Good morning, my people, and welcome to a fifty-six degree, stormy morning from my courtyard. If you think you smell a skunk; no you don’t. Precipitation times, unless it’s poop from an airplane toilet, are when our world is at it’s most beautiful. I can sense the greenery (planted) graciously thanking the mother for her gift, and it’s a beautiful thing…even if no one else hears it.

How in the fresh Hell did my Irish blood land smack-dab in the middle of a place under consistent drought conditions?

First of all…how do you know we’re under drought conditions in North Texas? Texas has ONLY ONE natural lake – Caddo Lake – and it’s basically Louisiana. All lakes in the state of Texas were manmade. We dammed the rivers, the life-blood of the land, dug holes, hoped for the best, then filled it with shirtless Kid Rock wannabes with pedo flags and Bud Light. Are they drinking Bud Light again? I haven’t touched a drop in over four years.

Just because it’s not raining on one particular spot on the map doesn’t mean it’s not pouring somewhere else. Rivers are what brought the relief to everyone, everywhere…and we (nasty humans) went and did what we do. We tried to control it with our feeble, third-world (society-wise in the grand scheme of things) brains, and threw everything out of whack. Over time, society forgot that we’re not in charge of jack-diddely-shit on a universal, or even planetary scale. We’ve failed to respect the veins cutting through our lands, metaphorically cosplaying as the smart kid at the front of the class, and we’re reaping our morning cup of bad news.

We’ve “moved” the rivers to fit our needs (Dallas literally has one that runs beneath it, because we put it there), rather than move our needs closer to what the planet provided. We’ve evolved into a pack of slobbering jackals who show no respect whatsoever to the goddess who allows us to breathe, to laugh, and to love. Rich, wrinkly, demons care not for love, only their narcissistic need for power; all kinds.

I think the Trump’s, Perot’s, the Army Corps of Engineers, Elon Musk, and every other entity atop our world pretending to be some type of backwoods, buck-tooth, Wal-Mart-brand deity, should be forced to walk the river near Camp Mystic barefooted, all while listening to the cries of catastrophically distraught parents who put their faith in the overbearing, yet laughable intelligence of men.

We, as humans, control absolute shit on this planet. It’s all an illusion, and it won’t be long before she’s fed up. It’ll be armageddon’s metaphorical version of hearing your father come home at 5:30pm, slamming the door, and immediately removing his belt, foregoing the traditional, “Honey, I’m home!”

Wow, that was suspiciously and horrifically specific.

If aliens aren’t real, then why have eleven scientists (all of them “keepers of the keys” regarding this closely guarded information) gone missing or died under suspicious circumstances in the last couple of months?

Those in charge know the truth, and continue to give the bird to those who could drop down here at any minute, ending life as we know it. If not in a literal sense, then a mental one. Can you imagine what happens when the whole world finds out their gods were invented as a means of population control? As something to fear in the creators’ absence?

If you’re not privy to the latest news, somewhere between presidential shenanigans, there’s been Congressional hearings on UFO’s, UAP’s and alien lifeforms. It’s actually a couple of Republicans who are driving this beast, and The Pentagon is blocking their every move. Whistleblowers from various military intelligence communities are coming forward. Don’t take my word for it. Watch this recent film.

No, this isn’t Bubba McToughNipple from down in the holler screaming that he saw Elvis on a flying saucer. Marco Rubio is in this film and, even if you think he’s a total jackass, which he is, he’s privy to a lot more underground government nightmares than you or I. That information should be enough to make the opposition strap on their sycophant knee-pads, and begin instinctually-infant suckling noises.

We’re about to find out everything (not at the hands of our own government) whether we want to or not. The majority of humanity no longer believes in the bearded man in the sky blessing every morsel entering our mouths, and that’s the signal for them to return, I hope. We – collectively – can handle it. Most of us have evolved enough mentally to accept the truth and move forward into a new reality.

Those who can’t get with the program will more-than-likely be destroyed humanely, just like wealthy ranchers attempting to chemically pull one more ounce of beef out of the livestock for the HEB dollars, or slaughtered publicly for amusement. I didn’t want to say our amusement, because I didn’t want to speak for the rest of you. I have personal reasons to want to sit in the front row of what’s destined to be a Gallagher-esque showering of congregational butchery.

Preach truths, toke jokes, and shoplift Amazon. Sorry; Seattle-like weather makes me ramble…

Oh, yeah; how did I get here? That was the point of the whole piece. Sex and luck; I have details. Sluck, if you will. Lex, maybe? Some other time, perhaps.