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My turn: A few nuggets of Texan philosophy

During the World Cup final, my cousins, The Anglo Mariachi Cowboy (AMC) and Chef Juandel (CJ), stopped by to watch over a few root beers and roasted popcorn.

As the match wore on and the pop flowed freely—becoming a celebratory arroyo after Spain’s victory—their conversation became increasingly philosophical.

Having taken only one semester of conversational Texan, I didn’t catch everything — and I’m sure much is lost in my carbonated translation of their soda-slurred east Texan dialect — but here are a few of the chestnuts I recall:

AMC: “Survivalist” had a different meaning when I was growing up. We used guns, knives and sheets for hunting squirrels, peeling potatoes and dividing rooms.

CJ: The only people sure of everything are the ones who don’t know anything.

AMC: If not for us hypocrites, my church couldn’t field a softball team.

CJ: My resume is some of the best fiction I’ve ever written.

AMC: We’ll need passports to watch the Cowboys play at the Cardinals.

CJ: I think every team should get to play their opener at home.

AMC: I’ve never seen a photo of all three of us together on Cousin Wendel’s Facebook page.

CJ: This sure is good root beer.

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