PART XXI

Can the momentum from the Downtown Renaissance be recaptured as life slowly returns to normal, which may require a new definition of "normal" in the wake of the Coronavirus pandemic?

City Commissioner "Judge" Ben Neece hopes to inaugurate the comeback at his Spanish Moon with a reunion show featuring iconic entertainers Doc Scully and "Delta" Dave Handelman.

"We have to live our lives," said Neece who as a city commissioner had been one of the leading figures spearheading the rebirth of Downtown Browntown.

"I can't think of a better show to kick-start downtown than having Doc and Delta on stage. They are a dynamic duo."

Neece explained that his club will adhere to the 25% capacity rule although the singers won't be wearing masks despite Doc and Delta's critics who insist that the pair sound better muffled.

"True artists draw smaller crowds because they don't do covers," continued Neece. "Not everyone shares their vision, which works well in adhering to the state's mandate on limiting capacity."

City Commissioner Nurith Galonsky-Pizaña, who owns the building, announced at Mayor Trey Mendez's Pizza & Wine that certain individuals associated with Doc Scully would be charged with trespassing if they entered the Spanish Moon's premises.

Mendez lamented that the commissioner's pronouncement ignited an angry reaction at his establishment culminating in the Brownsville Police Department arriving to establish order and take statements.

"I'm used to these outbursts," said Scully. "My lyrics, poetry, stories, novels and articles have so infuriated individuals that they have threatened me with bodily harm, sued me, demanded my termination as an educator and sought revenge sowing seeds of discontent in my personal life. It's part of flying the envelope and living outside the box."

Neece said this unfortunate incident, which according to the Baker Boys is still under investigation by the BPD following the ensuing uproar precipitated by the politico's threats, has a silver lining.

"We definitely want to stay under the 25% maximum and this negative I believes assures us a positive result in terms of complying with the governor's dictates," conceded Neece who intimated that he might accompany the duo on his sitar rendering Doc's new release--The John Reed Ain't Got No Weed Blues.

Neece has tentatively scheduled the Doc/Delta extravaganza for Saturday, May 9th.

PART XX

Dr. Tony Zavaleta, educator, writer, politician and a man for all seasons, steamed into The McHale Report's office. Presently a Texas Southmost College trustee as well as president of the South Texas Independent Journalists Association (STIJA), he was livid. Managing Editor Scott Steinback was editing copy alone at his desk as the rest of the staff are forwarding articles from their homes. Zavaleta, infamous for his quick temper, cut to the chase.

"What in tarnation is that tripe that your boss is printing on Facebook? I read The McHale Report and it scintillates with stories and commentaries, but I read Facebook and it's little more than a collection of photos with the impact of a feather settling on your head. Did Doc lose his cojones? Is he allowing Facebook to intimidate him? I thought he was our modern Emiliano Zapata, opting to die standing rather than live kneeling. He's a commanding presence on the blog, but he's a cringing coward on Facebook."

He just served two torturous months in anonymity for violating Facebook policy regarding posting. Facebook has broken him. He has served so many Facebook sentences that he's no longer going to snub its strict standards. We sat down once he could publish on Facebook and went through the last two weeks of content on the blog. Besides innocuous photos, there was nothing we could republish on Facebook that might not expose him to further punishment.

"The McHale Report shit is so good, but the Facebook crap is so bad. Are you telling me he is afraid to post his brilliant poem on Jack Reed? Reed is a BISD trustee seeking reelection for the hundredth time because his family and friends need him there. Facebook isn't going to permit Doc to legitimately criticize a politician? Trump is mercilessly pummeled every day and nobody stops the press. UT's Machiavellian manipulation of Brownsville politics is a must read for the entire community, particularly when our dying daily is more concerned about exploiting Coronavirus for a government subsidy or the Herald will have to request a priest to deliver the newspaper the last rites. I could go on and on about the muckraking mayhem on The McHale Report, but I turn to Facebook and it's an empty screen."

