Tex Quotes

Tex (wearing a tux, and not happy about it) boomed from across the room, “Roxanne Giselle Lo… I mean, Nightingale! When are those fuckin’ harpists gonna shut the fuck up and so we can get some rock ‘n’ roll?

Tex shrink-wrapped a dealer’s BMW. Wrapped the whole thing in plastic wrap and then used a portable blow drier on it to tighten the plastic. Word has it, it was several layers deep.

F**k!" he exploded, chocolate and caramel flying out of his mouth. My heart seized. He looked like he was going to have a chocolate-caramel-layer-square-induced heart attack. ... "These are unbe-f**king-lievable. I think I've finally fallen in love, with a f**kin' brownie!

She’s a badass motherf**keress. She’d kick your ass soon as look at you. You’ve clapped your eyes on The Law. Count yourself lucky, sucker. Now, what’ll it f**kin’be?

Tex?” I whispered. “Yeah?” “Enemies or lovers right now?” He sighed and kissed my head. “Both, we’ll always be both.

Some people go, some people stay. I'm staying.

What’s with the B.A. shit?” I asked. “Bad,” Tex pointed at me, “Ass.” Holy crap! I loved that! I was Fortnum’s own Mr. T, except white, female and without the Mohawk.

I ain’t cuffin’ Luke to no bed,” Tex boomed, tearing me away from my intriguing thoughts. “Fuck, I’m not cuffin’ Lee or Vance to a bed, either. Those boys would lose their badass motherfucker minds. I got a girlfriend and fifteen cats. I get tortured and killed, who’s gonna take care of Nancy and my kitties?

The Law and her sidekick, Tex, the Crackpot Coffee Guy were on the job.

Man, I didnt know anything like that was going to happen! Honest, Tex, he was on something. Holy cow! I really kid, I been doing this stuff for a year now and I never saw nobody pull a gun before! God Almighty! What if he hadnt missed!' -- Lem 'He didn't.' -- Tex 'What?' -- Lem 'I said he didn't miss. He shot me and it hurts like hell.' -- Tex

All my life I wanted somebody who knew more than I did to tell me the truth.

Tex's head snapped in my direction. Fuckin' A, woman, you've never had a s'more? he boomed I shook my head. Christ, everyone's gotta have a s'more before they die. Fuck that shit, I'll build a fire in my backyard tonight and I'll stop by Kumar's on the way home to get the stuff. Everyone can come by-

Just a little pointer, Indy, girl to girl, if you want that week with Lee to last into two. He likes it when you go down on him in the morning. He’s a fucking animal in bed but give him a morning BJ, he’ll return the favor and rock your world.” Every muscle in my body froze solid. “What did she just say?” Stevie asked. “She did not just say that in front of me,” Kitty Sue said. “Holy crap,” Dolores said. “Oh… my… gawd,” Tod said. “You fucking bitch,” Ally said. “This is more like it,” Tex said.

Tex glared at the next customer, the unfortunate who'd opened his mouth. "She's a badass motherfuckeress. She'd kick your ass soon as look at you. You've clapped your eyes on The Law. Count yourself lucky, sucker. Now what'll it fuckin' be?

Mace, you never read Smoky the Cowhorse,did you? No. Well,ol' Smoky, he had somebad things happen to him,had the heart knocked clean out of him.But he hung on and came out of it okay.I've been bashed up pretty good,Mason, but I'm going to make it.

You seen the movie Steel Magnolias?” Daisy asked Tex. “Fuck no,” Tex stated the obvious.

Well, you're real brave, real stupid, or real lucky.

Tex looked at Duke “She’s got spunk,” he said. “Where I come from, we call it sass,” Duke replied. “Where I come from, we call it attitude,” Smithie put in. “Oh for the love of God, whatever you call it, are you in or are you out?” Jules clipped.

In the daytime you aren't afraid of anything.

Tex, you look like a serial killer in this picture!” I shouted. “Yeah, so?” Tex answered. I stared. “You think people wouldn’t pay good money to have a serial killer make them coffee?” he boomed.

Excuse me, Tex," the nurse said, hands on hips. 'Would you mind reining in the voice. There are babies being born in this hospital. We wouldn't want the first sound they hear to be your painful howling. There could be lawsuits.

Did you see the picture of Roy Rogers's horse attending a church service in Pasadena? I forgot whether his name was Tex or Trigger but he was dressed fit to kill and looked like he was having a good time. He doubled the usual attendance.

I won’t let you fall, Tex,” he said quietly.

