Maybe Half of my Friends are Right


So there I was perched on the throne this morning when it suddenly dawned on me that maybe half my friends are right and all of the problems we have today are because of the Democrats. No sooner had that thought crossed my mind than I wondered if it’s the other half who is correct and all our woes can be traced directly to the Republicans.

Then again, it could be the half who love to hunt and can’t imagine a day going by that they don’t partake of some grilled or otherwise prepared animal flesh. Of course, the half who are vegetarians make a good point and they might be right.

Perhaps it’s the half who are Christians, and we’re doomed to a troubled world until everyone accepts Jesus as their lord and savior. But what if it’s the half who are atheists? What if they’re right?

It might be the half who think dogs make the coolest pets who are right. Or it might be the half who think cats are best. Could the half who use Apple be correct or is it the half who go with Microsoft Windows? Is it the half who listen to Rush Limbaugh religiously or the other half tuned into NPR?

Half of my friends consider the New York Yankees to be the evil empire in sports. The other half believes that infamous crown belongs to the Dallas Cowboys. The Beatles or the Rolling Stones, city skylines or rural vistas, which halves are right?

I’d all but guarantee at least half of the people are wondering, “Are 50 percent of his friends really Democrats?” while the other half might be peeved that I include meat-eaters among my friends.

But by then I was finished with my morning constitution and decided I’ll just have to let the two halves sort it all out. I’m a busy man, you know, with a garden to tend and cold beer to serve and I can’t be bothered with all this petty shit.

417858_10200455889898385_1090731330_nAuthor: A crotchety old man since his birth during Gen. Eisenhower’s first term as US president, Willie B. Lakey resides in the bee-yoo-tiful Texas Hill Country along with his wife, too many cats and his beloved beer fridge. Employed as an overworked and underpaid freelance sportswriter, his few moments of happiness usually come when communing with critters, tending his garden, working at the local brewery or sippin’ cold beer and enjoying tunes at Gruene Hall.

 

 

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