Guess I Could Never Do Nothin’ Right: Fuch off My Life In Paris, or Dreaming of Paris–France I am So Ashamed of Texan Me! Je parle Francais Yeah, I Almost Married An Actress Named ‘Kim’

almost Married An Actress Na

As An Aside:

Thomas Jefferson spent half his productive life in Paris, FranceJust Sayin’

***

“He Went to Paris:

I Can Still Smell the Darkness or…

Guess I Could Never Do Nothin’ Right.

Or I Just Need a ‘Round Tuit’

Then I Can Get to — It

An Illusive Tuit:

Jerry Jeff Walker –

“Guess I Could Never Do Nothin’ Right”

Or…

“The Lamp is Broken On The Mantel”

My Mind is Blown and… It’s turnin’ away”

If you listen to nothing else—

Please

PLEASE listen to this one

Mark The Words

Yet another one to not read!

Paris!

I Had a

Wondrous, beautiful Texan GF Once–I played her this song–

She was so wondrous beautiful and Innocent Wife Once–I rectified that…

https://texantales.com/wp-admin/post.php?post=91402&action=edit

She Cried–That was, ostensibly the end of the end of our much cultivated romance. Yeah! I fucked up! Letting her go!

This is An Incredibly Sad Song Please do NOT Watch It

Willy William feat. Cris Cab – Paris 

paris.jpg

And he went to England; played the piano, married an actress named “Kim:”…  She was a good wife… ‘I’ loved her.

This is a continuation, albeit a flashback, to my story of Janet and Random Memories from The Middle East.

Months before the events inked here, here, here, and here, I found myself in Paris (actually two Paris’s—One Texan—One French). Confus’d yet? Stand by: it grows worse(r)

Let’s back up a mite (mites are hard to back up by the way, militarily that is: damn small and damn slippery, them mites… and they tend to mite-bite one, usually on one’s ass)

We call that “Green on Blue” and if you are following the recent news cycle, you will surely know that, that is inappropriate. But that is just how I roll.

Screw Afghanistan and their pretended bullshit “We gonna take over security of our country…” Won’t happen. Will NOT Happen.

But after ten plus years there (and some several months there by me, after Iraq–got ‘liberated’–now there is yet another joke. I can speak to the idiocy that is ‘our’ foreign fallacy.

I was in Sinai, 1978 and I received a letter from my step-sis. This was not unusual back in those days, as we were still ‘speaking’. She sent me a rather long and boring letter regarding Honey Grove and all the ‘Happenings’ thereabouts. The letter was indeed ‘boring’ until I got to her ‘PS’. It read and I quote (loosely), “By the way, R is marrying J. Jesus-Beezus!”

This was, to me, devastation by way of bad.

Unspeakable news!

‘How could she?! She was MINE. Mine to mine and to have and to hold… just as soon as I finished with my wanderlust. How dare she?!” How DARE she?!

What to do?

Well, I had some R&R time ‘on the books’ so I hopped on a freighter (airplane), and flew back to Texas, ostensibly to break up the marriage, just like Dustin Hoffman in The Graduate. Problem was, was that I screwed up the dates and the logistics, and arrived not in time to bust up the wedding, but just in time to see the happy couple speeding off fast to Waco and their honeymoon.

Shit!

Never having been more depressed at missing a rendezvous, what to do? Rebound Son! Rebound!

So, I sought out Janet. Let’s call it a ‘bank shot rebound.’ I knew she was working at the Hopkins Lamar (See? To this day, I never know which county I am in)  County Courthouse as a probation officer, so I timed (this time, my timing was spot on) my entrance during her lunch break: Intercepted her coming down the stairs of the courthouse.

“Hey Janet!”

“Lance?”

“C’est moi! How’s Trix?”

“You are supposed to be in Egypt,” she said.

“I escaped,” I said. “Wanna have lunch?”

“Uh… Sure. Why not?” (Why not indeed)

We went to lunch. Then she took the rest of the day. We went to her apartment and drank gin. Later that eve, after I had regaled her with fantastical tales of the Middle of the East, she took a drag from her Virginia Slim and asked, “So are you gonna f*#k me tonight, or what?”