You have a cat and go on vacation, you know who to call. Though, I warn you, I do both dry and wet food. I’m not into doin’ just wet or just dry. They need a treat, but they need to keep their teeth clean. It’s important.” -Tex Rock Chick

I remembered what Jamie had said, that love doesn't solve anything. Maybe. But it helps.

Love ought to be a real simple thing. Animals don't complicate it, but with humans it gets so mixed up it's hard to know what you feel, much less how to say it.

I shook my head and kept my mouth shut. I hoped Tex was long gone and calling 911. I feared that Tex was close and planning Armageddon.

Strong character, high courage, hard work - it seemed that none of these were determining factors in the fates of Tex John's children. They shared a doom against which virtue was no defense.

I'm sorry I was less than you deserve, Tex, but I'm afraid I can't let you walk away from this. You see, it's too good, too rare to give up. I said in the cafeteria you weren't my girlfriend, and you weren't." I paused, watching her face twist with shock again. "You were my everything. Still are, baby. You wanted me to make you feel beautiful, but there's no one half as pretty as you are in the whole goddamn world. Please ..." My voice broke, and I bent the knee, like I'd always planned to. "Don't break my heart so soon after putting it back together." The air was thick in the auditorium as everyone held their breath. I was pretty sure for every second that ticked without her reaction, I lost an entire year of my life. Silver lining: a full minute of that, and I'd drop dead and wouldn't have to witness my own, very open disgrace. Finally, Grace found her voice. "On your feet, St. Claire," she whispered under her breath. "A king doesn't bow to others." I got up and scooped her up, giving people something to look at and talk about for years in this godforsaken town, pressing a dirty kiss to her lips and almost breaking her jaw in the process. "He does for his queen.

She had shaved above the knee, packed her suitcase with her skimpiest lingerie, and the instructions on the Sexy Weekend Fun Box said, “Just Add Texan.” What she had not expected was Hunter putting her on a Tex-free diet.

Girl’s Night Out still on for tonight?” Kitty Sue asked me. “Yep,” I said. “I’ll take some of that action,” Tex said. We all looked at him. “It’s Girl’s Night Out, Tex,” I explained. “So? What? Are there rules?” Tex asked. “Yes. The rule is, it’s a night out, for girls,” I answered. “Woman, you think I’m missin’ another bar fight or quick draw, you’re crazy. I’m comin’ out with you tonight.

What are you going to do about him?”. Gin didn’t have to specify for me to know he was talking about Tex. My heart fluttered, and I absentmindedly rubbed at my chest. “I’m going to drag him home.” Giancarlo’s mouth tilted down in a frown. “He’s a cop.” “He’s the man I love.

I am the devil. Here to do the devil's business.

You have Van Gogh’s ear for tone, Tex.

Walker might be cool with whatever was happening between Judge and Tex and me, but he wasn’t about to become the caboose to our train of love.

documented in a security file was of no concern to him. The fact that a man like Joe Tex could have access to it

You can screw Nevada, Mess with Maine, Leave Hawaii in a puddle of pain. You can beat Virginia till she's down on the floor. But if you fuck with Tex, You'll be on your knees for sure!

I was shifted outside of Eddie’s arm and then engulfed in a hug. I felt Tex’s flannel shirt against my cheek and then I felt his beard press against my forehead. “Fuckin’ A, Loopy Loo,” he said, absolutely no boom to his voice.

There is very little that is natural left in people when they stray from the cities. Day hiking in Gore-Tex with a bag of trail mix and a cell phone in a fanny pack and a bottle of iced chai tea clipped to your belt isn’t actually natural, it’s tourism, or worse, voyeurism.

When Bill Archer (R-Tex.) was chairman of the House Ways and Means Committee, he routinely quoted an informal survey of five hundred international companies located in Europe and Japan. These companies were asked, “What would you do in your long-term planning if the United States eliminated all taxes on capital and labor and taxed only personal consumption?” Eighty percent—that’s four hundred out of five hundred companies—said they would build their next plant in America. The remaining 20 percent—the other hundred companies—said they would relocate their business to America altogether.

I pulled free and turned to face my brother. “Tex is mine.” Gin pushed his fingers through his hair. “You know what they say. If you love something, let it free or some shit like that.” I shook my head. “That is ridiculous. It should be, if you love something, lock it away so that it never escapes.

Bess frowned, bit her lip, and managed to get a noose twirling. Then plop—it dropped over the head of her own horse! Tex gave a piercing whistle. George and Nancy burst into laughter while the “steer” helped blushing Bess to dismount. “Never mind,” said Nancy. “You didn’t want to be a cowboy, anyway!

