need a drink,” was all I could muster by way of response.

(Oh! And my step-mother worked for Jack Ruby: I know some shit about it)

Just sayin’…

I am not writing here as an apologist for LBJ. My focus is on the wonderful Texan caricature character he was. His humor, his down-to-earth’ed-ness, his vibrant lust for life, his convictions, and his larger-than-worldly-life persona: His ‘Texan-ness’.

Therein lies the rub for me. Johnson could be a buffoon. He could be portrayed as an idiot. He could be rude, crude, and socially unacceptable. He would be chastised and eventually ostracized.

But he got shit done!

He was a great, moral, honorable man.

No one will ever convince me otherwise (but you are certainly welcome to try)

Watch and listen to the Video Clip. It proves my point (and it is hysterical). These tapes were released a few years back. I have them all.

Priceless they are (His Family Jewels)

Comments would be appreciated here, no matter which direction you lean.


I just throw this in, ’cause it is my blog and I like it.


Sensitive/Not Sensitive! My Muse has Left Me. For Permanent!. She Is Returning to Olongapo City, Or Wherever-The-Fu*k She Originated ‘From’—Good Riddance!

She was always a pain in the ass anyhow.

“Bon Voyage Bitch.”

I’m fucking sensitive



(And I’d like to remain that way)

So if you are not ‘on-board’ with that, get the fuck outta my life.

Because I will wreck your train.

I will derail your ‘Vain Train.’

(I certainly have ‘derailed’ mine.)

I am a fucking “professional” at derailing trains.

Also pretty well-versed in Train-Wrecks

I will sink your fucking shit (and your ship).

I will burst yer bubble.

I will destroy your expectations and any aspirations you may have had for me.

I would not give you a dime.

But I would give you the shirt off my back.

Because I care.

About humans.

And my character flaw

Is that I am generous.

To a fault.


But In short:

I am an asshole.

(And I’d like to stay that way)

The only one forced to live with Lance is Lance.

(And of Course MS Muse)

And she ain’t  too fucking happy with her Indentured Servitude And she finally has had enuff.

But fuck her!

I paid her!


I fed her.


Never ‘bedded’ her.

(Wanted to)

I missed her before she even got into her car.

“I have done a curs’d thing.”

I don’t need to hit you over the head by dropping in the lyrics.

Pretty certain if you are HERE you appreciate SMART.

And if not.

Get the fuck off my page.

Go look for something mundane.

And have a nice fucking day.

Oh! and please be careful with me:

I’m sensitive and I’d like to stay that way.

“She Was My Better Half–Story Of My Life!



Added Value:

Thought I’d re-post this for all my Brit Friends Out There: “Now I know why London Bridge Fell Down”

This Be My Best Friend Forever

When I was working in Basra, my gig allowed two weeks R&R every two months or so. Sounds like a deal, eh? Well, yes it was. Be aware however, we worked seven days a week, ten hours a day. NO days off. So do the math; we earned it. And of course we were getting shelled and rocketed and mortared regularly.

Anyhow, I had a stateside girlfriend back then. Actually more friend than girl. Rather platonic relationship, but we were ‘Buds’ and I loved her dearly. (Still do) And we went way back.

It was agreed by us both, that once I went to Iraq, we would spend our (my) R&R’s together. I flew her to Barcelona, Athens, Italy, and finally London. (She made all the arrangements. All I had to do was show up) Too easy for me.

Mid 2006 we met in London. I was ‘cacked out’ (Lenny Bruce vernacular). Worn out. Plumb tuckered. Tired. Damn tired. Spent.

R&R London

She was, of course not. Now mind you, this woman had been all over Europe already. London, Paris, Madrid, Rome, Berlin, Athens… well, she was rich. Catch my drift? I had seen quite a lot of Europe my own damn self. Did not hold much magic for me.

All I really wanted was some ‘down time.’

Bless her heart (and this speaks volumes of our great friendship), she let me do what I wanted; which basically meant I could sit in the flat she had arranged for us in downtown London and drink Beefeater while watching movies and smoking Marlboro’s and ranting at the current state of affairs in Iraq.

