Discovering the REAL YOU with The Platters’ ENCORE OF GOLDEN HITS

Sometimes I get to thinking that I’m a real mean guy. A hard ass, a walking scowl, one gruff customer, a storm system coming in from the south, a beer bottle that’s been pissed in, a bruised banana, a carcinogenic soul with an abortion clinic dumpster for a heart, a dead dandelion in a winter field, a tornado that carries away your kitten, a broken cookie jar, bad news in old blue jeans, a hair in your fettuccine alfredo, a spoonful of bitter medicine that doesn’t help, a straight-up jerk, a bad dream, a bus station restroom, a carton of curdled milk, a human skull that you find in the grass on your Easter picnic, a soiled towel, one foul fella.

I think you get the picture.

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The Pretty Good PIGGS by the Pretty Great Neal Barrett, Jr.

Subterranean Press, 2002

Battered, Ebay purchased copy.

In literature, I love dirty, sleazy, white trash Texas.

I love sweaty, bloody, cum-stained Texas.

Barefoot, whiskey-breath, evil-eyed Texas.

Strip club, gun rack, conceal carry Texas.

Big-talkin’, neon sign, tornado warning Texas.

I love books that make all us Texans look like felons with barbecue sauce stains on our shirts. Or good Bible-thumping people just one cool breeze away from scandalous sex with the church organist.

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