Mace,' I said struck by a thought, 'did you ever think that all those people in those cars have a whole separate story to them, that it's just as important to them as our stuff is to us, and we don't know anything about it. Maybe sometime we'll run across somebody and two years ago they were driving past us on the highway and we never knew it. Like sometimes we meet people and bump off of them and never see them again and we never know why paths cross.

Giancarlo laughed and it helped dissipate some of the tension that constantly surrounded me as of late. “Right, a mobster and a cop.” More laughter bubbled out of him. “Fuck, you got it bad.” There was no denying that. I loved Tex Caster, and there was a future for us even if I had to clear the way with blood.

Chili is one of those marvelous-simple, elemental, all-important, and fundamental concepts that has been elaborated out of all recognition: rather like justice, or objective reality, or ‘being’ (ens) in Aquinas. Lean closer and I will whisper to you a horrific, soul-shattering secret: there are actually people so lost to any sense of decency that they put beans in chili. (I hope you sent the children of tender years out of the room before we discussed that horror, lest they be warped for life).

Until Perry was five, the team of “Tex & Flo” continued to work the rodeo circuit. As a way of life, it wasn’t “any gallon of ice cream,” Perry once recalled: “Six of us riding in an old truck, sleeping in it, too, sometimes, living off mush and Hershey kisses and condensed milk. Hawks Brand condensed milk it was called, which is what weakened my kidneys—the sugar content—which is why I was always wetting the bed.” Yet it was not an unhappy existence, especially for a little boy proud of his parents, admiring of their showmanship and courage—a happier life, certainly, than what replaced it. For Tex and Flo, both forced by ailments to retire from their occupation, settled near Reno, Nevada.

Peace, both inside and outside, begins with a smile,

vote for policies, not parties.

I covered it up, and John Hersey uncovered it,” [McCrary] stated. “That’s the difference between a P.R. man and a reporter.

Did you just put a sex hex on me? With chili powder and paprika?

The strong defend themselves. The mighty defend what’s right.

DEATH IS life’s great adversary. No matter how a life is lived, no matter how much love is given or how much pain is caused, no matter how many fights are had or

Uh, Miss Carlson," I said, standing at her desk after everybody else had gone on to their next class, "somebody told me you went to that guy's funeral the one the highway patrol shot." "Yes," SHe said. "I did." She didn't look like she was mad at me about it. She had real long eyelashes. I bet she was good-looking when she was young. "Was he a relative or something?" That was what I was afraid of. "No. Not even a friend really." She paused, like she was hunting for the right words. Finally she said, "I read a book once that ended with the words 'the incommunicable past' You can only share the past with someone who's shared it with you. So I can't explain to you what Mark was to me, exactly. I knew him a long time ago.

On any given day, everybody has the will to win. That’s not what’s important. What matters is the will to do the work to win. It’s the discipline to do the work while nobody’s watching.

Sort of Coping" Why is anyone in the world so terrible. Real catastrophe and catastrophizing. If we only knew when it was going to happen. I saw you put your hands on the floor. Intimacy without disturbances. The scope here of memorization, planets. The history of children sitting still. You are so cute in all your facebook photos. When you moved to Portland I forgot we used to call you Tumbleweed Tex. All those barking dogs, feathered hair. We have something in common I never mention. I wish I’d written it down and folded it into one of your piles saying I want to read every one of these books! Do you think you’ll have read them all before the end of time. Did you go in to see her when she was dead. Maybe you already knew.

Think you could at least try to hide the blood stains Chase?" I took a sip of wine and grimaced as the dry liquid damn near choked me to death. Chase looked down at his shirt and shrugged. "Makes mortal men tremble in fear." Nixon smacked Chase on the back of the head and whispered, "See me tremble, oh badass one." Chase rolled his eyes. "Hilarious." Tex snickered. "I thought so.

In The Dum Dums there were four of us – Ian Wadley, Greg Wadley, Greg Perkins and Greg Gilbert. That’s three Gregs in the band which is ridiculous. We nearly called ourselves Ian and The Gregs.

The next morning re-supply choppers brought mail, supplies, and Christmas stockings that had been packed by young school kids. Each stocking contained lots of candy and a letter. We took turns passing the letters around. Tex’s parents had sent him a small, artificial Christmas tree. We set it up on the top of our foxhole and decorated it with white shaving cream from our sundry supplies. The shaving cream looked like snow.

I'm trapped next to this young techno-optimist guy. He explains that current technology will not longer seem strange when the generation who didn't grow up with it finally ages out of the conversation. Dies, I think he means. His point is that eventually all those who are unnerved by what is falling away will be gone, and after that, there won't be any more talk of what has been lost, only of what has been gained. But wait, that sounds bad to me. Doesn't that mean if we end up somewhere we don't want to be, we can't retrace our steps? ... Later, Sylvia tells me her end of the table was even worse. The guy in the Gore-Tex jacket was going on and on about transhumanism and how we would soon shed these burdensome bodies and become part of the singularity. "These people long for immortality but can't wait ten minutes for a cup of coffee," she says.

