The Ballad of Charlie Bravo

Twas ragged and raw and the outriders saw She had been there for quite a long while In a crate by the road with no end in sight No houses for many a mile They stopped for a bit, then sped away in a cloud Of dust and exhaust so blue She resigned herself that this was her fate The Crate was all she knew Then she pricked up her ears at the sound of…

Vaya con Dios, Marty

It's appropriate that I met my brother Marty Waldrop in Anthony Jett's motorcycle shop. I remember not being too sure what to think of this short, kind of obnoxious, doppleganger of myself, but his stories and pictures of his recent trip to Big Bend on his BMW 1200GS were enthralling. When I made my own first trip west, it was Marty's advice that I heeded then, and to which I adhere to this day: "Don't…

All dogs go where?

Hey, Charlie? What's up, Claire? Do you think that all dogs go to heaven? Why do you ALWAYS wait until the lights go out to start these out-of-nowhere discussions? Of course I don't think that all dogs go to heaven. That's what I thought I heard you say; don't let Titus hear it. He has a hard enough time understanding your theological meanderings without you throwing this one at him. On what do you base…

It’s hard to get any sleep at night…

I have to make one thing perfectly clear: regardless of what Charlie might think, the characters in this song are strictly fictional, and are in no way representative of actual inmates of the Casa del Whackos. (Neighborhood of G, fellas) She's a beautiful big black baby And people think she's such a lady But the things she does in bed are just so wrong I realize it doesn't matter That it makes me madder than…

One blood

Dad here: my grandfather had a saying: "I would rather sleep with a wet dog than a guilty conscience"; As it's a cold, rainy Sunday morning at the Casa del Whackos, I get the two for one special, except the dog is plural, not singular. All of the inmates have been out, then back in, then out, and back inside again, the fanning of the back door blurring the fine line between inside and outside.…

Bat wings

As we approach the sixth anniversary of Charlie's ascension to the throne at the Casa del Whackos, the sense of time passing us by feels a bit more acrid. Time is like toilet paper, as it seems to go faster towards the end of the roll. And what a roll it has been, and we're not done yet. Tonight, mom turned in early and I was left alone to fend for myself against the canine…

What to do…

We have a conundrum. It's been almost six years since Charlie began posting on Facebook. We saw a need for an non-Hallmarky, non-politicky oasis in a desert of constant negativity, and so her blog was created. But as the stories of the Casa are often chronological, we began having issues with FB moving things around, or even followers of the page not getting updates at all and losing track of the story line. It is…
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