Saturday, May 20, 2017

Incoherent Rambling Can Be Therapeutic!

Is it a crime to be a slow learner? Should it take a decade to realize that the Central Market line is not really an upgrade over regular H.E.B. stuff, that "infused garlic" chicken broth only means they added garlic powder and "range free" tastes like shit, that "gourmet" peanut butter is more labor intensive, necessitating stirring the whole jar before making a p & j?

It's poetic justice that my good-for-nothing nephew is stranded in Las Vegas, betrayed by a 25 dollar microchip, allowing the finance company to locate and repo his Fiat.  He's in over his head in that town anyway, where even the dishwasher at Appleby's is a player with more street smarts than scammer Jared.  "Go-Fund!" your way out  of this one, you little thief, or, better yet, pray to that shiny pebble glued to your wife's forehead for deliverance.

"If yer so smart, how come ya ain't rich?" was one of the first lines Nena and I learned after moving to Arkansas in 1970.  We quickly learned that intelligence and wealth don't always go together as we briefly worked for a wealthy man who tested drugs on the indigent and homeless, those desperate souls who signed medical releases before seeing what the pharmaceuticals did to them.  The ol' boy drove a different car to work every day of the week, but was dumb as a rock..  As "mildly nauseating" as it is to recall, I still remember Maserati Thursday.  But who pays for augmenting breast surgery for their wife AND daughter, goes around town, posing like a rich "John" between two Playboy bunnies? Google his name and up  comes "philanthropist," as if giving away money is all some rich people are good for, even if it's given to support right-wing subversives in South America. 

"The Boy," Diego Lee Rot, on 45th B'day
Please don't tell Nena how much I spent for two stainless steel woks, one for our son, Diego Lee Rot, and the other for me. If I can't drive a Maserati, maybe I can have a good wok.  I sprayed coconut oil on both, let them get hot enough that the oil was smoking, then took them off the flame.  Once cool, I wiped off the excess oil. Seeing the reflection of my ugly face in the pot was proof of successful seasoning. Somehow, it felt good knowing that stir-fries were going on opposite sides of town last night.

Why do I always think every heavy lady pushing a bicycle on a 6th street sidewalk is Rose Gowen?  

"Oh, my gawd!"  Here's a dad and two kids, riding bikes and wearing helmets!  It must be Cyclobia! That WAS Rose!  Nice culottes, commissioner!

I saw four police riding bike on Adams Street downtown, all at least 30 lbs overweight.  Is there some mysterious link between cycling and obesity?

Who cares if one of those soulless cities up valley gets some big box business before Brownsville?  Harlingen has a Bass Pro Shop.  Whoop-de-do! Mission has Mark Sossi.  Good riddance!  All those dusty, hot towns have an unfillable emptiness.  They are not Brownsville!

Speaking our our town, has Tony Martinez made enough money that Brownsville can get a real mayor?  We're all tired of saying; "our mayor is dumber than your mayor!"

1 comment:

  1. Culottes love that old word. Maybe you should run for office Jim! Just a thought



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