Or do you refuse to?

About a year and a half ago, ole Ruffshot said, “Hey, we’ve got to get you talking in your own voice again because this is how it all got started.

“We gotta kinda create this section called, ‘Yeehaw Cowboy Talk,’ or something like that,” he said.

Well, here we are. It’s time for this old cowboy to start talkin’.

I’ve had a muzzle on for about four years, and that was by design.

See, I come from the belly of the beast of the MULTI-NATIONAL $ AGRICULTURAL $ GRAIN $ LIVESTOCK $ SYSTEM that now controls 85% of the protein you and your family eat. That percentage is probably even higher for your children because they’ve leveraged themselves into every public school system in the United States.

This system has a chokehold on the U.S. cattle industry.

I grew up right in the middle of that feedlot, surrounded by everything that’s good, bad, and ugly about it.

I grew up on the dirt roads of West Texas, not far from some of the biggest feedyards in the world. They stretch out for thousands of square miles across a place I call Comancheria.

We call it the desert High Plains. We call it the Llano Estacado.

Hereford, Texas—The Beef Capital of the World—and for damn good reason. Back in the ’40s and ’50s, we were proud of that.

It was something we could really put our foot down on, knowing we weren’t crossing any rubicons.

We could be proud of our bold, in-your-face international cattle branding.

Well, I grew up in a system that, over my lifetime, helped me understand and coin the phrase: I grew up in agricultural poverty.

I can say it loudly and clearly.

I come from agricultural poverty—because of the system we engineered during my lifetime. And I can also say, I never crossed that rubicon. So, this cowboy talk is from a pissed-off hippie punk cowboy. I had to flee to Austin, Texas, at 19 years old because of the financial crisis of the ’80s.

My family suffered from the completely overhauled, debt-ridden system installed after 1971.

My grandfather came to the Texas Panhandle in a covered wagon.

We know agriculture, we know soil, and we know dirt because we grew up in the epicenter of the Dust Bowl.

That’s the Texas Panhandle.

When I started The Beef Initiative, I had a chance to cross that rubicon. I chose not to. I chose to start the Beef Initiative knowing I’d be laughed at, cussed at, and made fun of by a lot of people here at home. I knew I’d be misunderstood, but see, I had a secret.

I knew this secret because I had fallen ill and almost died. I knew because I grew up on those dirt roads of West Texas.

I’m kinda a rough-and-tumble guy. In my lifetime, I’ve broken over 20 bones—one broken neck, amputated finger, and I’ve got 14 pieces of metal in this meat wagon. I know pain. I know grit. And I know what it is to damn near die—more than once.

I had that perfect storm of impact, of mind over metal, and the metal won. After breaking half my ribs and bottoming out at about 120 pounds, thinking I was gonna die, I had to look in the mirror.

I said to myself, I’m going to look at this world a little differently. I put my foot down. I had a chance to cross a rubicon, and I chose not to.

What I said was that I’m going to look at the man in the mirror, and I’m going to steward a new form of living. It would start with me, but then I’d spread my results across the world. I was raised with a core belief system of servant leadership. So my efforts, in the long run, wouldn’t be for me but for my fellow man and for the generations of children to come—especially for the ranchers, producers, and cows that protect and steward over these lands the bison once roamed.

I’m not a religious man, but I know this for sure—it’s one of my Slim-isms and mantras.

I think Jesus Christ was the baddest outlaw that ever existed, and I gave myself permission to become an outlaw in the same spirit.

From within!

Men in this country are weak.

And those aren’t just my words. That’s from old Dry Creek Wrangler.

See, he’s an old wranglin’ cowboy who had his own life issues to overcome, and now he shares and gives back. He’s a servant leader. He doesn’t jeopardize his strength of character, grit, or integrity.

A lot of people need to get back on their feet and back in the saddle of life.

So before you look at old Slim, thinking I’m being a hard-ass or that I’ve got some kind of ego calling myself Texas Slim—the perspective goes like this: us cowboys, we’ve got something going on here, and we’re not crossing any more rubicons because too many people already have. Some of them before our time, and most haven’t looked at the man in the mirror.

Us cowboys, we come from the dirt. We’re tough as hell, and we’re tired of the bullshit because we grew up smelling it, and we know the true aroma.

Growing up, we used to say it smelt like money. These days, it smells more like corruption.

When I started this whole Beef Initiative movement, I knew I couldn’t go to these cattle associations that represent the U.S. commercial cattle industry because I knew they’d laugh and cuss at me. And at that time, my Cowboy Talk didn’t even rhyme in their ears. My pattern language has different tones, meanings, and triggers.

So I’m here to tell you, after four years of hustle, grit, relationship building, and management—after two trips around the globe and 172,000 miles wearing out two pickup trucks across this country—I’m gonna have a different poetic approach to what the hell is going on across this world, in this country, and on these dirt roads of West Texas.

See, I come from The Beef Capital of the World.

I’ve borne witness to the rubicons crossed in the past, who’s acting like Caesar today, and who thinks they’ll save Rome within the cattle industry.

Many people are about to cross a rubicon in the next election cycle. A lot of people will cross a rubicon when they create their next herd. Some will cross one when they decide how to feed their family. Many others will cross another rubicon because they’ve known me for four years, and I have a call to action.

As I write this, the I Am Texas Slim Foundation is once again running relief efforts. Not only here in Texas, where we’re facing the largest wildfire in our state’s history, but we’re also monitoring what’s going on in Florida. We’re tracking the Wyoming wildfires but focusing heavily on Appalachian rancher relief efforts. We’ve got boots on the ground. We’ve got tactical airlift command center connections and contacts. We have drop zones, staging areas, and cowboys who are now Cowboy Talkin’ our way into this relief. We dare not cross the same rubicons that led to past mistakes.

I come from those dirt roads of West Texas, and the kind of assistance given to these old cowboys, ranchers, wranglers, and cattlemen over the last 80 years has been leveraged in the wrong direction—especially for the children coming up behind us.

I’m tired of the bullshit because I’m going to turn it back into something that smells like money. But first, we’re going to put value into it, and it’ll be stored and engineered in a different way. We will give before we ever receive. We will not cross the rubicon this nation is about to be asked to cross.

Are you going to give back?

Will you be a servant leader?

I looked at that man in the mirror four years ago and said, I will not take another step forward.

And I will not cross that rubicon.

The rubicon this nation is about to face?

I was given a gift—a gift of suffering. I chose to step up and rise. I chose to give everything I’ve got into and for this mission. We’re trying to save the U.S. cattle industry, and by doing so, we’ll save children’s lives.

This is a Great American Health Initiative led by the Great American Rancher.

We make no apologies. I now lead from the mountaintop. I know my why, and I know how this nation is under attack, and I know what you need to do.

How dare you cross that rubicon? But wait—you can just listen to these words and follow along.

“Free men do not ask for permission!”

Saddle up, dammit!

I Am Texas Slim, ARE YOU?

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