What's the Matter with Texas?

With all due respect to my dear colleague Stephen Colbert, I would like to offer the second part of my fifty part series, “What’s the matter with….” In this case my subject will be Texas. Really, just what the fuck is the matter with that place? I posit that this state has done more to fuck up our country then the other 49 combined. Seriously, that statement is not hyperbole; if anything it is not strong enough. Aside from the fact that about 99% of the music I listen to and my pay checks come from that place, I would be happy to see it slide into the Rio Grande. This is a place that represents everything that sucks about America. It is the largest single pollution producing state in our country and one of the largest polluters in the world. It has an incredible rate of child poverty and incarceration (gee, you think there might be a correlation?). It also helped spawn the great Frankenstein of tort reform, thus assuring that corporations are not responsible for any harm that befalls their unsuspecting customers/prey. Texans seem to despise immigrants although their state would cease to function without their presence. Urban sprawl is the norm and city planning is viewed as a laughable undertaking. Oh, I would be severely remiss if I did not mention the smugness. Listen Texas, your state sucks and it only makes the rest of us hate you more when you act so hoity-toity, capeche? And to ice the proverbial cake, the great republic of Texas has given us two of the worst Presidents ever. Funny enough, in true Texas chutzpah, they chose to be known by their initials; LBJ and GWB.

We all know that GWB is a fuck stick of enormous proportions who has literally fucked up everything he has ever attempted. I am going to leave him alone today, because it’s really not polite to kick someone when they are down, and more than 71% of his fellow Amurkans consider him to be down. That leaves good old Lyndon for now. The man who decided to keep us in Nam rather then allow the statement Jack Kennedy had signed to begin the removal of our 16,000 troops to hold sway. Not only did we have to stay, we also had to bring over an additional 3 million of our finest. Oh, but first we had to devise a better reason to be there. No problem, this devious douchebag had no problem (along w/Robert McNamara) setting up the Gulf of Tonkin incident and voila, a furious public needs revenge. Of course what’s a little gun play in a gulf a world away when you have already managed to murder 17 of your own political rivals back here in the states including your former President (allegedly)?

I know that there is a constant campaign for Texans to secede from the union; I humbly suggest that we beat them to the punch and kick them out. Also Barack if you are reading this, and I know you are please for the love of God do not go to Texas once you are elected.

The End of America

The fall of the American empire is at hand and it is has started in Catoosa, Oklahoma. One might ask; how can anyone from Kansas (not that I’m technically “from” Kansas anyway) make fun of any other place in the continental U.S? Well, dear reader, I’m about to explain that to you. Be patient, a-hole(s)! At first glance, Catoosa is merely a suburb of the booming metropolis of Tulsa. As for why Tulsa has this reputation of some king of undercover cool town, I have yet to figure out. For now, we’ll save Tulsa for another day. Back to the task at hand, the fall of the American empire and Catoosa, Oklahoma; last night I booked a room at a new hotel off of highway 44. Not wanting to stay in the casino, the Holiday Inn Express was my only option in town as far as I could tell and is actually quite nice.

After checking in, I worked for a while in my room (they even have the Internets in Catoosa!) and then felt the need to go out and check out the town, or at least find something to eat. I headed east, past the Wendy’s, Waffle House, Burger King, and someone’s ‘home cooked all you can eat’ buffet in search of something with a little bit of local flavor and hopefully not a franchise operation. East was the wrong way to go. After the Waffle House, there was nothing for 8 miles so I turned around and tried a couple of side streets that I had seen to no avail. I passed back through the two stop lights at the highway exit/town and passed my hotel headed west. As I descended into trailer park hell, I quickly realized that this was not the right direction. Quite hungry at this point, I noticed a lot of traffic at a small strip mall about 500 yards from the hotel. There was a grocery store, Subway, pharmacy, Video Rental Store (they still exist?), Check Cashing place (of course), and some Italian restaurant called Mazzio’s which I have come to find out is a chain as well, but the others are much cleaner and nicer than this establishment.

Reluctantly, I entered the restaurant thinking that it couldn’t be that bad because seemingly 75% of the town was dining there. I walked in and there were two types of people; the morbidly obese and the horrifyingly thin. I didn’t notice race, I didn’t notice sex, I only noticed girth or the lack thereof. That’s a lie, I also noticed an appalling lack of hygiene; both personal and facility wide. A dentist might have also found some work at Mazzio’s this fine evening. I walked to the counter to place my order and stood, un-helped for no less than 7 minutes while all 6 employees scurrying around behind the counter like roaches (real roaches have too much pride to be found in a place like this) did there best to ignore me when they were not yelling at each other. Finally, one brave soul asked if I’d been helped. I assured her I had not and tried to order. She informed me that she did not know how to take an order, but would find someone who could. I gave her high marks more effort and initiative. She must be on the fast track to management status. After finally ordering, I attempted to find a fairly clean place to sit and wait for my food to be prepared. I grabbed a copy of the USA Today sports page and strove to block out everything around me while I digested the baseball stats. Fat chance. The three children playing tag within the restaurant kept banging into my table and their piercing screams were enough to raise my blood pressure 40 points. Of course my 10 minute wait conveniently turned into a 25 minute wait. At some point during those 25 minutes I witnessed a seminal point in American history, the unveiling of the chocolate chip pizza. I knew something was up when the din subsided and was replaced by an anxious murmuring. Sure enough, one of the cooks shouted “Chocolate Chip is up” which was followed by a mad dash to the buffet line. I was left to stare open-mouthed at the chaos and wonder just what the fuck was up with our country.