I May Be Crazy, But Crazy is Better Than Stupid!

All my life, the sheep people have called me crazy.

And to a sheep’s brain, they are right.

I ain’t no sheep.

My ancestor Julius pissed in the Rhine. when crossing a bridge he had built. to the other side so he could go kick Germanic tribesmen asses.
Marking his territory!

The line came through the Norman France countryside where an ancestor, was said to have married a beautiful mysterious lady, but noticed after a while, every time Mass was to be said, the Countess would leave the chapel.

One day he ordered his men to size her when she started to leave.
She flew out a window and. was never seen again.

The line of Warrior poet kings which resulted from this union came to be know as the Devil’s Brood!

Another of my ancestors, got angry with the Archbishop of York, and the Archbishop is recorded to have literally died of fright.

My cousin, the great-great-great— grandson. of Julius, American General George S Patton, stopped to piss in the Rhine on a bridge he had built to get to the other side to kick nazi German ass!
He was marking his territory!

Lets just say, I have never been mistaken for a sheep.
I do things which make sheep say, “he is crazy!”.

Maybe like swimming the Nueces River in flood stage one time, (unintentional).
Jumping in, swimming back across the raging flooded river, (my bed was on that side).

Or climbing the Southwest face of of a hill we called Bull Head Mountain, without ropes, or tools other than my tennis shoes and fingers.

That half way up I was scared shitless looking down at the jagged rocks, realizing I could not get back down alive, unless I finished what I started is of no consequences.

I did not allow my fear to control me.
I sucked it up, climbed the rest of the way, walked down the other side as I could have walked up.

So yeah, to a sheep, that is crazy.

Taking down two hundred feet of Barbed wire fence on cedar post at 70+ miles an hour, getting up, turning the key off in the bike, putting some dangling muscle back in the top of one arm, and start walking the mile or so to the next small town, might be considered crazy by sheep people.

Having enough scars on the sides and top of my head so I if I ever went bald, my head would look like a roadmap of Texas, might qualify me as crazy to the sheep people.

This morning I got a cup of good coffee, went on the front porch escorted by one dog and one cat, listening to the birds wake up, the day start.

Heard a car coming down the street, saw a women, in a SUV, windows rolled up tightly on a beautiful day, wearing a mask over her nose and face, in her car alone, on recycled air!

God I felt sorry for her.

If you are that afraid to die, it is evident you have never lived.

I recall when was a young buck, uncle Sugar sent me to the big Kitty litter box of the Middle East.
As I recall, the most useful my gas mask ever was, was when I used it for pillow at night inside it’s carrier.

I don’t have a mask.

I recall one night, couple of our guys were running fork lifts loading the semi tractor traitor rigs with bombs coming off of the Navy Merchant Marine ships manned by Civilians.

My truck is sitting on the pier about half loaded when the scud alert goes off.

Everyone goes ape shit!
Battle stations are being called on the ships, red lights turned on, white lights off.

I was required by orders at this stage to put on my gas mask.
I did so, walked to the head of the pier where a couple of locals who had a small store there were laughing at me because I had a mask on.

I bought a pack of cigarettes from them as the all clear sounded.

Took my mask off, walked back to my truck, looked around for the fork lift operators.
Had a long night ahead of me and need to get started on my run.

After a while the two operator showed up.
Asked em where the hell ya been!

They answered:
“One one of those ships”.


So we would be safe!

Me, Gently taking one fool under each arm, I faced them looking down the length of the pier.

What the hell do you see stacked all up and down this pier?


What the hell do you see on the decks of those ships?


What the hell do you see on my truck which is only half loaded so I can not start my run?


If that damn thing had of hit anywhere around here the only thing you could do if you were damn fast like a rabbit, is to put your head between your legs and kiss your ass goodbye!

Now get my truck loaded!

I still have an ID, but it says Civilian.
Civilians don’t have to do stupid things dumb ass holes say you have to do, for reasons which are beyond their sheep brains of understanding.

When I was still in grade school, it had come to me, it was better to be a dead Lion than a live mouse.

Mexican Revolutionary General Emilio Zapata said it another way:
“I would rather die on my feet, than live on my knees!”.

Some sheep exist past the 100 year mark, and die, having never lived.

Picking a fight with a thunder storm now and then keeps one in shape.
Charging into trees may not be the best thing for you, it however teaches you the fine art of falling smartly without injuring ones self excessively.

When I was in the navy, some guys would ask me why I did not have any tattoos?

Would tell them, you get those because it makes you feel unique, no one else, anywhere in the world, looks quite like you do with your tattoos.

Then I would tell them, you have seem my scars.
You think there is anyone, anywhere else in the world, has a set of them all over the front of them, from mangled broken big toes to scarred tip top of my head?

I got my Tattoos picking fights with thunderstorms and charging into fence post and barbed wire at very fast speed.

Course, I have filled in around the original collection through the years.

Other motorcycle wreaks, car wreaks, chainsaws, fan blades, and that scar between the small and second fingers on the right hand.
He died some years back of cancer, but ole Bill as I recall, had these buck teeth.

Come on people, it is a damn respiratory illness, just like every damn year, some weak and already sick will die, like every damn year.

And that mask, wall of hoarded toilet paper, bottled water will not stop the angel of Death yanking your ass out of that cowering trembling body if it is your time!


Live a little before you die!

The ole Dog!