Willie & Waylon are two wasps I’ve been watching most of the summer. They spend their days flying back and forth a distance of about twenty feet, carrying droplets of water to their nest. I ensure my birdbath stays full.

I know wasps are stinging little bastards, but they also pollinate; same as bees. The difference is that a bee can only sting you once. Wasps can hit you multiple times and remain alive. Some of us got lied to by our Pepaw’s (at no fault of their own).

I want the wasps to be successful in their endeavors. They, like all other creatures on this planet, contribute to life in some fashion. All except humans. We reproduce and destroy; the Agent Smith speech from The Matrix.

It wasn’t always so. Once, The Mother was enough for us. Then, The Crackers came with their fancy-shmancy boats and diseases. Some things never change.

It seemed like most other races of humans settled their disagreements internally over the centuries and white people collectively ran away. Just like Monty Python taught us.

Well, ran away, or committed genocide on its neighbors, which is a cowards form of running away. It’s like standing still, and being a dick.

I know, because I am one, and I’ve run away several times. I’m an enemy of genocide, though. Not sure where I stand on dicks. Good flooring they’d maketh not. I’d never let my toddler build me a cabin with Lincoln Dicks.

I think The Crackers have cracked to the point where no amount of cracking will suffice.  We’ve spread our colorless seed throughout the Earth, and now it’s culminated its various quests for the final showdown.

It’s like the world’s most boring Highlander entry:

From the dawn of time we came,

Complaining loudly, up to the manager.

Living many secret, naughty lives

Struggling to reach 2028.

When the few who still care

Will vote for their last.

No one has ever known everything about everyone in the trailer park…

Until Facebook.

But I digress.

All the richest, buttery-est crackers have landed atop their spot on the game board. Fall approaches, and the wasps are divebombing inanimate objects. Cold brings death to the unprepared, whether that be insect nests or human vaccines.

To think, all these Honkeys have procreated several times throughout their lives. They’re all a bunch of Pepaw’s still trying to spread their old-man logic. Their money and their power makes it so, no matter how many times we try to tell them that you’re not supposed to put butter on minor burns. My grandmother nearly disowned me for coming home from Army medical training with that evolutionary tidbit.

It just doesn’t feel right to call these men/leaders/politicians/presidents/prime ministers/kings “Pepaw”. Pepaw’s are universally loved in this country, and our senior leadership (in either party in any country) doesn’t deserve that moniker.

Preach truths, toke jokes, and shoplift Amazon. WE, THE PEPAW’S.

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“Alfred, let’s go shopping.”

Toby Liberman is nearing the end of his rope. After a fateful confrontation with his wife’s lover, he is chased into the woods only to be discovered by an unidentifiable creature. He is attacked and rendered unconscious. Upon waking at the scene of a gruesome triple homicide, Toby is arrested as the sole suspect and thrown into a jail cell with a strange man that knows way too much about his predicament. The stranger reveals to Toby that he now possesses the curse of the werewolf. Using his new-found strength to flee his captors, Toby begins to discover that things are not what they seem in the sleepy town of Twin Oaks, TX. Now hunted by law enforcement, as well as the town’s gun toting civilians, Toby seeks vengeance against his false accusers and embarks upon a quest to clear his name once and for all.

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