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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It's about time they built the super-accelerator, that's all I can say. For years they claim they want to protect the security of our borders and make everything more efficient for everyone, well, you know what I say? "Put your money where your mouth is." Only less cliché, and somewhat wittier. And finally someone did.

This is not news, of course. It was in all the non-commune papers and everybody made quite a big to-do out of it. Jay Leno, on his shallow pale imitation of the Carson show, made a particularly funny joke about it I can't remember. So it was well in the public zeitgeist for a long time now. You can't walk into a seedy bar or eavesdrop on someone's telephone calls without hearing casual references to the super-accelerator. Which is good, as far as I'm concerned. What's good for the super-accelerator is good for America.

But before you get comfortable and believe this is how everyone thinks, you should know: There are certain special interests groups in Washington who don't like the super-accelerator. Shocking, perhaps, but we can't shy away from the truth. Congress would probably prefer you didn't know this, and went back to watching your Queer Jobs for Straight Slobs or whatever trendy show is on this week. While rich lobbyists secretly take the super-accelerator away from you and sweep it under the rug.

Not on my watch, lobbyists. Red Bagel has a mouth like a Shanghai whore, only this mouth is for getting the truth out there.

It's a fair question to ask what these guys have against the super-accelerator. It takes all kind to ruin the world, Americans. A lot of them think the super-accelerator is ahead of its time, and hate the idea of where it's taking them, and us. Others are merely interested in self-preservation: They work for industries making a profit off regular accelerators, and hate to see that money go the way of the dodo. Some hate and fear, not the super-accelerator, but what it represents: Super-acceleration. And, of course, there's always terrorists.

I say to them: Tough shit. The super-accelerator is here to stay. It's an idea whose time has come. We've had a taste of the super-accelerator, and like a drug-addled crackwhore, we want more, more, more. In fact, those words rhyme so well feel free to use them in any song you're writing if they fit in well—but only if it's pro-super-accelerator. Because the super-accelerator has opened a new path to us, and scary as it may be, we can't go back to our old ways of life now.

After all, what is there to really be scared of? Change? A new an exciting way of life unknown to men before the super-accelerator? The 30% fatality rate of test subjects exposed for very short amounts of time to the super-accelerator? This all sounds like a mother hen's worrying. The super-accelerator has the potential to bring us a golden age of prosperity and if there's a minor risk to liver and respiratory system, I say it's well worth it.

I'm not the only one who thinks so either. Americans everywhere are getting behind the super-accelerator, where test results show it's much safer. Republicans and Democrats are putting their differences aside to speak out on behalf of the super-accelerator. Personality types as far apart as Christina Aguilera and Madonna have expressed their fondness for the super-accelerator. And as for myself, I have to agree with my good friend Lil Bowwow the super-accelerator truly is "all that."

So don't give up on the super-accelerator yet, naysayers. It was only a matter of time until the day of the super-accelerator arrived, and now that it has, don't fight it. In the meantime, I will do my best to ensure the long life of the super-accelerator, as well as finding out exactly what it is the super-accelerator is for.

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Dear commune:

I couldn't be more disappointed with the commune. Well, I suppose I could, if you were to say something bad about that charming young man from that show Jag. But right now I'm very upset as it is. My dog will no longer "go" on the commune. For the past few months Mumps was quite a good little dog, but ever since you started running those awful stories about terrorism he just can't make his business on the commune. What do you have to say for yourselves?

Ezra Gallworth
Tupelo, Mississippi


Dear Ezra:

We're fascinated with the idea of your dog taking a dump on a monitor with a digitized picture of Sampson L. Hartwig on it. But we're unable to help at all, we don't make the news, at least not much of it, we only report it. Terrorism has never been conducive to gastro-intestinal health, as studies at Johns Hopkins and Omar Bricks' Fourth of July parties has often revealed.

Perhaps you should let your dog out to make on the lawn once in a while, you grizzled old fossil. Or stop feeding him that dust-covered bowl of breath mints that's been on your coffee table since Eisenhower's inaugural address. Thanks for writing and may your life alert beeper continue to function properly for many hours to come.

the commune

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Dear commune:

I am extremely upset with the commune and your "This Space For Rent" column. Each week a parade of idiots are allowed to express their bizarre and insipid opinions, and for what? No, seriously, what? How much does it cost? It's downright offensive.

Maybe I could understand better if I didn't know about the case of my cousin, Nestor. Again and again Nestor has petitioned to present a column on illiteracy for your web publication and each week, even after he has presented you with a check for the "This Space For Rent" fee, he is turned away. Obviously the commune is not quite the freedom- loving news source they present themselves as.

You all ought to be ashamed of yourselves, and I mean more so. Don't count on me to be checking out the commune anymore.

"Weak Hat" Tim McGee
Harrisburg, Pennsylvania


Dear "Weak Hat":

We at the commune remember your cousin Nestor quite well. It's difficult to forget the man who gets lodged in the revolving door of your office each week. Nestor has been here several times, yes, and we have continuously told him he is welcome to present a column on illiteracy to us for the commune to print. Our refusal to publish his column has nothing to do with his "for" opinion on illiteracy and everything to do with the fact we can't publish strange markings or rips in notebook paper as they do not actually comprise a "column" per se.

Also, though Nestor has written us several checks, we are unable to cash any of them since he cannot sign them, make them out to anybody, specify any monetary amount, nor does he actually have a checking account. Checks are also not allowed to be written on Charmen toilet paper, to the best of our knowledge.

Please find whatever hole in the fence your cousin is escaping through and block it off. Our revolving door can only take so much. Thanks for writing.

the commune

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Dear commune:

I had a dream last night and you were a real asshole.

We were out fishing in this boat, and I was using turkey and cheese for bait and you were using a small tactical missile. Then, without warning, you ate me whole without chewing. What was that about? I thought we were friends.

The rest of the dream went on for a few hours, at least it seemed like a few hours, but I don't really know much about it because I was inside your stomach and it was very dark. I think I heard Faye Dunaway's voice but I don't know for sure.

What a cock-basket you are.


Miles M. Coltrane
Harlan, New Hampshire


Dear Miles:

How strange it is you're basically a supporting player in your own dream. Perhaps you should seek professional help for the long list of issues you have, then come back to us and complain about our dreamlife alter-egoes.

the commune

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Editor's Note: the commune is not responsible for the national shortage of cool bands, blame terrorism if it makes you feel punchy. All our letters are tested for biological contagions, then we score them on Cosmo's "Ten Ways to Satisfy Your Man" quiz.

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