I think this is the Texan slogan because they are bullies. Big fat bullies. Having driven through Texas twice, it is fucking huge. A huge blunderbuss of a State. Looming, slightly ominous, yet East Texas is beautiful and no one’s given me any shit for a beard that borders on being Un-American (maybe it’s offsetting said beard with Boy Scouts Shorts).
Green trees line the 10 Freeway for miles creating rolling hills, in a vast beautiful landscape, yet the truck stops are serviced by ugly smiles filled with crooked teeth surrounded by scruffy beards (but not too long as to mean they may be of terrorist descent). They pass change, they point to the crapper, they sell trinkets covered in Don’t Mess With Texas slogans and those slightly acid washed T-Shirts with pictures of Wolves howling away at the moon on them.
The point, Texas is huge. Who REALLY messes with Texas. It’s like Woody Allen stepping into the cage with Kimbo or Crazy Horse (the fine gentleman who allegedly gave Suge Knight a piece of his own medicine when he knocked his Blood-ass out cold in front of a club).
Back to the trip. I’m still thinking about her and starting to think about some made-up fantasy “her” to ease my mind to sleep. We meet in the airport and I ask her if she wants to share a power plug. I have a power strip, so she agrees and I plug in. We continue to nerd out on our respective laptops, shooting glances until finally we exchange IM names or email addresses. Now THAT’S Modern romance. Actually I never get that far on this road trip. I ask her to share electricty and then I’m asleep to the sounds of thrash metal, wind, and passing cars.
24-hours later & we’re out of a car and in beds here in Boerne, TX:
More tomorrow.
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