Texans to Rain Clouds: Don't Mess with Texas

esponding to a week of heavy rains and severe flooding that has destroyed more than 200 homes and forced the evacuation of thousands of residents, Texans statewide have banded together to take back their state from Mother Nature. Seeking to live out the meaning of their state creed, "Don't Mess with Texas," Texans have waged an all-out war on the storm systems that have pummeled their state in recent days.

"First, it started out with some hooting and hollering, just letting off some steam after my house got washed down the river with all my guns still inside," explained New Braunfels resident Stymie Rauch. "Then when my pickup got washed away too, that struck me as personal and enough was enough so I gave them rain clouds a good what-for. I'll admit, there was some blue language involved that you aren't likely to hear at a nun's funeral. But them rain clouds knew what, they had it comin."

Inspired by Rauch's example, other New Braunfels residents swore and threw rocks at the clouds from the roofs of their homes, which were each comfortably stocked with several cases of lite beer and battery-powered television sets in case of a longer-than-usual flood.

New Braunfelite John Richard Stubing elevated the protest to an armed conflict when he begin firing his shotgun into the sky, signaling that he was mad as hell and also out of Frito dip. Neighbors cheered from their rooftops and an unknown hillrod waved a Texas state flag in support from a rowboat he was piloting up Honeysuckle Lane.

Word of the New Braunfels resistance movement spread like Billy Ray Cyrus haircuts across the state and within hours groups of armed Texans were wading through the streets and brandishing firearms in several Central Texas towns. Clever commemorative tee-shirts were printed up in record time featuring the cloud-mocking catchphrase "G'on Now, Git" and by nightfall country singer Toby Keith had released a timely single entitled "Mother Nature Ain't No Mother of Mine (The Pissed-off Texan)."

By Saturday, calls had been made to former Texas governor and current U.S. president by default George W. Bush to dispatch the U.S. nuclear arsenal in response to the clouds' aggressions against the people of Texas. Current governor Rick Perry publicly supported the use of nuclear force and all other necessary holy hell to send a message to the storm front. Perry summed up the state government's position as "Be you a cloud or be you from Amarillo, you know that when you rattle the big dog's cage, that big dog just might give you a bite for your troubles. Look out, weather."

Some Texas activists, however, were not content to wait for the wheels of government to get around to turning. Saturday afternoon, Patrick Scott, the president of cable television's The Weather Channel, was kidnapped from his Atlanta home. A letter described as "sort of like a ransom note" was discovered at the scene, though only the phrase "We gotcha by the balls now!" has been released to the press.

Meanwhile, residents across the state waged war on Mother Nature into the evening on Saturday, pulling down trees with pickup trucks, stomping on flowers and spraying aerosol products straight into the sky. A man was arrested near San Antonio for feeding chili to penguins at the zoo and a grassroots movement took hold among Texans who defiantly refused to cut up their six-pack rings before discarding them.

However, by Sunday a soggy and hung-over Texas awoke feeling plum tuckered out and noticeably less defiant. Talk had turned to the wisdom of passive resistance in the struggle against Mother Nature. Sunday conversations were dominated by discussion of magazine-drying techniques and boasts of homes to be rebuilt bigger and better in the exact same spots, only with game rooms and hot tubs this time around. Other Texas discussed the feasibility of developing waterproof bubble-domes to cover houses or outfitting trailer homes with pontoons.

Meteorologists had previously predicted a few more days of heavy rain for Central Texas, followed by dry weather, but are now withholding their Texas forecasts until Patrick Scott is returned safely.

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Oh, jiminy! Thanks for whatever good thoughts you sent me, folks! And if you didn't, I wish you all a long burning eternity in hell. Somebody must have been on my side because I got the part! Yippie! Perhaps you couldn't read it in this small, mocking font.

I GOT THE PART!!! I GOT THE PART!!! I GOT THE PART!!!

Just to verify, in case you just read that part and think you accidentally went to Rok Finger's column on some spiel about penile implants, the part I got was of Shelly, the resourceful and somewhat ingenious desert island castaway on the new action show Archipelago Law.

None of it should come as much of a surprise, seeing as how I mentioned I had the audition and felt pretty good about it last go-round. Of course I didn't mention the show title—what, like I'm going to advertise to a bunch of wanna-bes the location of the next big audition? Forget it, I like keeping the competition reasonable. But let's just say once I gave them my Bilbo Baggins monologue from The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Rings, there really wasn't any competition. Producer Matt Viggoschultz had a feeling that I was the one for the job, he wasn't disappointed by my performance, or not significantly disappointed anyway; a little disappointment is normal.

