Just this very morning, the valiant members of my
cul-d-sac militia beat back a probing action from the troops involved in the
Department of Defense exercise Jade Helm 15. They did themselves and their
cul-d-sac nation proud. Every attempt at crossing our most southerly and
easterly fence line was repulsed with great vigor.
The aggressors had rolled into the area from the fringe
of Bastrop extremely early for our mostly retired defenders; probably close to
0930 or 1000 hours. Most of us still hadn’t had our morning oatmeal and raisins
yet. But we were ready soon as the neighborhood dogs let us know we had unfriendlies
in the area. Our night cats had patrolled almost all the way to Bastrop the previous
evening and had advised of the massing of troops and equipment along our
eastern periphery. At the midnight strategic planning meeting, our sole non-sixtygenarrian
was advised of the threat. He wisely decided to alert the rest of us the next
morning foregoing the ultra-late night wake-up of sleepy heads—most of us greatly
appreciated his foresight or we would have been worthless defending the
ramparts this morning.
As we assembled this morning, the initial question was
whether Governor Abbott was going to send troops to help us defend our
cul-d-sac. Nobody had an answer, so we all checked our cells and found we
needed recharging to a man. Our sole just-turned-sixty member of the defense
team questioned the need to draw a line is the asphalt. We decided to table the
question until we had determined the amount of effort this would drain from our
barely-able-to strength levels and revisit the question at a later planning
session.
Well, just as soon as we heard the Humvees heading our
way, we were on guard and hanging over our privacy fences, ready for action.
Every AR-15 we could get our hands on was pointed east with thirty plus round
mags in place and skads of loaded mags on the ready—they weren’t coming into our base of operations
without a fight.
Through our binocs, we couldn’t see a bright orange
armband in the bunch. We right away knew we had been duped by the sideways
propergander spewed forth by the establishment and the liberal media. Still, we
had some reason to deliberate over whether these were the good guys or the bad
guys—maybe Governor
Abbott had sent them. What if these guys were the Governor’s observers? We sure
didn’t want the state house coming for us cause we attacked the National Guard.
We held up for just the slightest ‘till we could get a better read on the
situation. That’s when we finally had a couple of bars on my neighbor’s cell
and called Greg’s operation center at Camp Mabry. They verified they had no
troops in our area.
One of the guys ask: “What if it’s those guys from the
International Society of Bridge Spitters? It might be Mr. Eric Johnston and his
“neighborhood watch.” What then?” We cogitated for a moment or two and decided
these guys were on their own; we had no way to contact them and besides, they
weren’t flying a white flag or anything that would ID them as bridge Spitters.
We cut loose with our AR-15s and gave ‘em hell-to-pay! We fought tooth and nail
for what seemed like hours and hours.
There’ll
be no martial law in our cul-d-sac!
Before long, they were pulling back and their attempt to
overrun our cul-de-sac had been immediately repulsed. We drew a sigh of relief
and adjourned to the first neighborhood house for a big ‘ole glass of Iced Tea!
After all, it was closing on noon and lunch was soon the topic of discussion. I
hope the Warden has somethin’ other than oatmeal on the menu!
Our tongues are in our cheeks.
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