What do you want me to tell you, Dr. Zavaleta? Doc has decided to wave the white flag. He cannot convince Facebook through his example that it would prosper more with adult content, but the company doesn't want to go in that direction. The executives prefer to limit the postings to birthdays, quinceañeras, teacher complaints, the latest recipes for barbecuing, babies taking first steps and a host of other humdrum activities. How many times do you see grandparents posing with their grandchildren because the formers' lives have become so vacuous in retirement that babysitting is their only calling. When are you going to post photos of your grandkids, Dr. Zavaleta? I've heard that you have a bevy of them. With your height and your sons' heights, you might have the makings of an all-star basketball team. I can envision the Zavaleta Zephers blowing their opposition off the courts.

"It will be a cold day in Hades before I'm turned out to pasture as a babysitter. I have my hands full with a ten-year old. Since I am one of the few honest politicians standing, I would be remiss if I didn't say that my wife has her hands full with our son. To her credit, there is nothing else she would rather be doing with the occasional exception of putting the finishing touches on her doctorate dissertation so Doc can edit it. Besides watching narco movies, I have to devote my free time to finishing my tenth book on the role of curanderos and medicinal herbs that will be a must addition to any prestigious institution that specializes in folk figures and sanative plants. I hate sounding like that troglodyte Trump, but this could be my greatest work. I wish I could be so prodigious in my praise for your founder, but I would be another hypocrite and we have enough of them in Brownsville and Cameron County. Facebook is reducing him to a fish flopping on dry land."

When you were at the university as a professor or later as a vice president and Julieta Garza was your boss, were you going to defy her dictates? Of course not. You needed the job and the lucrative salary. You adapted to your restrictions and forged forward, accomplishing your goals in a subtle fashion. You weren't going to brave the president. You know as well as I do that she would have banished you. That is the challenge that Doc must meet by adapting to the obstacles in a positive manner. Otherwise, by exercising free speech to its fullest extent, he would be permanently exiled from Facebook. He doesn't want to suffer that fate because he believes Facebook remains a legitimate platform. In order to survive, he is going to promote a new message and implement a new approach. He sees Facebook's demand that he conform to its dictates as a message. He is embarking on a spiritual pilgrimage in pursuit of the nothingness of nothing.

"Bullshit! Bullshit! Bullshit! I have stepped gingerly to the other side for a brief moment or two with shamans at my side and mushrooms working their magic at incantatory places like Real de Catorce, but Doc is no more spiritual than a rock. He's playing word games. The nothingness of nothing! What the hell is that supposed to mean? He takes his amateurish appreciation for Zen and reduces it to a ying and yang ruse of opposites. When he starts putting the nothingness of nothing into ontological terms, then he will be no better than Trump entering the world of hoaxes. This nothingness of nothing is nothing but quackery. I would rather that he quack like a duck than cluck claptrap about a pseudo philosophy. I can't accept that el macho gabacho has been emasculated by Facebook."

What can I tell you, Dr. Zavaleta? I have lost count of the number of individuals who have advised him on how and how not to write. I suppose that with The McHale Report still providing its satisfying excesses, he feels comfortable experimenting within the perimeters of Facebook without compromising his integrity and dignity. He says that The McHale Report allows him to negotiate the rapids in a raft while Facebook permits him to float down a river in an inner tube. I never know his intentions. If you expect Facebook to be a reflection of The McHale Report, you will be disappointed.

"I know he won't listen because he harbors a rancor toward me because I married his first wife. I know he won't admit it, but there is a simmering animosity that he is adept at concealing. When he was running for mayor and I was contending for city commissioner, I told a Knights of Columbus crowd that as good Catholics they shouldn't vote for him because he was a communist."

He has never spoken about that particular anecdote during his mayoral campaign and little about his first marriage except describing it as puppy love. He did say it didn't cost him anything to end the relationship while you weren't so financially fortunate. He recalls that she departed after he said "adios, honey," but she didn't set you free until she had pocketed a chunk of your money.

"If there is a nothingness of nothing, then both my savings and retirement accounts experienced that emptiness I hope to never endure again. Doc has never been a materialistic person. Perhaps the nothingness of nothing is his calling. He doesn't have a damn thing of significance except cash in the bank. No house. No car. No furniture. I couldn't live without my historical home, my ranch and my pickup as well as a number of other possessions. If there is a path that leads to the nothingness of nothing, he is much further along on that journey than I am."