I said, “No Ma’am; I am gonna make love to you—something I should have done five years ago.”

So we did—I did—make love to her.

The problem now became that I had a plane to catch to that other Paris: that one in France. The other part of the problem was that my plane was waiting in Houston. I was about five hours at seventy miles per hour away from my Air France plane at Houston Intercontinental. I had to go. Now.

I hit the road to Houston, not really wanting to go, but I had promised my buddy Bart, Black Bart, that I would meet him in Paris on such and such a day. Naturally, I ended up missing my flight and arrived Paree a day late. On the taxi ride from Charles de Gaulle airport we drove under a bridge and the taxi car lost its windshield to a lone rifle shot. (my theory) “Terrorist?” I asked the cabby? (en français).

“Merde!” Was all he said, as he dodged the flying glass. I did not care anyhow, but this rather happenstance occurrence did not bode well for my first day in Gay Paree.

“There’s my hotel!” I exclaimed as he had managed to (somehow) keep driving.

I paid him off, got out of his now mangled, windshield-less cab and made my way into the cheap hotel lobby. Went up to my room, dropped my shit; then went looking for my buddy. Found him at last sitting on his rack, rather sullen in mood. I checked out his room. It had a wonderful view of the Eiffel Tower.

“So Bart,” I asked finally, “What have you done here in The City of Light for twenty-four hours?”

“You see that tower there?” he asked, pointing to the window.

“Yep,” I said. “That would be the Eiffel Tower.”

“Well, since you didn’t show, I went out on my own… and hey! Ya know what, they don’t speak English here? I went out on my own. (You mentioned that) Walked over to that tower, looked up at it—kicked it—and said to myself, ‘Yep. That there Bartamus, that there is the Eiffel Tower.

Then I came back here and took a nap. And would you please tell that France Maid that I do not want no f*#kin’ breakfast? She wakes me up in the f*#king morning with her biscuits (‘croissants’ Asshole) and lousy coffee.”

“Sure Bart,” I said. “I will post a note, en français on yer door.”

“You speak France?”

“Oui.”

“Well Hot Damn then! You be Bogey. I’ll be Bacall.” (of course)

“I weren’t able to bust up the wedding.”

“What?”

“The Wedding.”

“Oh you mean between R and J?”

“Yep. That one, you moron.”

“Yer better off,” he said.

“OK. Then why am I so depressed?”

“Dunno. Did you have any other adventures while you were back In-The-World?”

“Matter of fact, I did. I hooked up with Janet.”

“Bullshit.”

“Nope. No bullshit. Why I missed my flight, in fact.”

“Well, I was just about pissed off at you, but now I unnerstand.”

“Thanks for that,” I said.

“Hey!” he said. “Let’s smoke a bowl and you can tell me all about it while we go and kick this town in the ass.”

“Light her up,” I said. We smoked and drank and then off we went stoned and semi-drunk and in Paris (France) Just two more ugly Americans (Texans)

Now Y’all…

I hesitated while choosing the vid to represent this post. Then I swerved onto this one below. It is somewhat depressing, yeah. But, but… This is how I see my life ending up. I hope you will take the time to watch, listen, and comment.

HE Went To Paris:

Vid Credit: 

John1948SevenA

Cheers,

Lance

To Be Continued… Hopefully.

“Losing his hearing, but he don’t care what most people say.”

“Lately I been thinkin’ I just might quit drinkin’...

“I feel like Hank Williams tonight”

Cred: JJ Walker

tex flag

Self-Critique. I Have Noticed, Of Late, A Pattern, A Rather Disturbing Pattern, Developing In My Brain, –A Disturbing One. “Writing Writing Writing! Raw-Hide!”

RAW!

Hide!

Run & HIDE!

When I Re-Post An Old Post, I Always Begin By Saying,

“This Is A ‘Re-Post’”

Christ-On-A Cracker Lance!

Is THIS Necessary?

Survey Says

“NO To The Hell NO!”

I mean if you’ve seen it, you already know.

If you have not seen it.

Yay!

