Why I Won't Cuss Out The President Tonight
by Bucktowndusty
This weekend I did 5 loads of laundry, cut 2 acres of grass, cooked 5 meals, cleaned my bedroom, installed a new toilet, fixed roofing shingles, built a 250-square-foot workroom in my garage, and tilled a 200-square-foot garden plot.
I’m so freakin’ tired from doing all the jobs George W. Bush says Americans refuse to do that I don't have enough energy to mouth the f sound.
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At Juan’s Adobe Cantina
by A. Hamilton
A friend of my older sister used to leave his motorcycle in our back yard for safe keeping while he was at work. One day I got enough nerve to take it for a spin around the neighborhood. I did this 20 or 30 times and never got caught, I was just 14 years old. Thereafter, I dreamed of being a hardened biker covered with road dust driving a motorcycle all the way to Mexico from Washington D.C. where I lived.
Mexico? To me Mexico was a romantic place where outlaws, being pursued by Texas Rangers, would seek sanctuary in an adobe village just across the Rio Grande. Here, at Juan’s Cantina, they drank good tequila through the night listening to the strumming of Spanish guitars, the clicking of castanets and the rhythmic stomping of beautiful women.
I once sough sanctuary in such a small adobe motel in Nuevo Laredo, Mexico, I was in my early twenties and on a three-day pass from the United States Army. I was awakened in the morning by the strumming of a guitar and the singing of a woman. I looked out the small window in the back of the room and saw and old man sitting beneath a tree playing a guitar as a young woman sang while washing motel sheets. Her voice was beautiful and so was she.
Forty five years later I decided to follow my dream, so I packed up my Harley Davidson Low Rider and headed for that small motel in Nuevo Laredo. Sadly, there was no longer the small adobe motel or strumming guitar or beautiful woman singing. Instead, I was warned that this was a dangerous place to visit as were many other areas of Mexico. It seems that all of the hard working, honest Mexicans had gone north seeking the American dream.
Ironically, the existence of the American dream no longer exists, it came to an end when our country was invaded by 20 million illegal aliens. I was cautioned not to say 20 million Mexicans because the invaders also included many other foreign countries. However, during the recent demonstrations, where illegal immigrants demanded citizenship, I did not see any banners written in Arabic.
When the American dream did exist it included the sanctity of a sovereign nation where everyone boasts their pride in being American. When the American dream did exist it did not include driving down the standard of living by working for slave wages. When the American dream did exist it did include seeking sanctuary in an adobe village just across the Rio Grande where, at Juan’s Cantina, one could drink good tequila through the night listening to the strumming of Spanish guitars, the clicking of castanets and the rhythmic stomping of beautiful women.
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