PART XIX

We can say at The McHale Report that we're not surprised by Buford "Backwoods" Barnes' comments: "When did they let women into A&M? Next thing you know they will be invited to play sports." 

He never tires of displaying his true Trump colors as one of the head honchos of the Harlingen Heathens. We remember back in the day when gringos were God and Barnes' Motor's issued the dictate that none of its workers were to speak Spanish during working hours. 

Nobody has ever accused Barnes of cultural sensitivities. Karma, however, was a bitch. When Barnes ran for city commissioner, la raza sent him a "chinga tu madre" message by rejecting his white ass and electing a Mexican-American in his stead. 

We also remember back in the day the reenactment of the gabachos' civil war when the Barnes' boys went mano-a-mano in a Matamoros establishment. We don't know if this was the reason his twin left Brownsville after the blood had dried and the bruises had healed, but those who witnessed the sanguine scene thought they were being treated to a cockfight before the mariachis arrived. 

Nobody has worked harder to undermine Texas Southmost College than Barnes and his fellow snakes. He supported Julieta Garcia when as president of Brownsville's junior college she endeavored to destroy TSC for the benefit of the UT System. Even Judas had to tip his hat to the Wicked Witch of the South. 

If that outrageous betrayal of our junior college wasn't enough, Barnes spearheaded the effort to recruit Harlingen's TSTC for a work study program to the Port of Brownville instead of TSC. 

Nothing that comes from his mouth will ever astonish us. Besides being a Harlingen Heathen, he is a renown Brownsville Bully. What will he be asking next: "When did they let African-Americans into A&M?" When Texas Assholes & Morons wanted to win football games, pendejo!!! Pinche cagapalo!!!

PART XVIII

He caressed my hand after I said, "No!"

He massaged my shoulders after I said, "No!"

He put his lips to my mouth after I said, "No!"

He bit and licked my neck after I said, "No!"

He ran his hands under my blouse after I said, "No!"

He unclasped my bra after I said, "No!"

He fondled my tits after I said," No!"

He sucked my nipples after I said, "No!"

He pushed his hand inside my panties after I said, "No!"

He fingered me after I said, "No!"

He stripped me of all my clothes after I said, "No!"

He ate me after I said, "No!"

He stuck his prick in my pussy after I said, "No!"

He came in me after I said, "No!"

No! No! No!

Goddamn men! Don't they know?

I mean it when I say, "No!"

PART XVII

Doc Scully, known journalistically and artistically as Dr. G.F. McHale-Scully, walked into The McHale Report's downtown office and had hardly settled at his desk when Commissioner "Judge" Ben Neece walked through the door. It's a short walk from Neece's The Spanish Moon to the blog where the politico lives and records music for his Facebook audience.

Doc: What's up, big guy? I saw your show the other night. Good shit.

Ben: Did you enjoy it? Great. I was a little nervous and I missed a few notes. Did you notice? Good. I see you're back on Facebook, but I feel like I'm drinking a vanilla shake compared to The McHale Report that goes down like a double-shot of tequila. What happened to those infamous cojones?

Doc: It's the difference between going to work on Monday morning and hitting the clubs on Friday night. I have to be on my best behavior if I hope to keep posting here. I must appeal to a Disney audience rather than the hard-core guys like you who prefer the pornographic approach where the naked truth provides the kinky thrills.

Ben: What is this nothingness of nothing? Are you going to rewrite the Vedas? Are you the reincarnation of Krishna? Are you invoking Ganesha's spirit?

Doc: Facebook wants me to drink tea and contemplate. My anonymous censors don't want me to write about something. Every time I write about something, they immediately discipline me. They act as my Zen master who smack me across the back of head with a paddle if my mind wanders. By their actions, they have set me on a path in pursuit of the nothingness of nothing.

Ben: What about your staff? Are Scott Steinbeck, Estanislao Contreras, Jack O'Connell, Max Maxwell, Annie Gunn, Dr. Polyphemous Pangloss, Father Jesus P. Cadissimo, Mort Heinman and the rest of your crazy crew also condemned to this holy hajj?

