Mud Puddles As Serious Topics Of Conversation 

I’m a Bubba. I don’t apologize for it, either. I’ve read a little, mouthed off a lot, and generally tried to be as big a pain-in-the-ass as humanly possible without actually causing major problems for anyone.  Everyone who knows me keeps me at arm’s length because they’re afraid of being the butt of one of my childish pranks or fear never getting the last word in a conversation with me. Besides, they consider me a few bricks short of a load and I may just do something goofy that might threaten their earthly existence.

I know just enough about math, science, engineering and physics to make a living in a world that holds a deeper appreciation for glib ‘industry jargon’ than deep understanding of any one particular discipline. Nobody in my world likes a know-it-all smartass, and if you’ve been to graduate school, just as soon as you’re out of earshot, that’s what you’ll become. So, not too long into my career, I started hiding the fact that I’d read more than three non-paperback books since I graduated from high school and that if push came to shove, I could actually parrot a little Shakespeare. Believe me, that is a secret that shall go to the grave with me.

Also, I don’t understand why I need to say it, but I know nothing of the gay community. It makes me neither homophobic nor bigoted. First of all, I don’t even understand the word ‘homophobic’ because it implies that I’m afraid of gay people. Nothing could be further from the truth. I just can’t honestly say I’ve ever really known any gay people, at least none who ever made their sexual preference known to me. I understand why they might not be inclined to do so, too, but this doesn’t make me afraid of them any more than it makes me a bigot. What am I supposed to do, put an ad in the paper requesting a few openly gay folks to stop by my house for a little hands-across-the-water or Kumbaya around the campfire? If anything, they’re probably more afraid of me than I ever would be of them, but that’s another issue entirely. Like Jerry Seinfeld, I just don’t want to play for their team… not that there’s anything wrong with that. So, if you’re gay and want to get to know me, just ask. I’m sure you’ll find me just as obnoxious as the rest of the world does. Don’t say you weren’t warned.

Most people think my politics run right of center, too. I just look like a Republican because I’m old and have a job. I’m ashamed to say I look (gulp) conservative. I can’t help it. I wish I looked like the guy who plays the President on The West Wing, whatever his name is. I know he’s Emilio Estevez’s daddy, but I can’t remember his damned name! He combs his hair straight back and looks real dignified, but not stuffy or pretentious like George Bush. Plus, I’m pretty sure he’s not a dufus. He may be gay, though, so I guess I’m secretly afraid of him. Sheen… Martin Sheen, that’s it. I knew it would come to me eventually. Anyway, that’s whom I’d like to look like. I’m pretty sure he doesn’t worship that idiot Rush Limbaugh, too.

Did I mention I’m a tree-hugger? Get used to it, because I’m not going to change. I happen to think that we ought to leave a little wilderness somewhere on our continent for our grandkids to screw up. Now, it looks like Dumass Dubya is going to start drilling in Alaska again so that all our SUV’s will have a little juice for our drive to Armageddon. I think it’s his way of flipping off OPEC. Okay, Ahab, if you want to keep raising prices, I’ll just start producing my own damned oil. If anyone’s gonna rape Americans, it’s gonna be me! In case you haven’t heard, I own several oil companies and I’d just as soon see most of the profits coming back to yours-truly than have them go to a bunch of towelheads, but if you want to play chicken, let’s git-er-done!  I know I mentioned Armageddon above, but I really don’t want to talk about religion. I just wish our Commander-In-Chief didn’t consider himself to be the Messiah. I honestly think he believes that we’re in the last days of some sort of Revelations-based countdown towards the Second Coming. Truthfully, I consider him and his minions to be the scariest folks on the planet.

Yea, I’m a Bubba, complete with warts, four-colored pickup, seventeen rod and reel combinations (all but one setup for channel cat), and enough rude tee-shirts to offend practically everyone on the planet… but I’m anything but typical. Life is short, get over yourself… we’re all bozos on this bus.