It’s the Potholes, Man! Paid Members Public
The race for Amarillo mayor is getting a little spicier, which is about time. A random, unsolicited, and bizarre text message popped up on my phone yesterday, screaming some lunacy about Jason Herrick’s political commercial, a pothole, and an “Adult Video Gallery parking lot.” Hmm. Salacious stuff and emblematic
Ronnie Jackson to the Rescue Paid Members Public
I recently read about a South African car salesman’s desire to fire 83,000 people from the Department of Veterans Affairs. He has a merry band of youthful apprentices, and together they called themselves “doge.” You might have heard of it. I believe the proper pronunciation is “doggy.” So
Lawyers, Guns, and Money Paid Members Public
I suppose everyone needs a hobby, and my own, apparently, was watching the Amarillo City Council last night as it went full monkey-mode. Let the chimp poop fly! The contentious issue was about lawyers. I’ll simplify things, mainly because the mayor kept convoluting the conversation with his frantic technique
The Nuttiness around Amarillo’s AEDC Paid Members Public
I’m going to regret this. The thing about watching an implosion of our dear local governance is to acknowledge we, the people, elect some of the most incompetent boneheads to sit in front of microphones and talk in circles, all the while forgetting they’re there to do work
Scammers Redux Paid Members Public
One time, as was my hobby, I was on my hands and knees furiously scrubbing the carpet of cat barf. This was in the Old Days where phones were connected by a copper wire and each phone had a companion piece of tech called an “answering machine” (the most direct
I See Scammer People Paid Members Public
Sometimes in the morass of LinkedIn’s self-congratulatory chaos (look - I have a new certificate for Waking Up Three Days in a Row!), a gem appears out of nowhere. I recently received a LinkedIn request from someone who looked like a real legitimate and human person. I get too
Canary Chickens in Coal Mine Baskets Paid Members Public
We rode our squeaky bicycles, which hadn’t seen a drop of oil in a decade. They were beautifully heavy bikes, built as if they should invade Normandy, with their broad handlebars and wiggly seats topped with cracked leather. These were bikes on perpetual loan, borrowed by hotel guest after
The King of Sunrise Paid Members Public
I met a gnome of a man, wizened and perplexed, kneeling next to a twelve foot tall concrete buoy. The buoy had this painted on it: “90 miles to Cuba. Southernmost Point Continental U.S.A.” Behind it, the Atlantic Ocean moved lazily in the wind. “I’m the wizard
