Free What Would Kinky Do?: How to Unscrew a Screwed-Up World by Kinky Friedman

outside of politics is going to be a damn sight better at getting the train back on track than the ones on the inside who put her in the ditch to begin with.
    First as a musician, then as an author, I've traveled all over this great state, and I know that I'm more in touch and in tune with real Texans than are most politicians. Think of the last time you were truly inspired by a politician. Think of the last time you really respected one. And think of the last time a politician really respected you.
    I've hung out often in my life in rooms full of musicians and now I can also claim—though it's quite far from a brag—that I've also hung out in rooms full of politicians. There's a basic, almost palpable difference between the two groups. The musicians have honesty, integrity, humanity, creativity, and a sense of humor. The politicians, as a general rule, have none of these qualities in any great degree. They lack creative solutions to problems, they are shallow and superficial by their very nature, and they all appear to have humor bypasses. Whether they are big stars or virtually unknown, the musicians all seem to evoke a basic sense of decency, a trait noticeably lacking in most politicians.
    One of the first people I often seek advice from and, indeed, tapped to be an integral part of the campaign, was Willie Nelson, whom I like to call "The Hillbilly Dalai Lama." For as long as I've known him, he's been rather far to the left of me, not to mention quite a bit higher than me. This was especially true just before the invasion of Iraq when Willie and I were discussing the matter on his bus. To his credit, Willie was against the war from the very beginning. He thought it was a bad idea altogether. I, on the other hand, felt it might be a good idea to knock a dictator off and make the other dictators look over their shoulders a bit.
    As we were discussing whether it was a sound plan to invade Iraq, I recall the conversation becoming increasingly animated. Willie, I remember, was smoking a joint about the size of a large kosher salami, and I was getting more and more frustrated trying to get through to him. Finally, I said, "Look, Willie. The guy is a tyrannical bully and we've got to take him out!"
    "No," said Willie. "He's our president and we've got to stand by him."
    In late 2004, as I was deciding whether or not to officially throw my hat in the ring, I went to see Willie again to get his blessings and any advice or suggestions he might bestow upon me. He was on the bus writing a new song called "I Hate Every Bone In Your Body Except Mine" and smoking a joint the size of a large cedar fence post.
    "Willie," I said, "I've got a great life and, as much as I love Texas, I'm not sure if I want to sacrifice it on the altar of politics. On the other hand, we haven't had an independent candidate even get on the ballot in 154 years and this may be the last opportunity of our lifetimes to make this happen."
    "And your name is?" Willie said.
    After a while we settled down into a discussion of the fact that, for the first time in history, the great state of Texas was importing energy. Willie laid out a highly persuasive argument for biodiesel and agreed to be my energy czar if the people of Texas had the vision to elect me governor. The fact that Willie has a special rapport with farmers was not lost upon the Kinkster. With Willie in charge, farmers' biodiesel co-ops would be springing up all over Texas to make biodiesel readily available to everyone. And, as I went on to often point out in stump speeches all over the state, Willie would be different from the current crop of bureaucrats. He would never have his hand in Texas's pocket.
    The more we talked and dreamed, the more we realized that these were two reachable stars—clean energy and clean government. Energy would be Willie's star—fuel you could actually grow. Clean government would be mine—throw the moneychangers out of the temple. From inside Willie's tour bus we saw