I Miss Memphis! I Am Such a MORON! Just For Fun Re-Run: Escape From Memphis–Chapter Ten: Psychiatrist Interrogation, or “Last F*cking Chance For Romance–Asshole!”

Attractive Young Psychiatrist Nancy began her questioning in earnest:

“How long have you been drinking?”

“All my life,” I said.

“No, I mean recently.”

“Oh, ‘bout forty days and forty nights.”

(No chuckle; guess she was gonna be all business from this point.)

“Do you feel like hurting yourself? She asked.

“Pretty certain that is what I am doing right now. You ever been on a ‘forty day/night drunk?”

“Have you ever attempted suicide?”

“Of course,” I replied. “Hasn’t everyone?”

“How many times?” She went on.

“Only twice, but they obviously didn’t take.”

“When was this? At what age?”

“First time, I was thirteen. Second time nineteen.”

“And what prompted these two attempts?”

“First time because my football shoes were too tight, excruciatingly so, and this was affecting my performance and my passionate desire to become a High School Football Star.”

“Describe your attempt.”

“I pointed a locked and loaded , hammer back, .45 Caliber pistol at the roof of my mouth for about 5 seconds, finger on the trigger.”

“And the second?’ she asked.

“Oh, that was just over a woman. I would not call that unprecedented in the ‘History of Man.’”

“Describe this attempt please.”

“Well, as I said, it was over being dumped by a woman, a thirty-year old woman and it was also over the fact that I could no longer afford the car payments on my Chevy Monza 2 Plus 2.  So I drank a pint of vodka and at a high rate of speed on a deserted Texas FM Road, turned a hard right and flipped the car. Thrice. I figured I’d kill two birds with one stone, so to speak.”

“Were you abused as a child?”

“Do you mean do I hate my mother?” I asked.

“No. Were you ever abused?”

“My Grandfather shot at me with a deer rifle once, but he had cause because I had just a few moments earlier knocked him off the porch with a pretty good right hook to the jaw.”

“Why did you hit him?”

“He was trying to beat my Grandmother and she asked for help. Granddaddy was a mean drunk.”

“How old were you?” She asked.

“’Bout fourteen and change.”

“Does alcoholism run in your family?”

“Naw, it just kinda strolls. I mean, far as I know, it was just me and Granddaddy.”

“Do you want to stop drinking, Lance?”

“Yes. I don’t fancy dying just yet. I’m not ready.”

“Not ready to die, or not ready to quit drinking?”

“The dying part.”

“So, you’d like help?”


I watched her on the screen as she appeared to be writing a short essay on her note pad. After about  two minutes, she looked up and said,

“OK Lance. I am going to make arrangements to send you to a hospital in Garland. They have better resources to help you than here in Commerce.”

“How long will I be there? I am a busy man, ya know? OK, just kidding, but can you give me an idea?”

“Probably three days or so to get you past the delirium tremens and not sure how many after that. Are you willing to go to this hospital and allow them to help you?”

“I never much cared for Garland, but sure. One problem though, I cannot drive it just now.”

“The Hospital will make arrangements to have you transported, so don’t worry about that. You just try to focus on the treatment they will give you.” She said.

“TRANSPORTED??? “What am I? A truck farm product?”

“Thank you Doc, I will. And, by the way, I am sorry for being a smartass, but I suppose you get that a lot, dealing with drunks and mental cases. I do appreciate your time and your help. Thank you.”

“It’s Okay Lance. I am going to talk to the staff now at your Hospital and begin making the necessary arrangements. Take good care.” She said and then severed the connection.

I got out of bed and returned the IPAD to the Staff Desk and thanked them.

“How’d it go?” One of the staff asked.

“You know, you can’t get Netflix on this thing?”

Unnamed Staff laughed.

Finally! (Love it when I can make someone laugh)

“It went just Jim Dandy, I suppose. Looks like I will be leaving Y’all soon.” I said, and then returned to my little Hospital Cave.

And waited.

To Be Continued…

Chapter One Here  

Chapter Two Here Escape From Memphis–Chapter Two

Chapter Three Here Escape From Memphis—Chapter Three—Shawn.

Chapter Six Here  Escape From Memphis—Chapter Six

Chapter Eight Here  Escape From Memphis Chapter Eight.

Chapter Nine Here  Escape From Memphis–Chapter Nine


Last Chance Texico

Continue reading

The Po-Lice Just Showed Up. (Per My Request) Isn’t That Nice? It Was a ‘Courtesy Call’ If You Will, Will. Well, Shit! Shall I Say, I Pay My Taxes. And Always On-Time.