Doc: They will only write for The McHale Report. They are unfettered fools whom I can't release here. They have all been bounced from the mainstream media because they felt caged by paranoid editors who didn't want to upset advertisers. Plus, they are all adherents to the Hemingway philosophy: Three years in the newspaper business and hit the road. You learn the ropes, but abiding by the dictates of a dispirited editor who doesn't want to fly the envelope can squeeze the creativity out of an individual.

Ben: You're no different from any of them. Booze! Drugs! Women. Like them, you're addicted to the cheap thrill. Why would you want to surrender your lusts that make you the guru of fictional realism? I can understand fasting for 40 days during Lent to temporarily escape our animalistic instincts and experience a transcendence, but I can't imagine you not eating like a pig for the rest of the year!

Doc: If I want to remain on Facebook, I have to use these obstacles as steppingstones. I'm intrigued about the nothingness of nothing. I believe that it is our true state with a brief interruption of consciousness. We emerge from the black hole and then return to the black hole. The challenge is to awaken one's consciousness to this ultimate reality and then move from moment to moment with an insight that allows you to breathe deeply and tranquilly.

Ben: I don't often have the opportunity to use this word, but it sounds like balderdash to me. The public wants blood and guts. They aren't interested in your metaphysical piffle. I can't believe you're such a coward. Go down fighting! You're like the outlaw who loses his reputation by skipping the high-noon showdown with the sheriff. You're worse than Erasmo Castro, the revolutionary who became the reactionary in order to stay relevant.

Doc: I have The McHale Report for the right side of my brain. Facebook, however, is insisting that I can only utilize the left side of my brain if I want to keep this platform. This is nothing more than a higher form of walking and chewing gum at the same time. I'm taking Facebook's game and attempting to make it work for me. Restrictions can release your inner genius. There are times when the limitations of rhyme produce a more satisfying poem than the easier technique of free verse. Facebook is demanding a new look. That will be the hook.

Ben: Funny. I would make a suggestion, but it might upset your Facebook masters.

Doc: Then I would suggest that we maintain our attorney/client relationship.

With that said, the two exited the back door to the privacy of the alley to puff on a joint.

PART XVI

One of Juan Montoya's El Rrun Rrun's many contributors offered this perspective that is difficult to counter. With nearly 55,000 deaths and approximately one million cases, pussy-grabbing Donald "Duck" Trump's bad karma has resulted in a boom for the coffin business. 

Most Americans, with the exception of the Religious Right who are describing this false prophet as the Second Coming as he comes all over their faces, particularly their wives' painted facades, believe that Trump is a piece of shit with a turd for a brain. When crap isn't flowing from his mouth, it's just plain, old diarrhea. 

If Trump had been a resident of Sodom and Gomorrah, nobody doubts that he would have been part of the throng rioting at Lot's front door and demanding to have sex with Lot's two daughters. Disgusted, God burned these wicked towns to the ground. Is he so disgusted with Trump's countless transgressions that he is decimating our country for this billionaire bastard's many sins? 

As to the racist Religious Right who back in the 19th century argued that the Bible condoned slavery, we should start teaching the Old Testament in the public schools as they fervently desire in order to counter in their estimation the atheism spawned by a secular society that has rejected Christian mythology. 

We could immediately improve our students' vocabulary with the definition of the word fornication. As to stories, why not begin with Lot? After he and his two daughters escaped with their lives, these horny gals slept with their father on successive nights by first getting him drunk. Quite the swordsman, Lot could still summon a boner and impregnated both of them for good measure. 

Nobody appreciated porn more than the Almighty. This is just one of many anecdotes he inspired through his mouthpieces that would have the preachers' sons and daughters scratching their heads and looking at each other nervously. The truth hurts although Lot's cock penetrating his daughters' reportedly tight cunts apparently didn't.   

PART XV

After Alberto Besteiro, Federico Longoria and Jose Tamayo, I am the unofficial fourth member of The Connectors although being part of the quartet includes the likes of Emilio Crixell, Charlie Harrison, Carlo Tamayo and a host of other fine musicians.

