“Don’t Shoot Me; I’m Only The Piano Player”

I used to shoot small birds

Yes, back in the day, I pleasured me by shooting to death… sparrows.

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(not pretty, is it?)

Not proud of it. And as Texan-Rightly, not ashamed of it neither. (What we did then, back in the day…)

“Just Texan Kids havin’ fun,” they would say. (‘They’, generally being Grandmothers—maternal grandmothers)

“They looked aside.”

Looking back now, I am ashamed of all the sparrow lives I so easily and callously took.  Tis a small thing in the big scheme of things, yes I Know. But, it bothers me still. As I am certain the memory of dead kittens haunts my ‘maternal’ grandfather over all those ‘Damn-we-got-too-many-cats-he’ah-on-this-place.” (As he shot them to death in front of my young, sensitive, later to become, my mother)

Mental scars

Many.

****

Don’t shoot sparrows

And don’t shoot kittens.

They will haunt you.

For some many years.

I suppose this is the point of this post.

‘Don’t shoot.’ (unless the sparrow is trying to kill you, that is…)

-Lance

Wal*Mart: The End of Western Civilization (And Vegetarians)

Back in the late Nineties my small Texan college town was ‘blessed’ with a new Super Wal*Mart. I don’t really like Wal*Mart, but the grand opening was a “Big Hairy Deal” (not a lot of excitement in my little town). Anyway, I just had to go. Back then I was a vegetarian and was interested to see if Wal*Mart had decent produce and perhaps a bit cheaper than the only other grocery store in town, a Brookshire’s. (I was loyal to Brookhire’s and even had one of those ‘Loyalty Cards’ to prove it, but I was a paycheck-to-paycheck’ kind of dude, you see. So there was that.) Turns out they did have decent produce and cheaper too; so I filled my cart with quite a few fresh fruits and vegetables.

walmart

Got to the checkout and the surly cashier. I knew instantly she was surly when she took a look at my cart and then grimaced. She picked up a zucchini and pointed it at me just as I imagine she would a pistol. “What is This?” she demanded.

“Zucchini,” I said, trying to be polite about it.

(There were no little tags on the veggies back then. The cashiers had a rolodex type thing with photos to help them identify ‘foreign fruits and vegetables’.

She then picked up a… wait for it… turnip. “And what’s this?”

“Turnip.”

She then hefted a cantaloupe and snarled, “And this?”

“Can-ta-lope” I said slowly.

At this point I could literally see the frustration (and anger) building. “Well look Sir, you know I ain’t from around here. I’m from Oklah-homa and I don’t know y’all’s local vegetables,” she announced rather pointedly.

All I could do to keep from falling down on the floor laughing my ass.

True Story.

Gotta love Wal*Mart. (and Oklahoma)

Just Kidding All My Okie Neighbors! (But Y’all know how it is between Texas an’ Oklahoma!)

turnip

Turnip Truck: Just Fell Off.

Energy Crisis Revisit, Or if You Will: “Gas Lines Redux From the Seventies”

Took the LaBomba  (at the behest of my Brit Better Half) today to the Kroger’s Gas Station to fuel her up, and as usual, I was in a hurry.

Texans have become far too urbanized in my humble opinion. But I have spent so much time overseas in places where impatience is a virtue (France comes immediately to mind), that I have lost that “Lovin’ Feelin’”

This was a rather long queue.

I sallied up behind two vehicles, replete with two consumers of fossil fuel.

Thought I:

“This may take just five minutes.”

Au contraire!

The first finished in a timely fashion.

The second…

Well,

He was fueling a Prius. (Is that a car? A real car? Bullshit!)

Said consumer proceeded to ‘fuel’ his little gay car. (Certainly the tank held no more than twelve gallons). This took five minutes.

Then. Then! He proceeded to spend twelve or fourteen minutes, oh so carefully, draining yet another half cup of petrol into the gas tank.

So, I am thinking: “This ain’t ‘The Last Chance Texaco’, Asshole.”

Vid Credit: KOUJI328I

“Get on wid it and get the fuck outta my way!”

It took all the fiber of my being to refrain from getting out of my Gas Guzzler SUV and knock him right on his ass. Right before I asked him if he were an idiot or just plain stupid, or both (At this point there were no less than four vehicles behind us, waiting…)

But I just sat there, fuming (no pun)

You see? I really have mellowed and  matured. (Proud of me?)

Cheers,

Lancers

FeedBack:

Do you ever experience queue Rage?

Do morons piss you off?

Do I piss you off?

Complex Folks

We are all of us, complicated, yet worthy people.

We have our own foibles, our own agendas.

We are worthy.

Honestly, I am fresh out (of agendas)

Yet here I am chastising you for having same.

Or none.

Worth is just a worthless word to me.

I know this now.

This post will self-destruct in ten minutes, as it is just a worthless rant.

And most sincerely, not worth a cup of spit.

Catch Y’all manana.

(That’s Spanish)

I think.

–Lance, Your Worthy Servant.

P.S. I think what my worthless diatribe was trying so eloquently to say… was that I love my fellow writer community. We all have worth. (Well except for that worthless schmuck who don’t like Lenny Bruce… and ya know I am even just kidding on that)

Kinda

Not Really

Never