The Delicate Art of Compromise

I have come up with a new concept. It’s based on what I consider to be one of the most ingenious inventions of modern man... the dye you put in swimming pools that alerts you when someone has pissed. That dye is a testament to man’s ongoing battle to suppress human bodily functions. I’ve decided to take things up a notch. I am calling for a colorless, odorless gas that can be released in the ventilation system of all public buildings that will change colors (a noxious green or a dank, dark yellow) when somebody farts. This will eliminate the anonymous farting that plagues or society today, as well as the constant arguing and blame shifting it incurs. I think this is a wonderful idea.

Wonderful ideas, unfortunately, are a dime a dozen and are almost never actualized according to plan. I always thought it would be a wonderful idea to double-team a girl with Jesse Miller, until my dick touched his foot. I felt shame in the eyes of God. Jesse said he thought he was trying to kickstart a Harley. This, alas, was long ago in days of our youth. Things have changed for the worse now, and, in the public’s best interest, Jesse and I are on the eve of being “banned” from hanging out with each other for years to come. Granted, we’ve been charged with participating in organized criminal activity, but shit, it’s not like all the activities we participated in were criminal, or even organized for that matter. Throw Marc Ridgway into the ban, and Frunttbutt will officially be outlawed. (Looks like we should have played a couple of more shows together after all, eh guys?)

Another wonderful idea I have seen take fruition involved one of my oldest and dearest friends becoming a police officer. Oh, he looked like a cop, talked like a cop, all of that. There was just one problem; He was then and still is one of the craziest, most dangerous criminals I’ve ever met in my life. We’re going to have to refer to him as Lindsay Buckingham from here on out, given the huge smear he left on law enforcement as a whole. I was living with Mr. Buckingham in an apartment over on Riverside while he was working the beat in a small community outside of Austin. We shared a room together, and our closet symbolized the duality of our relationship. Lindsay would have all of his uniforms hanging up on the rack, and there would just be pounds of weed stacked up on the floor underneath them. Early in the morning, like at about 7 AM, I would finally come slouching in from partying and dealing all night while Lindsay was waking up, getting ready to go on duty. He’d be putting on his uniform for work while I was dropping off dope, getting ready to go to bed. One time, as a joke, I had him come storming into a house to “bust” a guy I was buying weed from. The guy didn’t think it was funny...at all.

Anyway, Mr. Buckingham had the bad habit of going to work on acid. He tells a story of one time when he was working a side job as security at a Tejano Bar over in East Austin. He was there in full uniform with his side arm just tripping his balls off. Well, the first fight breaks out, and Lindsay says he was just sitting there watching the two guys go at it. Apparently one of them had either a blade or a broken bottle, and the other guy had a bola, kind of like the one used by Randall “Tex” Cobb in Raising Arizona. The guy with the bola was swinging it around above his head, and Lindsay was just staring, tripping out on it. According to Lindsay, he had no idea what to do...break it up, jump in, shoot the guys... he was at a complete loss, so he just sat there in awe and let the other bar patrons handle the problem. Soon after that, there was a scream inside the bar, and a Mexican comes running out with his hair on fire. Having seen enough, Lindsay fucking RAN through the parking lot to his car and drove away, leaving the guy to burn.

what youll find inside
Dale Watson Interview
Room 710
Red Eyed Fly
Beth Sams Art
Wendy's WWAD
Lance's Comix
Off the Street
Alamo Drafthouse Cinema
Usual Crew

I vividly remember another time when Mr. Buckingham came in from work on acid after a graveyard shift and rounded Shane Cook and I up to drive to Houston for an Astros game. Drinking beer and popping pills the entire way down there, Lindsay was a gracious enough host to take us on a tour of the little town he was working in, pointing out all of the landmarks and places of interest as we passed. Upon arriving at the Astrodome, Lindsay notices an unmanned concession station. He pulls his badge out and puts it on his shirt pocket like a fucking sheriff, climbs up over the counter, breaks open the freezer, and just starts stealing 32 OZ Miller Lights. During the game, he does a psychic prediction of a Jeff Bagwell homerun, pointing within 5 feet of the exact spot where the ball ended up landing. I like to think this was a side effect of the acid.

