The Exodus From Texadus

It’s not easy being a Texan when the rest of the civilized world ranks your state’s politics somewhere between corporate prostitution and eating babies, but it’s home. And I hate it.

Don’t get me wrong, though. The area of the Lone Star State in which I unhappily reside does have its good points. For instance: the weather is always a pleasant 50,000 degrees and, with no shortage of refineries spewing toxins into the air around the clock, you never have to wonder if you’ll get cancer. Because you will.

You might have heard that Texas is the gem of the nation when it comes to having jobs in this miserable economy, and it’s true. Sort of.

While Texas has created a lot of jobs, what no one tells you is that those jobs are mostly low-paying, blue collar shift work – which wouldn’t be so bad if most of the shift work in my area didn’t involve prolonged exposure to the toxins of those refineries I just mentioned.

However, if you bothered to fork out thousands of dollars for a degree and expect to walk out of school and into a nice desk job somewhere deep in the heart of Texas, you’ll probably need to extend your higher education with an introductory course to Basic Disappointment.

Not that a job is worth moving to Texas for, if any jobs even existed.

The climate here makes air conditioning a life-saving luxury, and “heat advisories” are daily warnings that let us know it’s hot outside, just in case we forget or are confused about the esoteric medical relationship between heat stroke and it being really freaking hot.

While we technically follow the same four seasons as the rest of the nation, we really only do it because everyone else seems to think it’s a good idea and we want to fit in. In truth, we have only two seasons: Summer and Not Summer. There’s a week or two of Autumn and Spring thrown in there somewhere, but comfortable temperatures make Texans nervous, so we usually just lie down until they go away.

The perpetual hell-heat does have its upside, though. Fashion is no respecter of climate, so there’s always fun to be had by laughing at women who wear furry winter boots and stylish overcoats to do their Christmas shopping in 95° weather with a 105° heat index. Try to picture it. I bet you can’t.

Texas is also a state where the majority vote chooses candidates based solely on the criteria of how good their hair looks and how many lethal injections they’re willing to give to brown people. It’s a little bit like the old west, if the old west had cowboys that wore three piece suits and smiled as they murdered you.

Alright, maybe it’s a lot like the old west.

If you’ve heard about southern hospitality and want to see what it’s all about, please don’t come to Texas looking for it. The only non-Texan that Texans seem to love is Jesus, but only because they’re pretty sure he was born here and smuggled away to the middle east by Jewish Mexicans with ties to Al-Qaeda in order to discredit Ronald Reagan and get Obama elected.

People who choose to live in Texas love the place and protect it from outsiders in the same sort of way that a paranoid schizophrenic might love a soiled handkerchief that talks to him at night and tells him to murder the wallpaper with a fork because it’s been making fun of his grandmother.

Sane people don’t choose to live in Texas.

Because they’re sane.

In contrast, New England is the inverted image that Texas would see in the mirror if it wasn’t afraid that mirrors are how the Devil gets inside you. It is the opposite of the deep south, and I wish I was there right now.

New England has four seasons, wonderful history, great schools, friendly people and breathable air that won’t give you cancer faster than smoking twelve packs of asbestos cigarettes a day. It is, in a word, Paradise.

And all I have to do to get there is wait until the day I’m finally old enough to retire. Unfortunately, by then my body will have reached an age where it can no longer tolerate the cold and my kids will demand I check in to an old folk’s home in sunny Florida…

…which is a lot like Texas, except with even more crazy.

Oh well, maybe if I’m good and eat all my tapioca pudding, they’ll let me drive the little boats around Disney World once in awhile.

It’s good to have goals.

Dammit.

Want some books? 'Course ya do!

NOTE:  I know times are hard and yeah, I need to make a living too, but if you want to read any of my books but can't afford to buy them right now, hit me up.

I'll take care of it.

Humor | Nonfiction
Available now from the following retailers

Have you ever lived through an experience that was so humiliating that you wanted to die, but when you tell it to all your friends, they can't stop laughing?

Have you ever made a decision that seemed like a good idea at the time, but you're still living with the hilarious consequences years later?

If so, then grab a snack, get comfortable, and prepare to have all of your own poor life choices seem just a little bit more bearable.

You're welcome.

Short Stories
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The nine stories of rage and sadness collected here range from the most intimate of human experiences to the wildest realms of magic and fantasy. The first story is a violent gut-punch to the soul, and the rest of them just hit harder from there.

Those who tough it out will find a book filled with as much hope as despair, a constant contradiction pulling you from one extreme to another.

Life might knock us down, over and over, and will the beat the ever-loving snot out of us from the time we're old enough to give it attitude until the day we finally let it win and stop getting up.

Always get back up.

Gaming | Nonfiction
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This isn't just a book. It's a portal to other worlds where there be magic and dragons and hilarious pirates. Okay, not really. But this book is about those portals, except they're called video games.

The Life Bytes series of books take a deep dive into one man's personal journey through childhood into kinda/sorta being a responsible, competent adult as told through the magical lens of whatever video games he was playing at the time.

Part One starts way back in 1975 and meanders down various digital pathways until, oh, around about 1993 or so.

If you're feeling nostalgic for the early days of gaming or if you just want to understand why the gamer in your life loves this hobby so much, take a seat in your favorite comfy chair and crack this bad boy open.

I'll try to not be boring.

Horror
Available now from the following retailers

What you are about to read is not a story. There is no beginning, middle, or end.

What follows is nothing more than a series of journal entries involving shadow people, sleep paralysis, and crippling fear. It’s not pretty, it doesn’t follow story logic, and nothing works out well in the end.

You've been warned.