He hated the games politicians played, the backroom deals, and how the powerful played with the lives of the innocent like they were worthless. He hated how the corrupt hid behind veils of media spin, how the rich influenced decisions with the promise of campaign donations, and how the players made a mockery of moral decision-making. He did his best to avoid it, he did his best to steer clear, however, in his world, the world of law and justice, politics was an inevitable dilemma.

Life’s a rollercoaster. It’s the ups and downs that make it exciting, and a rollercoaster without ups and downs is only a train.” “But some people adore train rides. Some of the most beautiful tours in the world are on trains. Not every trip has to be a rollercoaster.

Tex would introduce himself to every goo-green kid who joined the squad, every piece of farm-fresh. He’d put his arm around their shoulder, tell them his life story, his real name, ask them all about their hometowns, so that even those nearby had to learn shit we’d rather not. We’d get hit by these frag grenades of nicety. He took people in, Tex. Got close to them. Cried like a baby when the smoke cleared and the tags were tallied. And I thought he was fucking crazy, going about war like that. Not learning what the rest of us learned.

We take Tod and Stevie to the mall with us, we’d be in and out in thirty minutes. Those boys don’t fuck around at the mall. They got, like, a different kind of gay-dar,” Daisy told Tex. “It’s the kind that they can hone in on the best outfit, pair of shoes, or whatever you need, find your size without even askin’ and feed you the shit in your dressing room without you havin’ to leave it. They don’t spare your feelin’s either. If it don’t look good, they just snatch it from you and find you somethin’ else. They could do it in the Olympics, they’re so good.

Sheepwalking I define “sheepwalking” as the outcome of hiring people who have been raised to be obedient and giving them a brain-dead job and enough fear to keep them in line. You’ve probably encountered someone who is sheepwalking. The TSA “screener” who forces a mom to drink from a bottle of breast milk because any other action is not in the manual. A “customer service” rep who will happily reread a company policy six or seven times but never stop to actually consider what the policy means. A marketing executive who buys millions of dollars’ worth of TV time even though she knows it’s not working—she does it because her boss told her to. It’s ironic but not surprising that in our age of increased reliance on new ideas, rapid change, and innovation, sheepwalking is actually on the rise. That’s because we can no longer rely on machines to do the brain-dead stuff. We’ve mechanized what we could mechanize. What’s left is to cost-reduce the manual labor that must be done by a human. So we write manuals and race to the bottom in our search for the cheapest possible labor. And it’s not surprising that when we go to hire that labor, we search for people who have already been trained to be sheepish. Training a student to be sheepish is a lot easier than the alternative. Teaching to the test, ensuring compliant behavior, and using fear as a motivator are the easiest and fastest ways to get a kid through school. So why does it surprise us that we graduate so many sheep? And graduate school? Since the stakes are higher (opportunity cost, tuition, and the job market), students fall back on what they’ve been taught. To be sheep. Well-educated, of course, but compliant nonetheless. And many organizations go out of their way to hire people that color inside the lines, that demonstrate consistency and compliance. And then they give these people jobs where they are managed via fear. Which leads to sheepwalking. (“I might get fired!”) The fault doesn’t lie with the employee, at least not at first. And of course, the pain is often shouldered by both the employee and the customer. Is it less efficient to pursue the alternative? What happens when you build an organization like W. L. Gore and Associates (makers of Gore-Tex) or the Acumen Fund? At first, it seems crazy. There’s too much overhead, there are too many cats to herd, there is too little predictability, and there is way too much noise. Then, over and over, we see something happen. When you hire amazing people and give them freedom, they do amazing stuff. And the sheepwalkers and their bosses just watch and shake their heads, certain that this is just an exception, and that it is way too risky for their industry or their customer base. I was at a Google conference last month, and I spent some time in a room filled with (pretty newly minted) Google sales reps. I talked to a few of them for a while about the state of the industry. And it broke my heart to discover that they were sheepwalking. Just like the receptionist at a company I visited a week later. She acknowledged that the front office is very slow, and that she just sits there, reading romance novels and waiting. And she’s been doing it for two years. Just like the MBA student I met yesterday who is taking a job at a major packaged-goods company…because they offered her a great salary and promised her a well-known brand. She’s going to stay “for just ten years, then have a baby and leave and start my own gig.…” She’ll get really good at running coupons in the Sunday paper, but not particularly good at solving new problems. What a waste. Step one is to give the problem a name. Done. Step two is for anyone who sees themselves in this mirror to realize that you can always stop. You can always claim the career you deserve merely by refusing to walk down the same path as everyone else just because everyone else is already doing it.

