It was about 2 am, and I was doing what I do best. Shotgunning beers and burning fire wood. My friends and I were on the beach, and we were up to no good. Thats the great thing about the beach. You can literally do whatever you want. You want to take the girl you just met behind the seawall and fuck her? Go for it. How about sucker punching seagulls who are only trying to get the food you put on the ground? It’s all acceptable. But even in the best of times shit can go wrong. And this night I almost wound up behind bars because I couldn’t keep my mouth closed.

So the fire we had going was blazing pretty big, but none of us were satisfied. We needed to find more fire wood. But it was dark and we didn’t have any flash lights, so we were stumbling around aimlessly looking for wood to burn. That’s when we came across some dead Christmas trees. All of a sudden anxiety hit a new high, and we  starting running back to the fire with the dead trees. It was a plus for me. I prefer to burn plants that are dead. It gets the fire back in action. The first tree went up, followed by the second. It was at this point when a truck approached us and shined its headlights right into our eyes.

Fuck I thought to myself. At 2 am the only people on the beach are drunks and cops. And since we hadn’t seen anyone in over an hour, we all knew who was behind the wheel. Sure enough this high and mighty cop gets out and tells us were doing the number one no no on the beach. His words not mine. Confused and drunk, we all looked at him like he was an idiot. It’s not illegal to set a fire on the beach, but that’s not what he was pissed about. It was the dead Christmas trees we were burning. None of us knew it, and we quickly replied back that we’d stop, but this cop was just asking for it when he mumbled his next statement.

"If the mayor was out here and saw this, he would take you all to jail."

Normally in situations like these, I would just take in what he said with no rebuttal. But this time I slipped, which happens from time to time. I looked at him and replied,

"If the mayor of your town is out on the beach at 2 am, where is he? Surely his incompetence will provide us with the much needed resources of the treasury. We just ran out of beer officer."

Naturally this cop was pissed. He started yelling at me, but I couldn’t make out a single word he was saying. I think it was somewhere down the lines of your a smart ass, and say one more thing and you’re going to jail. So I sat down and heard the rest of his lecture, and then he said he was going to give us a ticket for burning the trees. Thats about the time when my friends butted in. None of us knew burning these trees was illegal, and somehow they managed to keep me out of handcuffs. They also managed to get us out of the ticket. So the cop told us to put the tree out, and he was on his way.

We all learned a lesson that night. If you burn dead Christmas trees on the beach, you’re subject to a ticket. Meanwhile, I learned that mouthing off to a beach cop can have dire consequences. But the biggest lesson to be learned here is this. If you say something that makes no sense whatsoever, don’t be surprised if my mouth opens with a smart ass comment. I’m sorry, but I don’t have the patience to put up with stupidity. I’ll try my best in later altercations to keep my mouth shut, but that’s no guarantee. Even if the comment could land me behind bars.

I’m constantly making my case on why midgets should become my butlers, but those little bastards know I’ll treat them like crap. It’s at the top of my policy called the Midgets for Slaves Act of 1982. That’s right people. I came out of the womb with it in my hand. Those nine months of growing in a small space provided enough time for me to compose it, and it’s a genuine piece of legislation. Congress, I suggest you get on board. The last thing you want is me having to come up there and filibuster, because I can go on forever. Especially if I bring a case of whiskey to anger my blood more than it already is.

The Midgets for Slaves act doesn’t require any new taxes. In fact, it’s a non pork barrel spending bill. How’s that for making a change in Washington? Screw universal health care and the other typical political party talking points. We need midgets cleaning our toilets and sweeping our floors. Besides the obvious reason of not having to do anything, midgets are sure to provide us with extreme hilarity while they do the work we dread.

Some money will be needed for this project. I know, it’s supposed to be free right? Well try telling your new small servant that all of his/her work isn’t going to be compensated. I’m pretty sure without proper protection that these little, angry individuals will take a shot at your junk. So go out and by a cup. It’ll pay for itself after one day, and that’s a guarantee.

You’ll need a nice place for them to sleep. This problem comes with a cheap, if at no cost solution. If you have a sock drawer you’re already set. If not, visit a local thrift shop. This will also come in handy if you desire to buy clothes for your new little work bee. What better way to enjoy mass hilarity? A midget who cleans for free, while wearing old school concert tees that date back to the 70’s sounds great to me.

Be sure to feed your little fella. He/she isn’t going to be as productive without proper nutrition. Plus, you can probably just make a bigger ration of what you’re going to eat and break off the food you know you’re not going to finish. Keeping them healthy is essential to you living an apathetic lifestyle. As far as security is concerned, you’re on your own. Just be sure he/she has no access to the outside world. The last thing you need is a bunch of pissed off Gary Colemans revolting against the establishment.

My proposition is going to be met with some extreme dissent. Sure, it may not go along the guidelines of either political party, but nonetheless it’s a brilliant idea if you ask me. So if this goes through like I hope, use the following guidelines above. Your midget and you should be just fine.

Texas is my home. I’ve had my issues with the state, but I’ve come to realize that home is what you make of it. Sure, there are stereotypes when it comes to a lot of things. Whether it the ever so infamous argument that I have a horse, the irritating question of if I still live in the Wild West and have shoot outs over card games, or the arrogant bullshit inquiry of why I’m not wearing a cowboy hat, it’s where I live and it’s where I’ll be till I die. So I thought I might represent my state by claiming superiority when it comes down to our sports teams. Yeah I know, my argument doesn’t hold much merit. But I have arrogant proof to back it up.

My state has good teams, mostly in sports I care about only if the team makes the playoffs, but that’s not my quarrel. What’s my dispute? Texas has better teams in not only performance, but also in name. We have representing teams of Texas like the Texas Rangers, Dallas Mavericks, Houston Texans, San Antonio Spurs, Dallas Cowboys, Houston Astros, Dallas Stars, Houston Rockets, and the Houston Aeros. Yes I had to name them all.

Every team I just named has something to do with our history. Look it up if you don’t believe me. Other states like California like to name their teams after Disney films. Teams like the Anaheim Mighty Ducks and the Anaheim Angels make me question the sexuality of their owners. What’s Disney’s deal here? Don’t they have enough money from making kids movies that have innuendoes in almost everyone of them? Stick to what your good at Disney, making countless amounts of parents suffer while their kids enjoy movies they’ll later regret liking.

States should really think about what they call their teams. Minnesota is a perfect example. Now I’ve never been to Minnesota, but I’m pretty sure the state isn’t wild, which their hockey team claims. Nor do I think of Vikings, which somehow Minnesota thought it would be a good name for their football team. All I can think when it comes to that state is the embarrassment of Jessie Ventura being governor at one point and how funny their accents are. Minn-ee-sotta!

As for the states that don’t have any professional teams, be glad you don’t. You wouldn’t want a team called the Idaho Potatoes or the Montana whatever it is your good at. So stop complaining and move to a state with a respectable name. Whatever you do, don’t move to California or Minnesota. You’ll be subject to mass ridicule even more than I already think of your place of origin.

Aside from the eight month summer I endure here, Texas has a lot of qualities besides my sports team’s names. The people down here are a coin flip when it comes to their attitude, our “authentic” Mexican food is awesome, and the pride in the state is beyond anything I’ve ever seen. I’ll say it once again, and this statement never grows old. Texas man, you gotta be here to understand it, and yes, King of the Hill does represent a certain part of the population. That’ll be the only plug I’ll ever give you other states.

The following message was approved by Geoff Jimminey. No funds were needed, just a vast space of free time.