To wrap things up, on our way out of the parking lot after the game, we were stuck in the usual traffic jam that follows a sporting event. Mr. Buckingham gets a bit impatient, and lays on his horn, even though everyone is grid locked. Lindsay’s horn is just blaring down on this guy parked in front of us. The guy had at least four kids with him, and he throws his hands up in the air like; what do you want me to do? Somehow, this pisses Lindsay off, and out comes the badge again. Lindsay gets out of the car and I swear to God tries to arrest this guy. Shane and I were watching from the truck, horrified. I mean, what the hell was Lindsay going to do with the man, take him home with us? What about his kids? Everyone can take solace in the fact that Mr. Buckingham is no longer practicing law enforcement, at least not in an official capacity. He is in Moscow, Russia as we speak, picking out an Internet bride.

I’d like to talk to you about Vincent Young, the backup quarterback for the Texas Longhorns. First, I want to make it clear that I’m the last person on earth who would use a handful of snaps during junk time at the end of a blowout to evaluate a quarterbacks’ talent and potential. Secondly, I will admit to you that I was mistakenly overeager to see Chris Simms replace Major Applewhite during Major’s senior season, so I’m hesitant make that mistake again. This all being said, my feelings on Vincent Young are as follows:

I always knew that Jesus would come back someday; I just didn’t think he would be black. Again. Vincent Young is The Messiah. He is The Son of God, sent here to lead us all to salvation. Any student of the scriptures knows that it has been foretold that there would be a False Messiah (The Beast, Chris Simms) on Earth preceding the return of The One True King. The same holds true for Longhorn Football. Allow me to explain further.

Major Applewhite was The Lamb of God, Christ, in his original, human form. He suffered, died and was buried for our sins. He was crucified under Mack Brown and Greg Davis. We were fooled by The Beast, and have been damned ever since. The Reign of The Beast has come to an end, and Christ has returned to judge the living and the dead.

Be the warned, Longhorn Fan, that the ways of The Beast are very deceptive. Having been fooled by the anti-Christ once, Mack Brown and Greg Davis will be overly hesitant to accept the New Messiah. They are saddled with the troublesome burden of having to bench Chance Mock, who patiently awaited his Day of Glory while Good and Evil battled for possession of the Longhorns over the last five years.

Translation: Chris Simms is still fucking The Longhorns, even after he graduated and went to The NFL. Yes, I enjoyed Simms’ performances against weaker opponents, and the gaudy career numbers impress me, but whenever shit really mattered, Chris Simms’ promises were shown to be empty, like all of Satan’s lies. I am currently working on a biography focusing on Chris Simms’ performances in “Big Games” entitled Tits Up: The Chris Simms Story.

Ok, I’m being too hard on Chris Simms. I think he will be good in the pros and could have been better here. I’m sorry; I was not being a very supportive fan. Allow me to shift my blame and second-guessing over onto the coaches. Greg Davis, The Longhorn’s Offensive Coordinator, is a Eunuch. I wouldn’t be surprised to find his shriveled, severed cock in a saddlebag. I’m going to start to refer to him as Rasputin, The Mad Monk. Mack Brown has been a wonderful recruiter, and, despite being ritualistically out coached by anyone better than him with an even halfway decent team, he remains in my favor for the time being. At the same time, he must be held accountable for allowing Greg Davis’ offense to sterilize even the most virile and robust of his yearly recruiting crops.

To put things in more concrete terms, Vincent Young’s elusiveness and running ability mixed with the two-back set (Cedric Benson and Selvin Young) that The Longhorns were planning to feature this year anyway, would be unstoppable to all but the staunchest of defenses. Then, oh, by the way, Young will have the option of throwing to the most talented receiving corps assembled in College Football in years; far and away the most talented that Texas has ever fielded. (I must interject at this point and admit that the two back set may not, after all, have been specifically designed for S. Young and Benson. I’m not sure, but that’s how it should be run on any non-passing down.) Being the eternal pessimist, I fear that, due to the negative results and controversy caused by his errant benching of Applewhite in favor of Simms, Mack Brown will wait a game or two too long (like after a loss to Kansas State and/or Oklahoma) to start Vincent Young, and we will be forced to sit back and watch a Chance Mock led offense that should be great, but due to Greg Davis, won’t be.

That being said, I had a great time at the UT/NMSU game, which included such highlights as two interception returns for touchdowns (D. Johnson/M. Huff ), a kick-off AND punt return for a touchdown (both by Selvin Young), and a drunk Mark Davis falling down several flights if stairs prior to being forced to leave the premises.



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