I want to spend the rest of my life with you, because everything that came before you was a fucking waste. You don’t complete me, Grace Shaw. You create a better me.” He draws a quick breath, shaking his head. “Fucking hell, that’s my cliché quota for the century. If it makes it any better, I thought about every single one of those things that I said. I didn’t check Pinterest once for inspiration like East suggested.” “Eat shit, St. Claire. Pinterest’s got some rad ideas!” I hear Easton yell from the corner of the street, behind a red-bricked building. I’m giggling and hiccupping from excitement now. They’re all huddled around the corner, waiting for my answer. “What do you say, Tex? Wanna walk through fire together?

Oh, so you think it’s easier being Black than being gay? I tell you what, you go somewhere don’t nobody have to know you gay unless you tell them. I’m Black everywhere. I can’t hide that shit,” Ike said. Tex pulled his towel out and twisted it with both hands. “Yeah, you can’t hide that you’re Black. But the fact that you think I should hide who I am proves my point. Like Dr. King said: an injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere,” Tex said. Ike sucked his teeth and sat back onto his stool. “You guys let me know if you want anything else,” Tex said. He turned and walked to the other end of the bar. “Damn, he dropped the Martin Luther King card on your ass. I think he won that round, Grasshopper,” Buddy Lee said.

I wrote the bulk of this story while in Chicago, working out of various co-working offices; my favorite space was Ampersand in Logan Square. And a few of the ideas in this story were born after a night at The Burke’s Web Pub in Bucktown—what a fabulous place full of fabulous people. Thanks to those places for the creative spaces they provide; and a special thank you to Parliament Co-working.

Too often she had listened to her father discourse on the necessity for peace and consideration of others. She believed in that policy wholeheartedly. The fact that occasionally violence was necessary did not alter her convictions one whit. No system of philosophy or ethics, no growth of goverenment, no improvement in living came without trial and struggle. Struggle, she had often heard her father say, was the law of growth. Without giving too much thought to it, she understood that such men as Rafe Caradec, Trigger Boyne, Tex Brisco and others of their ilk were needed. For all their violence, their occasional heedlessness and their desire to go their own way, they were building a new world in a rough and violent land where everything tended to extremes. Mountains were high, the praires wide, the streams roaring, the buffalo by the thousand, and tens of thousand. It was a land where nothing was small, nothing was simple. Everything, the lives of men and the stories they told, ran to extremes.

About a mile beyond Tumbleweed he parked in a grove of willow trees beside a narrow stream. The grounds were set with many long wooden tables and benches, and overhead were strings of small electric lights. “Come on, gals,” said Tex. “We’re goin’ to put on a big feed!” He led them toward a long serving table. Four men passed by, each carrying a shovel bearing a big burlap-wrapped package. These were dumped onto the table. “There goes the meat,” said Bud. “It’s been buried in the barbecue pit since last night.” “Cookin’ nice an’ slow over hot stones,” Tex added. “When the burlap fell away, the fragrance of the steaming meat was irresistible. All the girls enjoyed generous servings, with a spicy relish and potato salad. By the time they had finished their desserts of ice cream and Nancy’s chocolate cake, the colored lights overhead came on. A stout middle-aged man mounted the dance platform in the center of the grove and announced that he was master of ceremonies. Seeing Bud’s guitar, he called on him for some cowboy songs. Bud played “I’m a Lonesome Cowboy,” and everyone joined in enthusiastically. He followed with a number of other old favorites. Finally he strummed some Gold Rush songs, including “Sweet Betsy from Pike.

Pull in Friendships and Fresh Adventures: Five men are walking across the Golden Gate Bridge on an outing organized by their wives who are college friends. The women move ahead in animated conversation. One man describes the engineering involved in the bridge's long suspension. Another points to the changing tide lines below. A third asked if they've heard of the new phone apps for walking tours. The fourth observes how refreshing it is to talk with people who aren't lawyers like him. Yes, we tend to notice the details that most relate to our work or our life experience. It is also no surprise that we instinctively look for those who share our interests. This is especially true in times of increasing pressure and uncertainty. We have an understandable tendency in such times to seek out the familiar and comfortable as a buffer against the disruptive changes surrounding us. In so doing we can inadvertently put ourselves in a cage of similarity that narrows our peripheral vision of the world and our options. The result? We can be blindsided by events and trends coming at us from directions we did not see. The more we see reinforcing evidence that we are right in our beliefs the more rigid we become in defending them. Hint: If you are part of a large association, synagogue, civic group or special interest club, encourage the organization to support the creation of self-organized, special interest groups of no more than seven people, providing a few suggestions of they could operate. Such loosely affiliated small groups within a larger organization deepen a sense of belonging, help more people learn from diverse others and stay open to growing through that shared learning and collaboration. That's one way that members of Rick Warren's large Saddleback Church have maintained a close-knit feeling yet continue to grow in fresh ways. imilarly the innovative outdoor gear company Gore-Tex has nimbly grown by using their version of self-organized groups of 150 or less within the larger corporation. In fact, they give grants to those who further their learning about that philosophy when adapted to outdoor adventure, traveling in compact groups of "close friends who had mutual respect and trust for one another.

