Happy Birthday To Me!
My birthday present to myself is chasing whitetail deer in the Texas Hill Country with family and friends. For the Nugent family, fast food is a running herbivore.
At 62, my piss and vinegar tank continues to overflow with unlimited energy. One of these decades I’m going to slow down and relax. Maybe next century. Until then I have trillions of Texan fire ants to kill, guitars to brutalize, dogs to wear out, trees to plant, grandchildren to teach to hunt, fish, trap and shoot, wood to chop, killer songs, articles and books to write, politicians to throttle, interviews to conduct, and television shows to film and edit. Then I’ll have breakfast.
You can’t have 62 gungho birthday parties by poisoning your sacred temple and God-given senses. At 62, I remain clean and sober and my ponytail remains erect. Having witnessed way too many of my musical heroes and band mates poison their bodies and assume room temperature, their path of personal destruction reinforced in me at an early age that drooling, puking and dying does not a party make.
God has truly blessed me. I’m healthy, have a loving and adorable family, great hunting dogs, a gravity defying musical career and most importantly, fuzzy-headed idiots hate me. Perfect. What more could a guy possibly ask for? I have self-actualized. Pardon me whilst I adjust my glowing halo.
With the exception of celebrating the abundant love of my family, the most rewarding thing to have ever happened to me is the moving time I spend with brave warriors of the United States military blazing away with various weapons, hunting or just humping guitars into submission. Spending time with these heroes deeply stirs my soul and adds fuel to my roaring, red-hot, internal all American activism drive. How dare I not utilize to the best of my ability the freedoms and American Dream so provided by the incalculable sacrifices of the US Military warriors? How dare we not, indeed.
If that’s not enough to keep a guy motivated to make America a better place to live, work and play, I’m further blessed beyond words to have terminally-ill children request to spend time with me at sacred hunting campfires as their last wish in life. With a lump in my throat and often misty-eyed, I make sure these amazing and wonderful kids have a day where their disease has to take a backseat to a soul cleansing day of outrageous, over-the-top, gonzo fun. We play with spirit fire.
Trust me, it isn’t the guy who goes out with the most toys or who plays 6,100 greasy Motown-inspired concerts that wins. It’s all about making human connections and giving back.
A word of warning to idiots: Trust me, I won’t go away. I’m turning up the heat and shining a blazing light on lethargic, lazy, soulless, booger-eating bureaucrat cockroaches who accept the ugly status quo, spit in the face of common sense and genuflect at the altar of dumb. You will not win; I will.
Firing corrupt employees, and repealing counterproductive laws, regulations and rules that only serve to harm the very people they claim to protect is the focus of my life. I refuse to suffer fools and politically correct addicts. If their house gets in my way, I’ll burn it down. Don’t tread on me and I won’t Ted on you.
I’m going to become more demonstrative, more committed, more focused and more determined. Just like my heroes Rosa Parks and USMC Devil Dog Chesty Puller, I will never retreat, never back down, never surrender and never give up. Instead, my Great Spirit battering ram will smash into the wall of idiocy until I obliterate it. Let’s get it on.
At the tender young age of 62, I’ve got life by the short hairs. I’m a free man on a mission to constantly live at the tip of the spear in the arena of life where the dust swirls. That’s where the action is and where you will forever find me swinging a crowbar of truth, logic and common sense. Join me. It’s a target rich environment.
Happy birthday to me. Here we go again for yet another year of the ultimate experiment in self government. I’m drunk on freedom, again.