We all know how Texans can be. Rebellious. Loud. Stinky. Loud. Prideful. Unwashed. It makes one wonder how these Texans got along without me. Perplexing. So despite having successfully toured the state last year and received assurances of their fealty to me, I felt compelled to return and cement their allegience. I started with the Metroplex (That's Dallas Fort Worth, monkeys), and relaid the foundations for a successful Cult of the B following.
Their love of all things Waakabee is so strong that I have to sometimes hide to protect myself.
Just kidding. I'm playing Peekaboo, y'all!
You may show your pleasure. 
I caught up with Grandpa Mike, Grandma Caren, Uncle Cole, and Aunt Rachel. I met Cheyenne, the family hamster (they swear it's a Schnauzer), and enjoyed the warm weather.
On the flight down, I suffered from a quick bout of Restless Waaka Syndrome. The cure? Dad's iron-like arms encircled around me, preventing me from escaping. He paid for this insolence on the ride home, when I had an even stronger bout of RWS. This time, I made myself "That baby". You know "that baby" that wouldn't shut up on the flight, and "that baby" that screamed himself hoarse and "that baby" that should have been checked with the carseat (I mean there's air in the cargo section, right?). My father paid the price for preventing the B from doing what the B does best, which is WHATEVER HE WANTS. I believe the thirty minute lesson I delivered to my dad on the return flight will make him think twice about keeping me from my freedom again.
On the flight down, I suffered from a quick bout of Restless Waaka Syndrome. The cure? Dad's iron-like arms encircled around me, preventing me from escaping. He paid for this insolence on the ride home, when I had an even stronger bout of RWS. This time, I made myself "That baby". You know "that baby" that wouldn't shut up on the flight, and "that baby" that screamed himself hoarse and "that baby" that should have been checked with the carseat (I mean there's air in the cargo section, right?). My father paid the price for preventing the B from doing what the B does best, which is WHATEVER HE WANTS. I believe the thirty minute lesson I delivered to my dad on the return flight will make him think twice about keeping me from my freedom again.
Anywho, hangin' with G-Mike was fun. He looks a lot like me, which is cool. I recommend everyone consider altering their appearance to mimic my own cherubic features (G-Mike is blessed to naturally have these good looks). I asked him what's been happening since last year. He said, "Working for the man, trying to make a living." Then I reminded him that he is The Man. "Oh yeah," he says. Hello!
Uncle Cole and Aunt Rachel were fun, too. They took special interest in me, since I'm officially the shortest person they know, not counting the family squirrell Cheyenne. Grandma Caren moved too fast and I chastised her for it. She should know Waakabee likes to take it slow with the ladies. I'm no holla back boy.
Of course Uncle Cole and Aunt Rachel couldn't keep their hands off me, same as all of the B's fervent worshippers. However, there is such a thing as "too much touchy feely". Back off, monkeys. The Waakabee needs his space.
This trip was a great success. Had a blast, rocked the state, and ate my 4x body weight in beef.
THANK YOU TEXAS!
That is all...
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