Robert Askins Brings ‘Hand to God’ to Broadway Chad Batka for The New York Times Robert Askins at the Booth Theater, where his play “Hand to God” opens on Tuesday. By MICHAEL PAULSON The conceit is zany: In a church basement, a group of adolescents gathers (mostly at the insistence of their parents) to make puppets that will spread the Christian message, but one of the puppets turns out to be more demonic than divine. The result — a dark comedy with the can-puppets-really-do-that raunchiness of “Avenue Q” and can-people-really-say-that outrageousness of “The Book of Mormon” — is “Hand to God,” a new play that is among the more improbable entrants in the packed competition for Broadway audiences over the next few weeks. Given the irreverence of some of the material — at one point stuffed animals are mutilated in ways that replicate the torments of Catholic martyrs — it is perhaps not a surprise to discover that the play’s author, Robert Askins, was nicknamed “Dirty Rob” as an undergraduate at Baylor, a Baptist-affiliated university where the sexual explicitness and violence of his early scripts raised eyebrows. But Mr. Askins had also been a lone male soloist in the children’s choir at St. John Lutheran of Cypress, Tex. — a child who discovered early that singing was a way to make the stern church ladies smile. His earliest performances were in a deeply religious world, and his writings since then have been a complex reaction to that upbringing. “It’s kind of frustrating in life to be like, ‘I’m a playwright,’ and watch people’s face fall, because they associate plays with phenomenally dull, didactic, poetic grad-schoolery, where everything takes too long and tediously explores the beauty in ourselves,” he said in a recent interview. “It’s not church, even though it feels like church a lot when we go these days.” The journey to Broadway, where “Hand to God” opens on Tuesday at the Booth Theater, still seems unlikely to Mr. Askins, 34, who works as a bartender in Brooklyn and says he can’t afford to see Broadway shows, despite his newfound prominence. He seems simultaneously enthralled by and contemptuous of contemporary theater, the world in which he has chosen to make his life; during a walk from the Cobble Hill coffee shop where he sometimes writes to the Park Slope restaurant where he tends bar, he quoted Nietzsche and Derrida, described himself as “deeply weird,” and swore like, well, a satanic sock-puppet. “If there were no laughs in the show, I’d think there was something wrong with him,” said the actor Steven Boyer, who won raves in earlier “Hand to God” productions as Jason, a grief-stricken adolescent with a meek demeanor and an angry-puppet pal. “But anybody who is able to write about such serious stuff and be as hilarious as it is, I’m not worried about their mental health.” Mr. Askins’s interest in the performing arts began when he was a boy attending rural Texas churches affiliated with the conservative Lutheran Church-Missouri Synod denomination; he recalls the worshipers as “deeply conservative, old farm folks, stone-faced, pride and suffering, and the only time anybody ever really livened up was when the children’s choir would perform.” “My grandmother had a cross-stitch that said, ‘God respects me when I work, but he loves me when I sing,’ and so I got into that,” he said. “For somebody who enjoys performance, that was the way in.” The church also had a puppet ministry — an effort to teach children about the Bible by use of puppets — and when Mr. Askins’s mother, a nurse, began running the program, he enlisted to help. He would perform shows for other children at preschools and vacation Bible camps. “The shows are wacky, but it was fun,” he said. “They’re badly written attempts to bring children to Jesus.” Not all of his formative encounters with puppets were positive. Particularly scarring: D

You been through what you been through and you’re still standin’. Lotsa women wouldn’t only bend, they’d break but you didn’t do either and you’re still standin’. You were my daughter, I’d be so fuckin’ proud, I’d shout it from the rooftops. I figure, so would your Ma. And you can take that to the fuckin’ bank!” - - - - God I love TEX! Lol - Rock Chick Regret

Sarah,” Easy called out over a clutch plate. Tex grinned. “Even better. Pretty name,” he told Chris. “Good thing you didn’t get ‘Hayley’ tattooed on your ass. Would’ve been an awkward moment.