I have been writing as long as they have been playing. My career as a writer and a journalist began in vigor when The Brownsville Herald named me its sports editor in 1977.

I covered six football teams that autumn (Hanna, Porter, Pace, St. Joe, Los Fresnos and Port Isabel) and at the end of the season four head coaches were fired as a result of the vitriolic verbiage I would vent in The Peerless Observer, my much-read column. I have never stopped putting pen to paper or finger to keys for the past four decades.

If Facebook silences me, I entertain and inform in a more enthusiastic manner on The McHale Report available at themchalereport.blogspot.com. There are numerous articles and art I post on a daily basis that I would not dare publish on Facebook. It would be literary suicide.

Just like musicians have to play, I have to write with the dual hopes that I have written something worth rereading and still have the skills to compose a masterpiece or two or perhaps even poems that will stand the test of time. These are my enduring inspirations.

Not all of us are meant to be World Champions in our endeavors, but our motivations are based on pleasure and not fame. Writing brings me joy and you are only limited by the limitations that you imposed on yourself.

The biggest obstacle is just plain laziness and that dark and gloomy thought that the undertaking is futile. But force of habit, fortunately, lifts your spirits and you climb into the ring again to spar with your demons who are the real muses.

I am humbled by the responses that have greeted my return to Facebook, but my footing on thin ice means I could disappear beneath the surface once again with one fatal step. That is the reason I am reminding my audience that I have a dynamic blog that is adult oriented and not meant for the PG standards established by FB.

I have no objections to FB's demands. It's their ball and they can take it home any time they want. Nevertheless, I relish this outlet and I don't want to jeopardize it for lack of self-restraint. Not that I wouldn't lose any sleep over it if I were permanently denied access. I live by the we-come-&-we-go philosophy.

In conclusion, which is the easiest way to close a presentation, I am available with all my excesses and iconoclastic outrages at The McHale Report.

Again, thanks for the welcome back. I hope it won't be a short stay. I appreciate the format.

PART XIV

Dr. G.F. McHale-Scully visited "Delta" Dave Handelman at the latter's house. The latter pulled out two guitars, uncorked a bottle of Malbec and led the way to the backyard. They took their seats and both let out a sigh.

"How are things at The McHale Report?"

I've been averaging more than 6000 hits a day. I've been at my best informing and entertaining. I enjoy it.

"And Facebook?"

After serving another two-month sentence for allegedly crossing the line, I posted today for the first time.

"Have you learned your lesson? How many times does Facebook have to discipline you before you are going to change your ways?"

Every time I write something, I'm placed on probation. I will reserve The McHale Report for my performance art. Not everyone shares my vision. Not everyone appreciates the fictional realism genre. I've decided to embark on a quixotic quest: I am going to search for the nothingness of nothing. I have to liberate myself from the importance and the significance of something.

"It sounds like one of your Zen tangents. I don't know the escape route from something, but I have a suggestion if you are unable to discover the nothingness of nothing."

What would that be my fine feathered friend who still lets his freak flag fly?

"There is the unanswered question of the nothing of nothingness. In your Eastern mind, you have the advantage of finding comfort in the opposite. Hate is really love. Death is really life. A straight path takes more time than taking the crooked trail. I could go on and on. When you're playing out of tune and time, you can argue that you can only find your voice in cacophony and that euphony exists for those musicians who lack an imagination."

It's great to have an excuse for being a pathetic musician. And an artistic one at that.

"When does this pilgrimage in search for the truth in a lie, or as you would say, the search for the nothingness of nothing commence?"

Now is as good a time as ever. Firstly, I must shed myself of the mundane. If my grandfather of my father's side were alive, he would be 130 years old today.

"Happy birthday, Grandpa McHale."

My dog Pancracio was hit and killed by a car last week.

"It gives you a reason to find another pet. I wish a drunk driver would run over my old lady. A puppy can help you forget the past."

My old lady is on the third day of an unexpected period.

"You don't have to worry about getting her pregnant."

She's in the throes of menopause.

"You can never be too sure or too careful, particularly a virile guy like yourself. Therefore, in order to gain this insight into the nothingness of nothing, we have to lament for those who have been buried for a century, recall all the animals in our lives and comment on our wives' menstrual cycles or menopausal moments?"

I am only following the dictates of Facebook. Those anonymous censors have told me that I must pursue the nothingness of nothing. Something is out of the question. It's either nothing or face the somethingness of nothing."

"So, no more politics? No more sex? No more crazy perspectives about our futile existences? No more being the voice of the voiceless? You're not going to abandon the lovely lasses to those Trump rednecks in November?"

In order to achieve that blessed state within the nothingness of nothing, there will always be something standing in my way that I must overcome. It is going to be a long journey with many obstacles, but Facebook, like the Buddha, will be at my side pointing in a direction.

"And the lovely lasses?"

I would never abandon the lovely lasses.

PART XIII

DONALD "DUCK" TRUMP: "We will hit 50,000 deaths and one million coronavirus cases in the blink of an eye. I feel sorry for the blind who can't watch the hospitals stack one body on top of another. The Empire State Building ain't got nothing on my pile of cadavers. Hell, I may finally construct the Tower of Babel with human bodies. I like big numbers and the media is finally giving me the credit I deserve. The press underestimated the attendance at my inauguration because most the journalists chose to get drunk at their favorite bars because they couldn't handle that I had beaten their babe, Hillary. They keep repeating as if anyone were listening that she collected three million more votes than me. Eliminate California and New York, two failed states, and I kicked the shit out of the raving cunt. I won the electoral college, the only result that counts, in a rout. I won with a dead-beat vice president who lives in fear of his wife. He serves his old lady as if she were a beauty queen. I've seen Winter Texans in the Rio Grande Valley who don't require a bag over their heads. Women serve me. They have always served me. The Religious Right loves me because women accept that they are subservient to their husbands. Like Moses leading the Jews to the Promised Land, I am reclaiming this country for the white males and their spouses who know their places. Fox's Sean Hannity informed me that Coronavirus is claiming more Democratic lives than Republicans. Let the plague rage. The blacks, browns and Muslims now know who is their daddy. Nothing would give me greater joy than bashing the Chinese for the next four years. Goddamn slant-eyed bastards!"

(EDITOR'S NOTE: It's refreshing to hear Trump unplugged. "Grab them by the pussy!" he says. What's wrong with good, old-fashioned locker-room talk? Everybody knows that guys talk shit. Even black, brown, Muslim and Chinese machos talk shit. Men never grow tired bullshitting about a piece of ass and in Trump they can hear their own voices echoing in their minds. He sees a chick with perfect tits and a fine butt and he salivates like every healthy male does. He then repeats the same mantra that every male repeats when inebriated by female beauty: "I'd sure like to fuck that bitch!" Trump is so blunt and frank that it's not unfair to compare him with Honest Abe. Like George Washington, he cannot tell a lie. "I've had more ladies than Hugh Hefner and Jeffrey Epstein combined," he brags as he picks up his ball six feet from the hole and saves par by calling the putt a gimme. He's a man's man. He's a guy's guy. Like most cats, he has an angry wife at home because he needs an occasional kitten on the side and she doesn't understand. She needs to do her part during the Coronavirus spread and quit insisting that they maintain social distancing. It's time for her to purr like a pussy cat. We might have significantly less deaths and sicknesses if Melania would tend to her man like Michelle spoiled Barack. Michelle would never sleep in a separate bed let alone in a separate room like that over-the-hill mannequin who speaks English with a worse accent than an illegal immigrant. But no challenge overwhelms Trump's competitive spirit. He is betting that the country will not only celebrate Independence Day on July 4th, but the U.S. will have attained 100,000 deaths and three million cases by that date. He's taking bets and even giving odds. He knows that death wins in the end. And nobody loves big numbers more than Donald.)

PART XII

He was feeling like a steed

and she couldn't ignore his need.

After ingesting Horny Goat Weed,

she conceived a devil's child--Jack Reed.

There was no excuse for her dastardly deed.

Some women just shouldn't breed.

With so many BISD special interests mouths to feed,

Jack Reed has become synonymous with greed.

He has no creed except to make the taxpayers bleed!!!

Will we never be freed,

never be freed of Satan's seed???