After a few days, she did manage to get me out of the flat for a walk-about. We went to Buckingham Palace (one day shot there)

We went to the British Museum; saw the Rosetta stone. Another day gone.

“Lance that’s the Rosetta Stone.”

“Yep, that’s cool. What’s it say?”

“It says, ‘Shut up Lance’”

Had some fish ‘n’ chips (I preferred Long John Silvers, but that is just what an asshole I am)

Rode the Tube. (I prefer Le Metro in Paris, but what the hell)

And various other exhausting  exhilarating  excursions.

“About three days before we were to part: me back to The Sandbox; she back to Texas, she asked me, “Lance, isn’t there any place in London you would like to see?”

“Yeah, as a matter of fact, there is. I wanna go down to Marble Arch Station.”

“Whaaat?” she said.

“Yeah. Marble Arch Station.”

West End of London, England, United Kingdom

“That is a Tube Station.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Why on Earth…”

“Because it belongs to Gary P. Nunn and Jerry Jeff Walker. And Texas.”

(Best Original Audio from ¡Viva Terlingua!)

London Homesick Blues

She acquiesced and off we went. Got there and I had a salutary beer to J.J. Walker and Gary P. Nunn. Then I was happy and pronounced my R&R a successful bit of Rest and Relaxation.

Best Video From “Lost Gonzo Band (with Gary P. Nunn)”


“Well I decided that

I’d get my cowboy hat

And go down to Marble Arch Station…”

Went back to the flat and had a few gin and tonics and lived happily ever after.

“R&R” means that: Rest and Relax and do whatever the hell you want. London could wait… until I came back the next time.

Good God!

I MISS Texas!

Bang! Bang! I’m Gonna Shoot You Down! Bang Bang! You’ll Hit The Ground. Bang Bang WordPress. Go Fuck Yer-Sejf! Y’all Find Me Stupid? Are You Fuckin’ Serious?

Bang! Bang!

WP Bleed Out


Watch Me Laugh!

In Your Face

As You Die.

Fuck U Word-Presh And That Horse You Rode In On!

Saddle-Up Ass-Holes–And Strap In Tight!

‘Cause I’m A-Gonna Shoot You Tonight!

And STOP Censoring Me!


Don’t Make Me Come To Your Town.

I Will Run Yu Around…

And Ruin Your Fucking Day!


Writing is a Mother-Fucking Battle-Field!

Join Ze Battle?

With Me?

I Do Not Need’ To Cresit This!

Fuk All Y’all!

I Am Armed and Crazy! I’ll Shoot You On Sight! I’ll Shoot You Down & I Won’t Even Care As I Watch You Bleed All Over The Fucking Sidewalk.

Bang! Bang!

I Shot You Down!

U Hit The Ground!

Bang Bang Asshole!

Here Is Yet Another One From The Recycle Bin: “Threw Back Up Thursday: Kinky”(I Attempted To Edit Text In This, To Make It More Readable, But Once Again, WordPress is Being Stupid!—I Cannot Believe I Pay Four Hundred Quid A Year for The “Premium” Version of This Garbage WP Ap!

“Remember the Alamo” – Johnny Cash


I Never Forgit Nothin’

Cred: Wooty


“Me No Alamo”

Just some silly-ness from my immature Blogging Past.

(I do hope I have ‘matured’ somewhat since April, but I doubt it)

Don’t try to judge me; take some grains of salt.

Just kids havin’ fun.


Now, for all y’all Texans out there in Radio Land, this Man needs no introduction:

The Once and Future Guv of Texas:

Kinky Friedman and his Texas Jewboys Band:

He’s just an asshole, but dammit! He’s our Asshole an’ we love him.

Fer the res’ of all y’all who were unlucky enuff to not be born’d in This-Great-Land, Way’ll, Please watch an’ enjoy.

An’ lemme say this by way of dis’claimering: Kinky ain’t no race-ist (Hell! He drives a pickup truck, not a Ferrari) agin’ Meskins. He is all over tongue-n-cheek an’ pokes fun at all o’ y’all Texicans. Most even at me.

Kinky Fer President in ‘16!

Feel Me?

