The strangest thing just happened. I was in the middle of a private Facebook Messenger conversation with a friend back home. That’s not the strange part. I used the word “aborted” in a sentence, and it deleted the word automatically inside the post. Welcome to 1984.

On a different note, I was wondering how many readers out there think I’m legitimately insane. I post non-stop stupidity most times, but that’s not my whole life. Do you guys really want to hear about the pickup line at my kid’s school or about how that Pit TV show gives me anxiety? Of course you don’t, because that’s what everyone else posts about. You come to me for crazy, and I deliver.

My family life is quite private, to be honest. Very different from my last relationships, mostly because my wife is a different kind of woman. She rarely seeks anyone’s attention besides my own. No more karaoke battles for love, Doctor Jones. This is how couples are supposed to act; not like some kind of online soap opera for the “even lamer people than you” to get their jollies from. I’ve pissed on both sides of this fence, so I don’t get a pass.

Politics don’t count. I scream that stuff as a warning to others.

Im headed down a foggy I-35 at 9:52am on a Thursday. Traffic and visibility are both surprisingly minimal. I’m flashing back to my years as a fine art handler; typing novels and poetry  in the passenger seat of a huge truck while all of America passed me by. It’s a blur.

Ten years later, I’m headed to a South Texas book festival with an invitation to meet with their mayor and like-minded individuals as a guest of the library. 

I know my talents have tendencies to make situations like this read as a “brag”, but it’s not intended. You see, I was destined for none of this. This is my way of journaling my journey for my future generations to see, or for complete strangers to find inspiration. After all, if I can do it, anyone can, and statistically better! 

I’d already been in the military, divorced twice with four kids, and in the middle of my fourth career change when I began to take my writing seriously. It’s been twenty years of small victories and massive failures, yet I carry on. My first grade principal told my mother I was “retarded”.

That said, oh great warden of the 1979 educational arts, I’ve embraced my inner “tard”. It never prevented me from getting  cool jobs or cute chicks. Keeping them was a different story; I’m just saying the mask helped get my foot and various other extensions of my anatomy in the metaphorical door on multiple occassions. Sometimes in the same day!

Hell, I had a stroke in 2013 and was too far gone to even realize it until a doctor informed me in 2024. Because alcohol.

All I’ve ever wanted was to see my name in the credits of a film. That finally happens this summer after a five year pandemic delay. 2020 was supposed to be my jam. Im sure lots can say that with confidence.

If you’re still with me after all this time, thank you. Things are slowing down and becoming more coherent. If life allows, I have a couple of cool things in the works. In the meantime, come see me in Floresville this weekend or buy a book from this site.

We’re stopping at the Buc-ee’s,  baby!

Preach truths, toke jokes, and shoplift Amazon