I don’t know,” Tex said. “Maybe I want the girl who can make Spicy Mexican Chocolate cookies.

Yeah. Chris says Mark’s a brother, part of the unit, and so whether he’s gay or straight or...kinky...we just deal with it because we love him.

The incredible revelations in this monumental book stagger the imagination. Awesome in scope, Codex Magica contains over 1,000 actual photographs and illustrations. You’ll see with your own eyes the world’s leading politicians, financiers, and celebrities—including America’s richest and most powerful—caught in the act as they perform occult magic. Once you understand their covert signals and coded picture messages, your world will never be the same. Destiny will be made manifest. You will know the truth about the Illuminati and their astonishing plan to control and manipulate. Everything will become clear. The Emperor will wear no clothes. I must admit, I love exposing the Illuminati elite. I especially relish tearing off the sinister masks which they wear while wickedly deceiving the ignorant masses. The exposure and outing of these reprehensible disciples of destruction is way past due.

Codex Magica is the first book ever to crack the Illuminati code. It is a fully documented, authoritative reference source, as you’ll see from its lengthy index and footnotes sections. Now they won’t be able to dodge and duck, because, in addition to my exclusive investigative materials, Codex Magica also heavily quotes and relies on the Illuminati’s own, most touted textbooks and manuals.

LOVE LESSON A good attitude is the secret to a happy relationship. Accept the person you married and don’t constantly find fault.”—Tex Gaynos

The places where poor children face the worst odds include some — but not all — of the nation’s largest urban areas, like Atlanta; Chicago; Los Angeles; Milwaukee; Orlando, West Palm Beach and Tampa in Florida; Austin, Tex.; the Bronx; and the parts of Manhattan with low-income neighborhoods.

Psychogeography does not have to be complicated. Anyone can do it. You do not need a map, Gor-Tex, a rucksack or a companion. All you need is a curious nature and a comfortable pair of shoes. There are no rules to doing psychogeography - this is its beauty.

In fact, as I reveal in my video documentary, The Sun at Midnight, in this, the twenty–first century, governments continue to build pyramidal buildings which are used for the most brutal and insidious of governmental crimes and atrocities.

I have discovered that there are deeply coded Illuminist messages incorporated and imbedded in the architectural specifications of these many new pyramids. Satanic leaders are well aware of the Luciferian intent of the pyramids and this is why this design is so immensely popular among the wealthy, elite builders of today’s Illuminati global network. The Secret Doctrine of the Pyramid involves the initiation of all humanity into the coming prisoner matrix of the New World Order. Its design also inspires the devotion of Illuminists because the pyramid contains within its sun–bright walls the womb of the goddess. Its exterior pictures in symbolic art the phallus of the Mystery Religion god whom they devoutly worship. All this I explain in my eye–opening video.

I find myself actually dressing up in order to move David's eyes from the computer for a few moments. I am competing with Lord Blah Blah Blah. And losing. And I think I wanted Tex-Mex after all.

The technical name for this is the Brazilian Nut Effect. The phrase is descriptive of the phenomenon in which larger objects tend to surface when a mixture of different sized particles is disturbed.” He pointed to the bowl. “The biggest nuts always come right to the top.” I nodded. “Can’t argue with that.” Tex went on, “I’m doing a study. My theory is that this phenomenon correlates to the social structures in our society. The larger nuts always come to surface.” I thought about my friends, the police department, our political system. “I think maybe you’re onto something, Tex.

Then he, Luke, Mace, Lee, Hank and Eddie (not to mention Tex and Duke) took off, each one wearing a scary-angry look on their face. In about ten minutes there was no more noise and they all came back with a shitload of confiscated fireworks.

People are willing to believe the easy, boring answer because they’re afraid to dream big and hope that the truth could actually be as exciting as they imagine.

There are no accidents in my experience,” she said. “Just plans other people make and don’t tell you about.

never thinking. And then it blew up in his face.’ Tex leans forward, the stench of soda-masked booze saturating the air. ‘He was expecting a reward. But when he started to see what was happening to the witnesses …’ The famous ‘murdered witnesses’ to the JFK assassination,

