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Get a Rope

John W. Pinkerton


Bubba slid onto his usual barstool after work, ordered a beer, took a sip, and quietly began to moan as he looked blankly off into space which apparently was just to the left of a Lone Star beer sign.  Bubba's moaning and staring were occasionally interrupted by vigorous head scratching.

Bobby Joe noisily entered the tavern shouting, “Honey, I'm home, and I need a beer!” which, of course, the barmaid dutifully delivered.

“Bubba, how did your day go?”

Slowly rousing from his Lone Star reveries, Bubba replied, “Oh, Bobby Joe, it was fine.”  He quickly returned to staring past the Lone Star sign.

Bobby Joe noticing that Bubba had left the building, asked, “Bubba, what the heck is wrong with you?”

“Nothin's wrong, Bobby Joe…nothing.”

“Horse manure.”

After a long silence, Bubba began to confess his troubling thoughts.

“Well…Bobby Joe, I keep hearin' folks talk about things I ain't never ever heard of.  The main thing I'm hearin' is ‘transgender.’  You ever heard of that word, Bobby Joe?”

Bobby Joe's face got an Oh-shit composition, and he responded, “Settle down, Hoss, we'll talk about it.”

“Bubba, you ain't the only one confused.  Hell, I'm a little confused myself.”

“Thank Gawd.  I figured it was just me.”

“Okay…you remember when they began telling us that some folks were just naturally gay---men and women.  Well, I  think we pretty much accepted that---at least in our minds, but personally I can't bear to watch a gay couple cuddle or kiss or ever think about what they do in private.”

“Me too, Bobby Joe.  As much as I know it's their business what they do with their private parts, the “yuck” factor takes over my feelins.”

“But Bobby Joe, this transgender stuff ain't about gays.  It's about changing folks from one sex…to another.  Changin' boys to girls and vice-versa.”

“Well, Bubba, some folks do choose to  change from split-tails to hangdowns and vice-versa.  If they're grown folks, they're welcome to go for it---it's probably a mistake they'll regret, but it's their mistake.”

“Now, Bobby Joe, you mean I could become a woman with women parts?”

“Kinda-sorta, Bubba.”

“I'll just order the ta-tas.  I've always wanted my own ta-tas so I could play with them any time I wanted.”

“Concentrate, Bubba.”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Now, if that is what they want---undoubtedly a mistake---it's a free country---fine.”

“I can see that, Bobby Joe.”

“Free choice for adults is one thing.  Recruiting little kids is quite another.”


Bubba, apparently there are some evil folks in the world tryin' to recruit youngsters, little kids, to become transgender.  My little boy thinks his pecker is just a water sprout.  He'll figure out his “gender” in good time.  As for the gender recruiters, get a rope.”

Bubba sat silent for a moment staring past the Lone Star sign and then quietly repeated, “Get a rope.”

Bubba gradually stopped staring past the Lone Star sign, and the topic of conversation turned to the upcoming softball game at the church.