I love all y’all (even all y’all Yankees)

Peace Out,

Y’all’s Lance-ikin

“Aren’t you scared the Lord will hit you with a light-en-ing bolt?”

“I figger if he did, He’d know what He was doin’. I’d just ride it wherever it took me.”

–Dave Gardner

(“Me no Alamo”)


“According to Texas legend, in 1836, when Sam Houston, master of the strategic retreat,


The Raven

and the Texan Army finally allowed Santa Anna and the Mexicans to catch up with them, the Texans waded into the sleeping Mexicans at San Jacinto, yelling, “Remember the Alamo! Remember Goliad!” while filleting Mexicans left and right with their bayonets. The panicked Mexicans tried to scramble away, screaming, “Me no Alamo, me no Goliad!” It has come to mean, “Hey, don’t blame me. I didn’t do it.”

“All the stuff I report in this book happened. I didn’t make up any of it.”

“Me no Alamo.”

–Molly Ivins

From her wonderful book: “Molly Ivins Can’t Say That, Can She?”



Read it.

And Weep.

And laugh

Yer Ass Off

Snuff In. Snuff Out. Snuffed On. Snuffed Off.

For the sake of Fact: Copenhagen is not Truly ‘Snuff” Real Snuff Goes Up-The-Nose. Copenhagen is more like Chewing Tobacco. See There? I am a Fountain of Useless Information. Yer Welcome.

Walt Garrison: My All-Time Favorite Dallas Cowboy:

A ‘Must Listen!’ Below.


Sums it all up!

(Thanks to You Chris LeDoux!)

Street Cred for Shared Vid: tjcrnj


I dip snuff. (Copenhagen Regular Cut, for those snuff aficionados out there, who may have inquiring minds)

There! I admitted it!



After so many years of being a self-tormented closet snuffer’er I have finally come out.

I feel better.

Whew! One less load to carry. One less axe to grind. One less ass to bare. One less woman who may have been considering me with a favorable eye…

Well, three out of four favorable results will get you into the Hall of Fame.

In Baseball.

‘Tis a habit I acquired whilst in BUD/s Class 140, circa 1986.

For some uninitiated: That stands for “Basic Underwater Demolition/SEAL training”  SEAL Boot-Camp, if you will: Class 140.

Yup. I was almost a SEAL. Twice. But more on that in a later post. Maybe.


Continue reading

The Eighties Really Didn’t Suck (Overmuch)

Whoever said The Eighties were completely devoid of Culture or Worth?

Oh Yeah, I did.

Upon further (Semi-Sober) reflection, I have come to realize I was sadly mistaken.




Yeah She Gets Two Vids–

If Y’all Know My Heart & Mind, You Know Why

Back To My Future

Eighties My NAVY!

I Love My Navy.

Have I Ever Mentioned This?

Oh, And BTW, Lou Gossett Jr. Is Magnificent in This:

“Officer And A Gentleman”

Marcom the Mountebank

Ralph Anson Marcom, D.O., M.I.M.C.
March 30, 1934 – October 13, 2010
MarcoM the Mountebank has left the building.

I first met Ralph Marcom at a Texas Association of Magicians convention in Abilene, Texas, in 1972. He was a rotund, albeit somewhat taciturn fellow with a Saturnine countenance whose gift for humor and wit and whose intelligence struck me as something quite beyond the pale.

I watched him perform in two different contest shows, one of which was quite serious, the other quite comical. He won the Comedy trophy that year. He was one of only a few performers who won three trophies at T.A.O.M. conventions. In 1971, he won the close-up trophy and in 1973, he repeated his win of the comedy trophy. But I am getting ahead of myself.

Ralph Anson Marcom was born in Levelland, Texas, a small town about 30 miles west of Lubbock. His father was an osteopath, but Ralph expressed no interest at all in going into the family business. Because of a peculiar eye ailment, his doctor prescribed that he spend as much time as possible in dark places, so he chose to do this in the local movie theater. As a result, he became a veritable goldmine of movie trivia. Woe to the would-be trivia expert who challenged Marcom in the field of the cinema!

