Thought I’d Repost This: Hell! It’s Thursday Somewhere.

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
Click Me: This Was My 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.”

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.”

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)”

(Y’all guys need to watch this: a woman gets nekkid at the end…just sayin’)

–Austin, ’74

“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!

“Lance is Crazy”

Lance is insane.

Lance is just drunk

Lance is suffering

Lance has PTSD

Lance has seen some shit

Lance has lived in some shit-holes

Lance will die for our sins

Lance is just… well, ‘Lance’. We must make allowances…

For Lance

‘Cuz we love Lance

************

I have heard this shit all my life.

Here is a clue and a nickel:

I am a happy camper.

(Okay:  You can claim the nickle on your way out)

I love it that some of y’all read my stuff and suffer to visit here.

That, that, That! Is a ‘no-shitter’

‘Till best we meet,

–Lance, (That crazy Texan Asshole From El Paso)

In The Texan, I Caint Make This Shit Up… Beep Beep Beep, Updated for 2017

Watch the vid.

Please

Nuff said

We love You Molly!

“If you could see me now….”

We need you now more than ever Molly.

You Texan Bitch!

“There’ a lot to like there”

Related: Kinky Friedman

Just Who Do You Think You Are?

This below was inspired by a post from a blogger I much admire: Abby of Abby Has Issues fame: writer, published author, blogger, self-described sarcastic (and inspiring–my words) wench.

Thank you Abby

**************

“Who am I?”

This should be a very provocative question for all. Some ancient guy once said, “The unexamined life is not worth living.”

I am rapidly approaching my sixth decade on this earth and have been (painfully) taking stock of all that I could call “My Life.” What good have I accomplished? What are the bad things I have done? How many ‘friends’ do I have? How many bridges have I nuked? (I generally do not ‘burn’ bridges; I have a tendency to shock and awe ‘em—obliterate ‘em) I have put my boots on the ground on every continent except South America. What has this taught me? A lot. Did I always use this knowledge gleaned? Most definitely not.

“Who am I?”

More and more I have come to the stark realization that I must sum me up with one word:

‘Asshole’

I am an asshole. I don’t want to be an asshole, pompous ass, arrogant ass, the smartest ass in the room, (which I obviously am… maybe once in ten or twenty tries 😉 ) I do not want to be any kind of ass, but that is my reality. I have made some friendships during my life which should have lasted forever, but didn’t: Mostly from my neglect. I have had some wonderfully loving relations with women, and actually married four of them. Each one of those relationships should have been a lasting euphoria, but I did not, could not, allow that. Wanderlust always took me away, eventually needing to ‘get outta town’, but with no malice, just gotta go…  ‘This is the part where the cowboy rides away’–find some elusive spot half-way across the globe where I could ‘find’ ME, unencumbered by people who ‘love’ me and think they can help me.

Not sure if I have found me yet. And this is disconcerting, ‘cause I do fear the time for that is growing short. Writing helps, but I continue to struggle with:

“Who am I?”

I still don’t know.

As Abby broached the subject:

“How would you answer the question?”

Run with it, and drop in to read Abby: (and tell her I sent ya–I could use the publicity)

Cheers Y’all and Happy Monday.

Texan Assholes

Or… to put it another way:

“I was sick a’you a long time before that. Ya keep no check on yer appetites… makes you not fit to live with.”

–Melvin Douglas to Paul Newman “Hud.”

 A few of my favorite Texan Movie Clips in Honour of Texas Independence Day.

(Not all are assholes)

Hope you like them.

Please tell me of your favorite Texan – Based Movie. I know I have missed many… Bonnie and Clyde? Others?

Outside the sun is up

And the wind

Blows me like a paper cup

Down the highway

–B.W. Stevenson, Texan

I know there are some poets out there. Run with this one.

My Day with the ‘Analist’

Lance walks into his physic therapist’s office and slumps down.

“Hello” too effusive physiotherapist says. “How are we today?”

“Shitty,” I answer. “But we be chillin’”

“Oh no!!” he says. “We can never feel ‘shitty’, as you say; We are always ‘happy’.”

“Fuck you,” I say.

“Mister Marcom. WE do not talk this way.”

“Fuck you Doc, I talk this way. I am paying you so I can talk this way.”

“OK, why then, are you “shitty” as you call it?”

Leaning back… wondering how long this court – ordered bullshit must go on, I decide to hit him with it:

“I am feeling shitty ‘cause I have written some good shit on my blog and no one is readin’ it.”

“Do go on….”

“Well… there is that one about Southpark

“Yes?”

“Some great shit there.”

“No one reads it?”

“Yeah,” I say; “It is too long.”

“Why is it too long? Do you hate your mother?”  he asked brilliantly.

“Well, it took three days to write. An’…who are you? Do you even know what it is to write?”

“Let us focus on ‘your problem.’ shall we?”

“Doc, let us focus on yers: I don’t wanna be here. I just want folks to read my shit.”

“I cannot help you there, Son.”

“Then what am I paying protection for?”