It is Brand-New to you

***

I Am Gonna Change My Ways. This is My Promise. Hold Me To It—Call Me Out If I Waiver. I have already fallen off-that other-wagon.

I am bruised, but still not broken

Still Alive and I’ll Survive

Bloggin’ Bloggin’ Bloggin’

RawHide!

Yeah. That’s A Young Clint Eastwood

Good Eye If You Noticed.

If Not, I’ll Think About Forgiving You.

Maybe

Don’t Try To Understand Him

Just Tie & Rope & Brand Him

Hahaha!

Good Luck With That Effort

Catch Y’alls Later From The Bottom Of My Rabbit Hole

(Please Drop Down Some Booze From Time to Time)

Thanking Y’all In Advance

And Please, No ‘Top-Shelf Liquor.

Don’t Waste Your Money.

Mid-Shelf Will Suffice.

Thank You

I Should NOT Re-Post This! But Special Thanks Goes Out To My Erstwhile Girl-Frin’, Marla, Who NOW Hates & Despises Me! “But I’ve Had A Good Life All The Way.” Okay?!

Was Privileged Enough

To See The World

Served My Country With Honour.

Proud Of That!

***

“He Went To Paris”

Jimmy Buff-Yay!

Why Does This Always Happen To Me?–

Over With Women I Profess’d To Love.

Short Answer:

“Lance, You’re An Asshole!”

***

I Must Re-Post This! For Her.

Simply For Her.

For No One Else.

****

“He Went to Paris

I can smell the Darkness.

Yet another One You Should NOT Read.

It is Only Really Meant For Her, Marla.

I Hope She Reads It.

Probably She Won’t.

Yet Another One To Do Not Read!

paris.jpg

And he went to England; played the piano, married an actress named “Kim:”…  She was a good wife… ‘I’ loved her.

This is a continuation, albeit a flashback, to my story of Janet and Random Memories from The Middle East.

Months before the events inked here, here, here, and here, I found myself in Paris (actually two Paris’s—One Texan—One French). Confus’d yet? Stand by: it grows worse(r)

Let’s back up a mite (mites are hard to back up by the way, militarily that is: damn small and damn slippery, them mites… and they tend to mite-bite one, usually on one’s ass)

We call that “Green on Blue” and if you are following the recent news cycle, you will surely know that, that is inappropriate. But that is just how I roll. Screw Afghanistan and their pretended bullshit

“We gonna take over security of our country…” Won’t happen.

But after ten plus years there (and some several months there by me, after Iraq–got ‘liberated’–now there is yet another joke.

I can speak to the idiocy that is ‘our’ foreign fallacy. 

I was in Sinai, 1978 and I received a letter from my step-sis.

This Is A Goddamn Pity-Party…Please Don’t Read. I am Ashamed of Me!!! FTW! “Fuck The World! Back! Fuk it! I still MISS HER SO MUCH! I Miss That Bitch! So MARVELOUS

 

This was not unusual back in those days, as we were still ‘speaking’. She sent me a rather long and boring letter regarding Honey Grove and all the ‘Happenings’ thereabouts. The letter was indeed ‘boring’ until I got to her ‘PS’. It read and I quote (loosely), “By the way, R is marrying J. Jesus-Beezus!”

This was, to me, devastation by way of bad.

Unspeakable news!

‘How could she?! She was MINE. Mine to mine and to have and to hold… just as soon as I finished with my wanderlust. How dare she?!” How DARE she?!

What to do?

Well, I had some R&R time ‘on the books’ so I hopped on a freighter (airplane), and flew back to Texas, ostensibly to break up the marriage, just like Dustin Hoffman in The Graduate. Problem was, was that I screwed up the dates and the logistics, and arrived not in time to bust up the wedding, but just in time to see the happy couple speeding off fast to Waco and their honeymoon.

Shit!

Never having been more depressed at missing a rendezvous, what to do? Rebound Son! Rebound!

So, I sought out Janet. Let’s call it a ‘bank shot rebound.’ I knew she was working at the Hopkins Lamar (See? To this day, I never know which county I am in)  County Courthouse as a probation officer, so I timed (this time, my timing was spot on) my entrance during her lunch break: Intercepted her coming down the stairs of the courthouse.

“Hey Janet!”

“Lance?”

“C’est moi! How’s Trix?”

“You are supposed to be in Egypt,” she said.

“I escaped,” I said. “Wanna have lunch?”

“Uh… Sure. Why not?” (Why not indeed)

We went to lunch. Then she took the rest of the day. We went to her apartment and drank gin. Later that eve, after I had regaled her with fantastical tales of the Middle of the East, she took a drag from her Virginia Slim and asked, “So are you gonna f*#k me tonight, or what?”

I said, “No Ma’am; I am gonna make love to you—something I should have done five years ago.”

So we did—I did—make love to her.

The problem now became that I had a plane to catch to that other Paris: that one in France. The other part of the problem was that my plane was waiting in Houston. I was about five hours at seventy miles per hour away from my Air France plane at Houston Intercontinental. I had to go. Now.

I hit the road to Houston, not really wanting to go, but I had promised my buddy Bart, Black Bart, that I would meet him in Paris on such and such a day. Naturally, I ended up missing my flight and arrived Paree a day late. On the taxi ride from Charles de Gaulle airport we drove under a bridge and the taxi car lost its windshield to a lone rifle shot. (my theory) “Terrorist?” I asked the cabby? (en français).

“Merde!” Was all he said, as he dodged the flying glass. I did not care anyhow, but this rather happenstance occurrence did not bode well for my first day in Gay Paree.

“There’s my hotel!” I exclaimed as he had managed to (somehow) keep driving.

I paid him off, got out of his now mangled, windshield-less cab and made my way into the cheap hotel lobby. Went up to my room, dropped my shit; then went looking for my buddy. Found him at last sitting on his rack, rather sullen in mood. I checked out his room. It had a wonderful view of the Eiffel Tower.

“So Bart,” I asked finally, “What have you done here in The City of Light for twenty-four hours?”

“You see that tower there?” he asked, pointing to the window.

“Yep,” I said. “That would be the Eiffel Tower.”

“Well, since you didn’t show, I went out on my own… and hey! Ya know what, they don’t speak English here? I went out on my own. (You mentioned that) Walked over to that tower, looked up at it—kicked it—and said to myself, ‘Yep. That there Bartamus, that there is the Eiffel Tower. Then I came back here and took a nap. And would you please tell that France Maid that I do not want no f*#kin’ breakfast? She wakes me up in the f*#king morning with her biscuits (‘croissants’ Asshole) and lousy coffee.”

“Sure Bart,” I said. “I will post a note, en français on yer door.”

“You speak France?”

“Oui.”

“Well Hot Damn then! You be Bogey. I’ll be Bacall.” (of course)

“I weren’t able to bust up the wedding.”

“What?”

“The Wedding.”

“Oh you mean between R and J?”

“Yep. That one, you moron.”

“Yer better off,” he said.

“OK. Then why am I so depressed?”

“Dunno. Did you have any other adventures while you were back In-The-World?”

“Matter of fact, I did. I hooked up with Janet.”

“Bullshit.”

“Nope. No bullshit. Why I missed my flight, in fact.”

“Well, I was just about pissed off at you, but now I unnerstand.”

“Thanks for that,” I said.

“Hey!” he said. “Let’s smoke a bowl and you can tell me all about it while we go and kick this town in the ass.”

“Light her up,” I said. We smoked and drank and then off we went stoned and semi-drunk and in Paris (France) Just two more ugly Americans (Texans)

Now Y’all…

I hesitated while choosing the vid to represent this post. Then I swerved onto this one below. It is somewhat depressing, yeah. But, but… This is how I see my life ending up. I hope you will take the time to watch, listen, and comment.

Vid Credit: 

John1948SevenA

Cheers,

Lance

To Be Continued… Hopefully.

“Losing his hearing, but he don’t care what most people say.”

“Lately I been thinkin’ I just might quit drinkin’…

“I feel like Hank Williams tonight”

JJ Walker

tex flag

“I’m gonna blow this damn candle out. I don’t want nobody coming over to my table. I got nothing to talk to anybody about.” –Joni

I am so sick of people.

(Present company excluded)

I got nothing left to say

Screw it!

Maybe tomorrow

Stand by

But don’t hold your bated breath

****

Beautiful Joni

The Last Time I Saw Richard

“The last time I saw Richard was Detroit in 68
And he told me, “All romantics meet the same fate Some day, cynical and drunk and boring
Someone in some dark cafe”

******

My Head Hurts, My Feet Stink and I don’t Love Jesus – Jimmy Buffett

“If I don’t die by Thursday I’ll be roarin’ Friday night”

Story of My Life

That Old Man and The Sea

He’s Me!

P.S. Richard Shot hiss-self in the Head After He Went to FLA!

Broke My Fucken Heart!

Must Be… A Stream of Consciousness. Honesty-Time: I Always ‘Rapidly Post A Post’–Just to Look at it–Once I Think I Have Found It ‘Done’

Or…

Perhaps Just A Train Wreck?

You Decide!

Cred fer Vid: Charlie Dean Archives

Some Broad, Back In Sand-Dog,

Once Called Me A ‘Train-Wreck–Going Somewhere To Happen’

Now I Know Why

Smart Woman–She Was–Her Name was…

Wait For It…

‘Shonnie’

***

But, I Can NEVER Just Walk On By…

So I Drop This In Here,

Simply ‘Cuz I Just Cannot Find A Proper Place For It:

“The literary device ‘stream of consciousness’ is the continuous flow of thoughts of a person and recorded, thereof, in literature as they occur. In other words, it means to capture a continuous stream of thoughts into words and then scribble them on paper for others to read.”

Credit: https://literarydevices.net/stream-of-consciousness/

News Flash: It Ain’t Never Done!

Not In MY Estimation. Ever’Thang is a Work-In-Progress–

The Reason I Continue to Wake-Up, Most Mornings

So I Go Back and Edit it to Within an Inch of its Natural Life–

Call it ‘A Character Flaw’–if you Must.

Yet…

I AM a GOOD Person

G’Damn It!

Since I cannot think up anything ‘new’ (or old) to write, thought I would just try to bullshit my way through a new post.

Why Not?

Here goes. Hold onto your socks.

Reflecting upon what has ‘happened’ to me over the past month or so…

Mostly bad, but now I see the light at the end of the tunnel

And it ain’t no train.

Thanks Be To Baby Hey Zeus!

Recall that I was evicted from my last apartment:

So What did I do?

Got so drunk and engulfed in self-pity that I drank myself into a stupid stupor.

A Matter of Course, Of course.

Ended up Back in Re-Hab.

Again.

(No worries’ I have ‘Frequent – Flyer Miles’ on the books with them—didn’t cost me a dime.)

While there, was informed that all my worldly possessions had been taken from my ‘Mouse-House’ and cast into Purgatory—I mean ‘Storage’

Everything I own was haphazardly tossed into some storage closet in some dark, dank shit-hole:

All my expensive computers, monitors, precious memory items—basically, my entire life—Unceremoniously and carelessly hurled into oblivion.

Cutting to the chase—me chasing my tale—I was eventually released from the loving arms/secure nest of Glen Oaks and not Un-Like a newly-born bird, managed to ‘fly’ back home, which was now just my Ford Explorer.

****

After much stressful Tribulations & Try-Angle-Accusations, I managed to find me where I reside today: Pecan Tree Apartments, A Six-Unit Complex. I love it. Not only is the Manager Nice to me; she don’t judge me. When I initially filled out the Rental Application, I had to admit I had just been evicted from my last digs.

She said, “We don’t get too worried ‘bout stuff like that. You got money for move-in costs?”

“Yep. Sure do.”

(Thanks to the BEST Girl-Friend in My Known Universe: Roberta)

“Sign here and welcome to the neighborhood.”

‘Marriage’ made in Heaven.

An aside: About a week after I had taken up residence, The Manager and her Co-Manager brought me a micro-wave oven which had been left behind by some former tenant AND also a whole bag of ‘Goodies’—cleaning products, microwave popcorn, dish-towels, et-cetera.