His heritage was part English, part French and part Gypsy. He grew up next to an Italian family, and as a result spoke English, French, Italian and Rom with equal fluency. He also managed to pick up a bit of German, some Russian and some Arabic as well.

During the Korean War, he served in the Marines, as a drill instructor, and later, as a medic. After the war, he got a job as a radio announcer in El Paso, Texas. He kept this job for several years, and then decided to go into the family business. Soon Ralph Anson Marcom became Ralph A. Marcom, D.O. and he set up shop in Honey Grove, Texas.

Ralph had a penchant for the theater. In the early 1960s, he happened into Douglas Magicland, in Dallas, Texas where the lady behind the counter, Gloria Jacobsen Palmer, caught his eye. In 1968, they married, and he took her away from “all that.”

The Marcom manse in Honey Grove, Texas was legendary for its Addams family-like appearance. The basement contained a dungeon, complete with rack and iron maiden, and the decorations were, shall we say, just a bit out of the ordinary. If one climbed the stairs to the third floor, one would encounter a stuffed orangutan, dressed in morning coat and striped trousers, safely ensconced in a child’s casket.

Marcom authored a number of books, including:
The Magic of MarcoM
MarcoM Presents Magic
Licentious Limericks
This Rough Magic (I & II)(Lectures)
MarcoM Magic: Tricks You Can Do
And The Winner Is…
Rimes Without Reason
A Slim Volume
“…from the table of my memory…”
Lord of Legerdemain

His column, “…from the table of my memory” ran for several years in the Linking Ring. His other awards include the close-up trophy at the Midwest Magic Jubilee, 1974, 1976 and 1977, and at the IBM convention in 1979. He was the SAM Limerick Laureate in 1978. His close associates included the late Frank Caple, the late Van Cleve, the late Logan Pritchett, the late Jay Palmer, Earle Christenberry, Jr. and his wife, Gladys, Bill and Irene Larsen, Joe and Martha Stevens, and a host of other truly memorable performers.

He came out to see me one year at the Texas Renaissance Festival, and immediately recognized this type of venue as one to which he was extremely well-suited. Within a year or so, he was a regular at Scarborough Faire in Waxahachie, Texas, and a performer at the Texas Renaissance Festival, as well.

Ralph was a member of The Society of American Magicians, The International Brotherhood of Magicians, The Texas Association of Magicians and the Magic Circle of London (Member of the Inner Magic Circle, with Gold Star). He was a charter member of the Tyler, Texas Magic Club.

There lay a heart of gold beneath that Saturnine countenance. Often, when performing at Scarborough Faire, he provided free medical attention to those performers and other participants who had no way of actually paying for it.

He did not tolerate fools gladly. One afternoon, the management of Scarborough Faire presented him with a letter from a disgruntled patron who apparently was a member of a group called “Texans Against Ritualistic Abuse.” The letter stated, “We wish to complain about your magician, the one who wears the pentagram — not that nice Merlin fellow, but the other one.”

Marcom was very angry about this; not because they didn’t like the pentagram, but because they couldn’t remember his name! He said, “I say the phrase ‘O Great MarcoM’ at least twenty times during that show! How could they miss that?”

In early 2003, Ralph suffered a massive stroke. Ron Boulden, former entertainment director of Scarborough Faire called me, and told me that Marcom was “out of it.” I called Ralph, and he was completely impossible to understand. I immediately called his daughter, Madelyne, who got Ralph to the hospital in nearby Paris, Texas. From there he was flown to Park Lane Hospital in Dallas, where he remained for almost a month. He gradually recovered.

Unfortunately, in early October, he suffered another stroke, but this time, nobody knew until it was too late. He was taken to the same hospital in Paris, Texas on October 9.

He passed away in the same ICU as his late wife Gloria, who died in 2002. He would have appreciated the fact that he died on October 13.

Ralph Marcom’s survivors include his daughters Madelyne Marcom and Nicolette Palmer, his son Thomas Palmer, Jr. and thousands of friends and fans world-wide.

There will be no funeral services, but a broken wand ceremony will be held some time in 2011.

Bill Palmer, M.I.M.C.

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My Nineteen Eighties Foray Into My Small Attempt At Becoming An Entrepreneur: