Since I’ve been in Texas, a lot of people back home have asked me, “What’s it like scouting for t-shirts from a trailer park in Texas?” Well, that’s easy. Just follow these simple steps and you too can experience it for yourself.

Before you go to bed in your closet, turn the heat up to 110 and ask the cast of Rosanne to stand outside and yell obscenities at an imaginary dog every hour on the hour until dawn. After no sleep, get up at 5am and open your front door. Stick a hairdryer in your face, and engage the trigger. Wave at your neighbors who’ve been smoking on your porch since 4:30am, and then drink yourself a nice tall glass of warm hose water. Put a pair of shorts and a t-shirt in the dryer for a good hour, and then set the oven to broil. Don’t bother getting in the shower—that’s just a small box where the humidity feels like being literal. Go back inside your closet and brush your teeth with some more hose water. When your clothes are done, quickly put them on, slam two beers, stick your head in the oven, and try and get the casserole dish to sign a contract on the spot because you’re leaving town soon.

And the best response to a pitch made by a sweating salesman: “Is this your idea?”

Now accepting applications for T-Shirt Scout: Louisiana Bureau.

Sweltering somewhere out there,
Gabe

It’s been documented that Eskimos have an unusually large number of words for snow. Which makes sense given the fact that it makes up 98% of what the Eskimo sees on a daily basis. Following suit, I have come up with 250 words for “nothingness”. Most of these terms involve guttural sounds and tears, especially when describing the planet of West Texas. Read on…

When I was a 12, I lived down the street from a kid named Tom Saul who repeatedly tried to hypnotize himself by staring into a mirror. His mom found him on the bathroom after one such attempt in a wet pair of jeans sucking and sucking on his fist. I wasn’t allowed to play with Tom after that. Something similar happened to me while driving from Sedona, AZ to Taos, NM. My little experiment involved attempting to listen to Christopher Cross’ Sailing 201 consecutive times just to see if it was possible. I am here to report that it is indeed possible, but now when I hear violins or wind chimes I find that I have to pee.

It’s not far back to sanity
at least it’s not for me

Once in Taos I sailed on into the Adobe Room at the infamous Taos Inn and took a few tacks with a top shelf margarita before mooring for the night at the Taos Valley RV Park. The next morning I headed south on a tip about some wicked neon outside a liquor store in a town called Española. This tip did not disappoint. Saints and Sinners along with the Taos Inn will soon have t-shirts on the Destee-Nation tables. Read on…