I could not wrap my mind around such human kindness—surely I was dreaming—turns out, I wasn’t. It was all too for real.

Seems I had finally found me a home.

Street Cred: Buffett

***

Oh, You may ask,

 “Lance, where is the ‘Stream O’ Consciousness?’ This post seems too contrived—too Convoluted, too thought out.”

“Relax. It’s coming–The Un-Convoluted Part

To be continued…

I tried real Hard to Make a Magical Mystery Tour Vid of my New Apartment, but I guess I’m too frickin’ STUPID to make that work.

I’m a genius with computers,

‘Made’ This one–By Hand:

but phones fu*k up my mind–I guess I need a ten year old daughter to help me–On my ‘to-do’ list:

Make me a ten-year-old daughter.

What?! Too late, you say?!

Well Shit!

Anyway, for what it’s worth, here are a few photos:

Le Boudoir

The Galley

The ‘Hemingway’ Desk

My Single Bed

“Hey! I wanna Love You–in my Single Bed!”

(Sorry Bob)

Le ‘Room, Wife of Bath’

To Be Continued

Or Not

Probably Not.

On This Blog You Don’t Pay No Money, You don’t Take Your Chances–

Please Note: I Do NOT Take No Dollars From Advertising Pukes–EVER!

Just Wanted to Remind Y’all

Of That

Sorry

TO BE CONTINUED COMPILATION

Street Cred: hawkwyd

And Yes! I Love Everything About Cats!

Ignore This One; It Is A Lame-Ass Re-Run… Guess I Could Never Do Nothin’ Right. Someday I’ll Get A Round to it–Expanding This Post–Soon As I Find A Suitable, Functional, Round-Tuit

An Illusive Tuit:

Round Tuit:

Accurate Depiction Of My Life:

*****

Jerry Jeff Walker –

“Guess I Could Never Do Nothin’ Right”

Or…

“The Lamp is Broken On The Mantel”

Yet another one to not read!

Paris!

Yes!

paris.jpg

And he went to England; played the piano, married an actress named “Kim:”…  She was a good wife… ‘I’ loved her.

This is a continuation, albeit a flashback, to my story of Janet and Random Memories from The Middle East.

Months before the events inked here, here, here, and here, I found myself in Paris (actually two Paris’s—One Texan—One French). Confus’d yet? Stand by: it grows worse(r)

Let’s back up a mite (mites are hard to back up by the way, militarily that is: damn small and damn slippery, them mites… and they tend to mite-bite one, usually on one’s ass)

We call that “Green on Blue” and if you are following the recent news cycle, you will surely know that, that is inappropriate. But that is just how I roll.

Screw Afghanistan and their pretended bullshit “We gonna take over security of our country…” Won’t happen. Will NOT Happen.

But after ten plus years there (and some several months there by me, after Iraq–got ‘liberated’–now there is yet another joke. I can speak to the idiocy that is ‘our’ foreign fallacy.

I was in Sinai, 1978 and I received a letter from my step-sis. This was not unusual back in those days, as we were still ‘speaking’. She sent me a rather long and boring letter regarding Honey Grove and all the ‘Happenings’ thereabouts. The letter was indeed ‘boring’ until I got to her ‘PS’. It read and I quote (loosely), “By the way, R is marrying J. Jesus-Beezus!”

This was, to me, devastation by way of bad.

Unspeakable news!

‘How could she?! She was MINE. Mine to mine and to have and to hold… just as soon as I finished with my wanderlust. How dare she?!” How DARE she?!

What to do?

Well, I had some R&R time ‘on the books’ so I hopped on a freighter (airplane), and flew back to Texas, ostensibly to break up the marriage, just like Dustin Hoffman in The Graduate. Problem was, was that I screwed up the dates and the logistics, and arrived not in time to bust up the wedding, but just in time to see the happy couple speeding off fast to Waco and their honeymoon.

Shit!

Never having been more depressed at missing a rendezvous, what to do? Rebound Son! Rebound!