I've met some of the other actors already and they are extremely talented, a great bunch to work with. Sure, there are a few of them I'll have to whip into shape, give them some quick lessons in the entertainment biz I've picked up over the years the hard way, but I can see them being around for years. Especially with infomercials going stronger than ever.

I'm not normally drawn to drama, I've been a natural for comedy since I was 6, but I was intrigued by the challenge, as well as the prospect of getting paid for work. Between the exotic locale—Vancouver—and the great writing, not to mention the sexy costumes, it's a can't-miss show. Not like my can-and-will-miss shows over the years like Cat Cop and That 1870's Show.

This show is banking in no small part on my talent, I can tell you that. The main star is John Flomp as Sheriff Burger, but the next biggest character after THAT… well, it's Nuge, the Kooshkoosh Tribal Leader; but after THAT, it's Kiko, the Bendari Tribal Leader. Then it's Dr. Cope, the medicine person, then the inventor Professor Hannibal, the sexy lawyer Vicki Scarlet, then the twins, then the nameless, mysterious mute character, but after THAT, it's all Clarissa Coleman.

And I got a fantastic contract when my agent negotiated for the role—say what you will about Dusty, or read some of my past columns and let all that stuff stand, but he's a shark underneath that very frail, fragile exterior. I didn't get any more money, really, and points on merchandising or syndication rights were right out, but I did get an "and" before my name. And I'm listed last, folks—after the first credit there's no more important credit for a regular than "and Clarissa Coleman." Unless that's not your name, but your name is what I mean. Don't be stupid.

Yep, Hollywood has come back to me, begging and pleading, after all these years. I know I practically shit confidence, but in complete honesty there's always been some part of me, as I think is the case with most former child stars, that whispers the question, "What if you're a one-hit wonder?"

I can now say with utmost certainty: The world is about to see I'm a two-hit wonder.

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Red Bagel reporting, operating from the secret underground hovel I've been conducting all business from since Nov. 4. I plan on being here for the next four years, just so you know, but I'm still open to communication through a short list of contacts I trust. Oh, shit—I have to revise the list. I forgot Paulie never returned that Sting CD of mine. I don't need that kind of man having access to me.

The information flowing to me in the wake of the recent presidential election… it's nothing short of overwhelming. Voter fraud and intimidation, handed down at all levels, including the president himself, appears to have been commonplace in every single state. Actually, I have reports on it from both sides in this election, but since the Democrats fucked themselves on this go-round, I'm only investigating the Republicans right now.

Starting with Ohio—the confused, barren wasteland that decided this election. Fortunately Michael Moore was on the scene with cameras in this and other battleground states; unfortunately for us, most of the vital voter-intimidating was not captured, as untrustworthy camera operators misused the equipment to capture "voters gone wild" outside the polling places. I found out, from some dismayed voters, extremely personal questions were asked of minority voters before they were allowed to enter the voting booth. Their names, street addresses, and whether or not they usually voted in that district, or similar invasive questions were asked. Some vote challengers even asked to see identification, and wouldn't accept the word of a friend named Jay-Bee. I was even more distressed to find out, since Bush stole the election in 2000, all this has been legalized in determining voter eligibility.

More blatant instances of voter intimidation did occur, though. An anonymous voter from just outside Dayton detailed how vote challengers required him to dress up as a character from television's Little House on the Prairie—perhaps Nellie Perkins—and chucked apples at him for their own amusement. One black voter from Cleveland described a heavyset Republican vote challenger who wore his hair in a greasy pompadour—immensely intimidating. Down in the south, some voting officials were described wearing cowboy hats and mirrored sunglasses and calling potential voters "son" or "sweetheart," in efforts to scare them away from the poll. It's true so far that all descriptions have come from northern voters who have never been to the south, but I'm still investigating these claims. I can't rule anything out yet.

I filed a lawsuit with courts in several states to have a list of voters and who they voted for mailed to me, under the Freedom of Information Act, so I can read them aloud on television with air time purchased from my pocket. I figured that would clear up whether or not anyone was intimidated into voting for different candidates, but the government now tells me they don't have such information. Maybe they're not lying—it could have been burned already, though that's a lot of information to burn all at one time. You would think we would smell the smoke.

America turned out in record numbers to vote, and the Republican party still won. I have to ask, America: What the fuck? But I haven't lost all my faith in humanity yet. True, I won't be seeing most of you until 2008, but I still believe on some level your hand was forced by shadowy groups. And ferreting out shadowy groups… let's face it. It's my calling.

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