Don't Go West

First of all, this is no laughing matter. It's always tragic when a mother doesn't have the support or the resources to get the help that she needs and resorts to killing herself or her babies. It got us to pondering though, why this kind of thing seems to happen so much in Texas? Seems like at least once a year some mother is drowning/hanging/driving her kids off a cliff.

In this case, the answer is obvious. This woman lived west of Fort Worth. You should never, ever under any circumstances travel west of Fort Worth. If you happen to find yourself tooling along I-30 and you get to that spot where it turns into 20, do yourself a favor and turn around. Don't bother to exit; U-turn across the median and hightail it out of there. Take out a couple of F150s if you need to, but GET OUT. There's nothing good going on west of Forth Worth. Seriously, Weatherford, Azle, Aledo, Pelican Bay, White Settlement? Do any of these sound like places you'd feel comfortable testifying you'd been to in a court of law? If not, stay the heck out, because the more time you spend west of Fort Worth, the more likely you are to go absolutely monkey butt bananas and kill somebody. Just trust us. (Although we do add that we have family members out in west west Texas, and they're perfectly normal. Just be careful of that no-man's land just to the west of civilization, ai't?)

In point of fact, the whole state of Texas has a crazyfying effect on a person. And although we love it dearly and the families still living there, that's the main reason neither of us live there anymore. It's a strange place full of violence, bigotry and intrigue. We don't have "Texas Pride," nor do we know exactly what that is. Yes, it's home and (nod to Dorthy) there's no place like it, but we don't' feel the need to drape a Texas flag around us like a cape & wander the streets of our new homes telling everyone that we're Texan and that it's too bad they're not. It's also difficult place to be a mother. Can you imagine raising children among gun nuts, NASCAR fans and $30,000 a year millionaires? It's a tough job, and the women who manage it are mostly steely, bleachy broads, fueled by Shiner bock and Oxycontin. And even then their kids only get to be about 16 before they die in a drag race or of a heroin overdose.

So in light of this, Nama and Murgs would like to thank our own sainted mothers for raising us up so dern good in spite of all the terrors that infect Texas. And for giving us the courage and support to get the hell out. Thanks Moms!