I Want My Money’s Worth! Public Swirve-Ants!

They WORK For Me!



Jail, It Ain’t Just ‘Fer Breakfast’ Any-More

Is This a Bad Sign?


For U See, I Really Did Not Desire To Shoot My Neighbor in The Head. For Dead.

But I Was Considering it.


Full Story at Eleven


If Yer Lucky

That’s all

“Bad Boys!”

Cred: Who The Fuk Else?

Who The Fuk Even Cares?

Do Not Waste My Dime!




Since I am Whor’d, Bor’d, & Ignored,–Word-Press Is Stupid…

I Am ‘Forced’ To Repost This

(Could Not, For Some Estranged WordPress Reason, Drop it into My Last Post)


Help Me Rhonda


All The ‘Beach Boys’ Were Gay.

Please ask me how many fucks I Give


Such A Womanly Body!

Bilt Like A Brick Shit House

The Commodores-Brick House

Looking at her always took my Breath Away


Took My Breath Away

Cred For Shared Vid: Berli


Uh… WP? Hello? *taps mic* “Hello? WordPress? Anybody Home?

Answer Yer Goddamn Telephone! I Pay You Indian/Pakistani Assholes Four-Hundred Quid Per Year! For What? For Fuckin’ What??

And What do I get for My money?

Just another day older

And deeper in debt!


My Main Man!

Fuck You Word-Press!

I Got No Nada to Show For My Money,

Except My Frustration

State of-Nation!

I Love My Life!

Caint Take That Love Away From Me!

Fuck Off Word-Press!

Why Cannot I Edit This P.O.S?

Fuck You Word-Depress’d! You Ass’holes!

“I Love My Life. I’d Like to Hang Onto it for Just a little While Longer. Heart Attack ACK ACK ACK!” (You oughta know by now…)

Sade is The Most Beautiful Woman-in-My World–Just sayin’!


(“It seems such a waste of time.”)

I really *like* this post. (guess I have no choice)

Some of Y’all may have seen this one coming. 

Some  also may have discerned one salient fact  point of my perception of myself:

‘I think I am bulletproof.’ *insert BUD/s here*

Hell! I have always lived my life that way, embracing that one paralyzed fact. I just know I am such:


“I think, therefore I am… bullet proof.”

(So sorry, René )

Hey! Just walk away Renee:

Vid Credit: hawkmoon03111951

(How many times have I cheated death? *insert Ronnie here*    *insert Minefield Here*    *insert Shark Fishing  here*     *insert Iraq here*

And on and on…


How could anyone get past that and ever even know how fragile even I may be? *insert Shonnie here*

(Smirk) It begs credulity.

Well… I had my Bulletproof Ass handed to me a few days ago.

The consensus around the Camp Fire that is my GF’s workplace (Saint Jude—Lot of smart folks work there—mostly doctors an’ such) is that Lance had ‘experienced’ a minor heart attack. Now ain’t that funny? Ain’t that rich? AAD (“Also a Doctor”—stolen line from Wolfe’s ‘The Right Stuff’Also a doctor. The words the first schmuck said to Chuck Yeager right after he parachuted from one hundred thousand feet and crash landed:

“You look like shit” – misquote, but you get the drift: just look it up and move on…

(I was all gray an’ shit and I had all the symptoms, and my BP was… approaching escape velocity, but… shit! I was just ‘funnin’.)

Ed note: Just received an email from my… doctor… ok, she is not MY doctor, only an old friend. Anyhow, she is a pharm-assist. She says I had a Myocardial infarction. 

“A what?” I had to ask.

“You had a fucking heart attact! Dig it, ASSHOLE?”

“Yeah, I dig. So What?”

And then I invited her to not use profanity on my Blog Page. (she hung up on my dumb ass after that. I cannot imagine why)

My  Grandfather died, at ’55 of a “Myocardial infarction. ” Think I am not scared? Naw! Ain’t.

Ain’t that rich? Been there; done that. No T-Shirt, alas. Nothing to hang on my “I Love Me Wall.”

“He, most likely, has ‘experienced’ a heart attack.” Kinda like I ‘experienced’ ‘Six Flags Amusement Park. Or Four Years in Iraq.  Or a year and a half in Afghanistan, not to mention three years in Sinai, back when nobody had even ever heard of it—now that, dear reader, is sorrow:

“Hey Good –Lookin’, where do you work at?” asked she, The Hot Babe. (The ‘at’ shoulda told me she ‘weren’t’ for me anyhow, but when you’re young, who gives two shits for grammar? I axe you.)

