Cooter Brownsville
When the world goes stupid, I go “Cooter”.
Everybody wants to know where I stand these days.
Left? Right? Center?
Here’s where I stand: at a bar in Cooter Brownsville.
You see, I think Cooter had it all figured out.
As long as there’s been a world, people have had opinions—loud ones. Cooter was no exception, but he figured out quick that jawing gets you nowhere, and most folks don’t give a shit what you think.
So, Cooter didn’t pick a side.
He picked up some moonshine.
Now here we are, all these years later, and folks are still hollering like yard dogs that just spotted the mailman—
ALL-CAPS fights on Facebook.
Screaming at the talking heads on TV.
Neighbors who think the HOA is Congress.
Y’all can argue—I’m moving to Cooter Brownsville.
Population: me, Cooter, and anyone smart enough to sit the circus out.
Amenities include:
A TV that isn’t plugged in.
Wi-Fi password: shutthehellup
City Hall: one recliner and a bag of pork rinds.
House Rules: “Debate Closed. Tab Open.”
People ask, “Don’t you feel guilty sitting it out?”
Nope. I care plenty—I just don’t confuse arguing with doing something.
See, I follow the Cooter Doctrine:
If both sides are on fire, it’s not my job to hold the water hose.
In Cooter Brownsville, the decisions are simple:
Who’s buying the next round?
Who’s bringing the ice?
And who’s sober enough to drive us home?
Here’s the truth:
The world doesn’t need more politicians.
But it sure would be fun with a few more Cooters.
So, until folks figure out how to kiss, make up, and mind their manners,
I’ll be here—
drunker than Cooter Brown,
laughing at the whole sorry mess.
The Condition — equal parts comedy, chaos, and Cooter Brown.
🍻 Pull up a recliner, grab some pork rinds, and hit subscribe — there’s always another round coming in The Condition.
One main request:vote. And stay informed enough to do it wisely.
Amen!