DesignTex, a

Substantiv på -ism, -het, -skap och -i kan lugnt användas utan risk för att någon fattar något. Exempel: – Jag gillar socialism. – Jaså du. Jag för min del håller på konservatism. – Då är du emot jämlikhet och broderskap då? – Nej nej, en sann konservatism främjar jämlikhet och broderskap. Men i motsats till dej anser jag demokrati vara grundläggande. – Där tar du fel. Jag håller också styvt på demokrati. Huvudsaken är ju att man får säga vad man vill. – Jaha du. Då är vi överens då. Hej du. – Hej hej. OBS: för att riktig meningslöshet skall uppstå fordras att man noga undviker att definiera dessa abstrakta termer. Om någon frågar vad man egentligen menar med t.ex. demokrati bör man svara: "Det är väl självklart", eller "Jag menar givetvis riktig demokrati", eller: "Fattar du inte det så är det ju meningslöst att tala vidare om saken", eller dylikt. Ger man sig in på definitioner kan man lätt råka säga något vettigt.

questions. You’ll probably go out to the prison tomorrow.” “Are you with Interpol or something?” “Or something,” Tex replied. He didn’t offer his name. “Can I call the American consul? Can

Books might be one way to recover some space. Stories. Fiction. When I was eleven, friendless, struggling to fit in at school, I read The outsiders and Rumble Fish and Tex by S.E. Hinton, and I suddenly had friends again. Her books were friends.. And the stories they inhabited could be places I could hide inside. And feel safe. In a world that can get too much, a world where we are running out of mind space, fictional worlds are essential. They can be an escape from reality.

And then our great, great, great grandchildren will be sitting here in two hundred years’ time saying—can you imagine the fifth dimension, the spiritual world, was only discovered two hundred years ago?

He got caught stealing from his job as a road worker,” Jones smiled. “I didn’t think he was a thief, but when I looked over the fence, all the signs were there.” “That’s good,” Hunter laughed.

Imagine living in a time where you didn’t know the spiritual world existed?

When they reached the ranch, Dave parked the truck at the stable. The girls heard laughter coming from the corral and saw Tex Britten perched on the fence. Bess was mounted on a brown quarter horse and holding a coiled lariat. “Watch me!” she called. “I’m learning to rope a steer.” Nancy and George walked over and saw Bud Moore put his hands on his head like horns and prance in front of Bess’s horse. “Come on and rope me, pardner!” he said.

Rude people can make a bigger difference in the world than nice people.

The first single was tracked at Media Arts Studio in Hermosa Beach, south of L.A.; the label copy helpfully dates the session—October 9, 1980. The producer is identified as “Screwy Louie.” The A side is a cover of “Under the Boardwalk,” the Drifters’ 1964 R&B ballad. David Hidalgo takes the soaring lead (his first solo vocal on record), effortlessly duplicating the tug of Johnny Moore’s original performance. But the number receives a twist in the band’s hands: in place of the lush string instrumental break on the Bert Berns–produced original, one hears a Tex–Mex button accordion solo. The flip was a rendering of “Volver, Volver,” a bolero penned by Fernando Z. Maldonado that had been an enormous hit for the Mexican ranchera superstar Vicente Fernández in 1976. Returning to his original role as the group’s ballad specialist, Cesar Rosas takes the lead vocal. Here the band offers an old-school East Side spin on the swaying, lushly romantic number, bringing some unidentified friends into the studio to scream and howl in the background, in the manner of the “live” supporting casts on Cannibal and the Headhunters’ “Land of 1000 Dances” or the Premiers’ “Farmer John.

I gave Kangaroo Joe his nickname because all I could find when I looked him up was that he'd won a kangaroo cooking challenge at one of those bars that specializes in cooking exotic meats," Nia chirped. "Kangaroos are the deer of Australia," said Kangaroo Joe. "Okay." I glanced over at Potbelly and Loafers. "And Vanilla Joe? "His signature recipe on his food truck involves a vanilla sauce on a hot dog," Nia said. "It's an artisan sausage, not a hot dog," said Vanilla Joe. "And the sauce is technically an aioli." "Okay, Vanilla Joe," Kel said. Their lips twitched, and I suspected the reasoning behind his nickname had nothing to do with the vanilla sauce on his food truck. "It's the season of the Joes," Nia said. "Oh! I think I just heard the door open." Over the next couple of hours, I ate my weight in cheese and met four of the other five contestants. There was Ernesto, a serious-looking guy in his thirties who cooked Tex-Mex, heavy on the Mex. Oliver, who cooked California cuisine. Mercedes, who cooked modern Filipino food. Megan, a solidly built woman with a buzz cut who cooked what she called "eclectic food" with a Chinese twist.

I don’t know that you’re that far out on the spectrum, at least among the people I’ve talked to for this book. Though Don Knuth did write TeX in pencil in a notebook for six months before he typed in a line of code and he said he saved time because he didn’t have to bother writing scaffolding to test all the code he was developing because he just wrote the whole thing.