“I work in The Sinai Desert, for the State Department” answered I, lonely guy on R&R, too far from Texas where I did not even need to employ my bullshit.

“Oh… Sorry. I only date guys who work in cool places. Bye!” She said, as she followed on over to the Fraternity Asshole House…(s) Doubtful she found cerebral stimulation there, but what the hell, eh?


Yeah, I ‘experienced’ those too. Those were great… experiences.

Point is, my personal health issues notwithstanding: I am back. (for now)

And am back to comment, torment, regale, impale, exhale, exhalt, vent, rant, recant, apologize, criticize, proffer, pro-offer, disclaim, disdain, mock, muse, love, confuse, confer, confide, and certainly collide.

And all that shit above is denied.


I have this pain… in my… ass. (and me chest)

More later… assuming I get over myself tonight.



P.S. Let us just call this a ‘Stream of Consent’ Or a ‘Babbling Brook of Mind’.

Vote on it: Get back to me.



I almost forgot the best part of this post:

Hit me like a slow bullet



All of you “likers” don’t get the ‘jist’ of the ‘jisters,’ now, do you? I don’t often ask for a lifeline, but…

Honestly now, I feel as if I am living on / my  borrowing time.

(and my bank is broken)

(and if anyone out “There” ever misconstrues that, THAT, as a plead for money, for me, well, fuck, Nay FUCK you!. I was merely communicating my status.

Words Hurt.

I know this now (“Took you long enuff Asshole.”).

I never mean to hurt; I just spew… stuff… outta my mind…

Keep yer ‘symphany.’ And your musical parades for the poor.

Give your money to Palestine… 

Yeah:  “Too Busy Drinking…” 

First Time I Heard This Song, I Was In A Swimmin’ Pool In Plano, Texas, Tryin’ To Figger out How I Was Gonna Survive ‘Drown-Proofin’

(Bastardized Quote.)

That’s the “Lance” we sorta, love.

Rock on, LM!

As long and as has (he?) been long (and boring) as has this post, I will never delete it.

Why? Not?

Because I love Sade.

That is the simple truth, Ruth.

Or perhaps ‘Truth #2’

But then, those of you who know… know.

It’s my page…

 “Love is a gun.”

There is No Weighing Scale That Can…

Weigh the total tonnage of how much this PISSES me off

Crimes against women.

Young, innocent women

I’ll write more on this later right after I go shoot some asshole kid-raper in the head


“You’re not supposed to talk about it”
Paul Joseph Watson

And sorry. I am too lazy to edit out the ad, although the ad is not overly obnoxious

My Head Hurts. My Feet Stink. And I Don’t Love Jesus. Someone, Anyone, Please Save Me. (From Being All Alone!) Yeah, I Know: Pipe Dream

Doncha Wish Your Girlfriend Was A


Like Me?


Oh Hell Yeah I Do!

My Girlfriend Attends Church.

Pretty Sure Y’all Do Not.

Thank God!

(No pun intended)

The Pussycat Dolls

“Ladies Disaster”

Terminally Related: and a Retarded Re-Tread


This Be A Lame-Ass

Pity-Party Post

But I’ll Cry If I Want To

(You Have Been Properly Advised)


Loneliness is a Bitch I Can’t Stand!

Don’t Wanna Live With Her!

Can’t Live Without Her

No Mas!

Gonna Toss Her Out!

But When It Comes Right Down To it:

“We Walk Through This World All Alone”


Fuck You Jimmy Buff[-Aye!

What The Fu*k is WRONG  With Me?

I should be GRATEFUL 

For Just still walkin’ about, breathing air.

Still Standin’ Here

Still Standing, But all alone…

But yes! We’re All of us… All ALONE

Lenny! My Main Man!

All Alone!

Rita Rita R-I-T-Ahhh!!!

I ain’t! Grateful

Why not?

Because I am an asshole!

That’s Why


“Lance! You’re an Asshole!”

“No Shit? Got any more Breaking News?”


I suppose I expected more out of my life than this.


I have coin in my purse.

I gots my health (such as it is)

I have not yet run outta booze

What’s not to be thankful for?

I’ll get back to Y’all on this emotional crisis I am experiencing


And Just Be Thankful for what you’ve got


That’s all!

Bye Now!


On The House

(Yer Welcome!)


Not At All Germane To This Post

But Soon it Will Be

When I Get My Eviction Notice

No Phone, No Pool, No Pets.
I Ain’t Got No Cigarettes


Stupid Fun Fact:

My Best-Ever HG Girlfriend was third cousin to Roger Miller..


But Y’all caint look that up–guess you’ll just havta take my word on it.