So, I sought out Janet. Let’s call it a ‘bank shot rebound.’ I knew she was working at the Hopkins Lamar (See? To this day, I never know which county I am in)  County Courthouse as a probation officer, so I timed (this time, my timing was spot on) my entrance during her lunch break: Intercepted her coming down the stairs of the courthouse.

“Hey Janet!”

“Lance?”

“C’est moi! How’s Trix?”

“You are supposed to be in Egypt,” she said.

“I escaped,” I said. “Wanna have lunch?”

“Uh… Sure. Why not?” (Why not indeed)

We went to lunch. Then she took the rest of the day. We went to her apartment and drank gin. Later that eve, after I had regaled her with fantastical tales of the Middle of the East, she took a drag from her Virginia Slim and asked, “So are you gonna f*#k me tonight, or what?”

I said, “No Ma’am; I am gonna make love to you—something I should have done five years ago.”

So we did—I did—make love to her.

The problem now became that I had a plane to catch to that other Paris: that one in France. The other part of the problem was that my plane was waiting in Houston. I was about five hours at seventy miles per hour away from my Air France plane at Houston Intercontinental. I had to go. Now.

I hit the road to Houston, not really wanting to go, but I had promised my buddy Bart, Black Bart, that I would meet him in Paris on such and such a day. Naturally, I ended up missing my flight and arrived Paree a day late. On the taxi ride from Charles de Gaulle airport we drove under a bridge and the taxi car lost its windshield to a lone rifle shot. (my theory) “Terrorist?” I asked the cabby? (en français).

“Merde!” Was all he said, as he dodged the flying glass. I did not care anyhow, but this rather happenstance occurrence did not bode well for my first day in Gay Paree.

“There’s my hotel!” I exclaimed as he had managed to (somehow) keep driving.

I paid him off, got out of his now mangled, windshield-less cab and made my way into the cheap hotel lobby. Went up to my room, dropped my shit; then went looking for my buddy. Found him at last sitting on his rack, rather sullen in mood. I checked out his room. It had a wonderful view of the Eiffel Tower.

“So Bart,” I asked finally, “What have you done here in The City of Light for twenty-four hours?”

“You see that tower there?” he asked, pointing to the window.

“Yep,” I said. “That would be the Eiffel Tower.”

“Well, since you didn’t show, I went out on my own… and hey! Ya know what, they don’t speak English here? I went out on my own. (You mentioned that) Walked over to that tower, looked up at it—kicked it—and said to myself, ‘Yep. That there Bartamus, that there is the Eiffel Tower. Then I came back here and took a nap. And would you please tell that France Maid that I do not want no f*#kin’ breakfast? She wakes me up in the f*#king morning with her biscuits (‘croissants’ Asshole) and lousy coffee.”

“Sure Bart,” I said. “I will post a note, en français on yer door.”

“You speak France?”

“Oui.”

“Well Hot Damn then! You be Bogey. I’ll be Bacall.” (of course)

“I weren’t able to bust up the wedding.”

“What?”

“The Wedding.”

“Oh you mean between R and J?”

“Yep. That one, you moron.”

“Yer better off,” he said.

“OK. Then why am I so depressed?”

“Dunno. Did you have any other adventures while you were back In-The-World?”

“Matter of fact, I did. I hooked up with Janet.”

“Bullshit.”

“Nope. No bullshit. Why I missed my flight, in fact.”

“Well, I was just about pissed off at you, but now I unnerstand.”

“Thanks for that,” I said.

“Hey!” he said. “Let’s smoke a bowl and you can tell me all about it while we go and kick this town in the ass.”

“Light her up,” I said. We smoked and drank and then off we went stoned and semi-drunk and in Paris (France) Just two more ugly Americans (Texans)

Now Y’all…

I hesitated while choosing the vid to represent this post. Then I swerved onto this one below. It is somewhat depressing, yeah. But, but… This is how I see my life ending up. I hope you will take the time to watch, listen, and comment.

Vid Credit: 

John1948SevenA

Cheers,

Lance

To Be Continued… Hopefully.

“Losing his hearing, but he don’t care what most people say.”

“Lately I been thinkin’ I just might quit drinkin’...

“I feel like Hank Williams tonight”

Cred: JJ Walker

tex flag