Keith Stefka testified under oath he was on his way to make a reservation at the Don Carlos Restaurant when this occurred
Reyna cited evidence that has yet to be introduced in the federal trial, including transcripts of the feds’ wiretap operation against Portillo, that Reyna says helps prove his office’s theory that members of the Bandidos traveled to Waco to confront members of a rival club, the Cossacks — resulting in the shootout. – Bandidos defense lawyer
San Antonio, T-E-X-A-S – The old timers on the spit and whittle bench, veterans of the fight – the same old fight, the one that never ends – always called the women, their wives and daughters, “the war department.”
Sit and listen long enough, and you’ll get it.
Watch while they talk; listen while you watch the squirrels find pecans and then run plant them next to the sidewalks and the foundations of the houses of government, so the tree that grows will uproot and crack the craftsman’s work, and you will learn what they mean.
Hitler, with his so-called “terror system,” made a huge miscalculation.
Just like an aging Cockney from the East End of London once told me, “The German men, they really went for Hitler, in a big way, I mean.”
Asked what the hell was he talking about, he replied, “Well, it’s plain, ain’t it? The prissy little uniforms, the strut and bother of it all, the funny moustache and the gestures? They just loved him. Just couldn’t get enough. Just went MAD for the bloke, din’t they?”
I learned later that this chap served Her Majesty helping clear dud Nazi bombs as an explosive ordnance disposal man, while his home burned around him throughout the auld sod. Sad story, but, oh, so true.
Quite simply, if you tell the same lie long enough, and it causes the women to have to change the way they prefer to live, they’re gonna call you on your bluff – and then they will demand of their men that they stand up and fight back, for their honor, and for the future of their babies.
Heart and soul, body and mind, it’s written on the wind – in big, red letters glowing in the dark.
Sooner or later, the war department will send that telegram, petition, letter of lavender and lace, text message, or video that says, essentially, the same thing.
In the family of primates, all this was worked out long ago in the Garden, where the naked She told the naked He, himself, “Son of a bitch, I’m cold.” He got the message, and it’s deeply ingrained in his fiber, branded in his primal soul.
THERE IS NO HEARTH OR HOME, KTH OR KIN, COMFORT OR COLORFUL PATH UPON WHICH TO PARADE HERE. PUT UP OR SHUT UP. WE HAVE SPOKEN.
The brethren over the hill, one foot on a banana peel, the other headed for the house at dinner time, all have one thing in common.
They, too, have received their greetings, at some point. The war department hath spoken in clear and ringing tones.
Some things are ne-er forgotten, at least, not in this lifetime.
The simple truth.
When the old line, dominant 1%er club arrived wearing red and gold patches to hear the good news from their man in the legislative lobby about what the hell happened to their $17 million “motorcycle safety fund” the bean counters had collected five bucks at a time from annual motorcycle registration fees, their sworn enemies were waiting; they had taken every available seat; parked in every available parking place; and they had an employee of the local government, a heavy equipment operator who works for a McLennan County Commissioner, standing on the corner, ready to signal the moment when the balloon went up and it was time to see the elephant.
Stupidly, the power people who brought you Twin Peaks with its overtones of ritual sacrifice and collusion with the forces from the other side, ruled in the beginning, as it were, that the men could have no access to McLennan County, could discuss none of this or associate with fellow members of clubs, on pain of being returned to the hoosegow under the same $1 million bond, set by a retired Highway Patrolman.
Vast miscalculation. Huge.
This left it to the women – the War Department – to caucus, cuss, discuss, rumor and cajole, fiddle and piddle, float theories and seek opinions and advice, one to another.
I pity the fool. Be assured, this committee of ladies have none. But I digress.
So mote it be.
NOW, THIS:
The sisters are on the party line in the sky, the Internet of the Worldwide Web, talking back to the night.
The night is listening.
From Grayson County, on the border with Baja Kansas, the Indian Nation of Oklahoma, home of the red man, the story is told this way.
I’d like to know the profession of the Grayson County Kinfolks president. They came up in here and patched a dozen or so young kids in their 30’s
Heard little tidbits about war with Red and Gold and how bloody it’s going to be.
Heard say this president is a US Marshal…I don’t know his name. I don’t even know what he looks like.
I did a little trolling on some of my boys’ Facebook pages.
I know at least three of the new patches pretty well. They grew up with my kids.
At this point, may I interject, she appears to be a strawberry blonde in the dialect of red on the head.
Can your boy tell you the President’s name?
I can try, but this info came from a retired old school patch. I’m thinking a Vietnam Vet, but that’s just how I took the info. I’ve got a feeler out for P name.
There follows certain scatalogical comments about the Police..
They aren’t helping, it’s for sure.
No they aren’t and if they’ve done what I’m suspecting them to have done with the Kinfolk they are plotting more and more – and getting bolder by the day.
As they say back in old Virginny, from the Tidewater to the Blue Ridge, “She won’t happy…”
And then comes the clincher, the stinger, the point of all this rant:
That some LE threw on Kinfolk patches and enticed some local badboys to join a club hoping to add fuel to their already short fuses for somehing coming up”
If they’re going to use mine to stir the shit…
Feeling they will be patching over the unforgiven brethren and forever brothers too. I don’t think our banshees will patch over, but they are friendly. I’m not sure, I also found that oddd. I know several of the photos are from a benefit turned memorial for a local.
Banshees! Who would choose that name who is not, in fact, one and the same?
They are HA supporters.
And that’s all she wrote as she stepped out the door for the weekend, planning to “mingle” and check on her kids now grown to their thirties and bursting with bad boy juice and quickly approaching middle-aged crazy.
There you have it, that same tired old story about the Angels and their plans to do big things in the Lone Star State.
But it seems to work – every time.
So it goes.
So mote it be.
- The Legendary
