The Gonzo Wolf

Texas.

I’ve lived here most of my 52 years.

There’s Texas-sized savings, and Texas-editions, and Texas-tough, and Texas-toast.

It all means dick.

We like to pretend we are all rough and tumble, yeehaw unstoppable cowboys, but most truck owners here are scared to death to get them dirty. Pure white and detailed sitting in a townhouse parking garage.

All the things that made the old west notable are illegal here, except for guns, then it depends on the color of your skin.

Gambling is illegal, weed is semi-illegal, and you can’t buy liquor on Sundays.

In 2026.

The governor is a Trump wannabe white supremacist, our AG is a crook, and my mayor likes to switch horses midstream.

If you vote for Talarico, you’re a racist/misogynist. If you vote for Crockett, you’re ghetto and ignorant. These aren’t my words; they’re the gatekeepers.

After decades in this state and traveling relentlessly, I have no other choice but to come to the conclusion of Texas’ true meaning.

If you think about politics, laws, kinky preachers, and polution, when used as an adjective, “Texas” means bitch-ass.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to do some semi-illegal bitch-ass things and get my day started.

Vote for whoever you feel is the right candidate to fit you as a person, just remember: someone’s partisan shenanigans could make them a soft target on liberation day. Have the rifle accuracy you voted for.

Preach truths, toke jokes, and shoplift Amazon.