San Antonio, Texass,
I’m shacked up across the street from the Alamo, which has some sort of significance in American history. From what I remember, the Alamo symbolizes the ultimate crash and burn. It is the go big or go home of the western story. Davy Crockett might have killed a bar when he was only three, but Santa Anna and his gang wrote the final chapter at the Alamo.
In the great American tradition of claiming failures as successes, “Remember the Alamo” became the battle cry that spurred Sam Houston’s forces to overrun Santa Anna and claim Texas for the Anglos, who previously struggled to adapt to the Mexican culture. Go figure.
As January draws nearer with rides foregone and forgotten, an entire lifestyle sacrificed for home and work, my throat rings hoarse in my thoughts-
If you tour the Alamo, forget not the basement. I hear it is awesome.
What the? Really? I shall go back to the Alamo!
That photo really kills my impression of the Alamo. I think it might be the hotdog stand and the high-rise. (insert rude white people comment here)
Nice try May!
Dammit! Stupid internet! But did you find that clip before or after you tried to tour the basement?
But can you sing and dance to…
I jumped the wall last night. After a thorough search I suspected I’d been had. The stupid internet verified the affront.
A friend once told me that Bobby Fisher was apprehended with Al Quaeda in Pakistan. I repated it all day before wondering why I was the only person who knew.
You still got hope.
Ha! That whole basement/ PeeWee thing cracked me up. I would’ve fallen for it.