Artistes The actor Richard “Kinky” Friedman has d ied. He was 79 years old.
The news came through X on Thursday. “Kinky Friedman stepped on a rainbow at his beloved Echo Hill surrounded by family & friends,” said it. “Kinkster endured tremendous pain & unthinkable loss in recent years but he never lost his fighting spirit and quick wit.”
“Kinky will live on as his books are read and his songs are sung,” said the post. His name was John and he went to the University of Texas at Austin. The exact day he d ied was not given.However, Kinky also ran for governor of Texas as an independent candidate in 2006. With 12% of the vote, he came in fourth place out of six candidates. PROFILE IN MUSIC King Arthur & the Carrots was Kinky’s first band, which he started at UT. They only made one record in 1966, which was Schwinn 24/Beach Party Boo Boo. Surf music was made fun of by King Arthur & The Carrots. Ginky Friedman and the Texas Jewboys was Richard’s second band. They were formed in 1973. They didn’t stay together for long, and Kinky’s self-titled album came out in 1974.
Following two years, Kinky went on tour with Bob Dylan. He was a musical guest on Season 2 of Saturday Night Live after the tour. In 2011, the artist went on a world tour as the main act. KiNKY has put out 18 albums so far. His most recent one, Circus of Life, came out in 2018. NOTHING ELSE Later, when Richard’s music career stopped going forward in the 1980s, he started writing.
He mostly wrote detective books, which have made-up versions of himself and lyrics from his songs. In New York City, the character fights crime while telling jokes, giving advice, recipes, and charm. In his mind, he is like Sherlock Holmes from a different time. Kinky Friedman did not appear in Kill Two Birds and Get Stoned or The Christmas Pig, two books that Kinky wrote. Additionally, he had a regular column for Texas Monthly from 2001 to 2005.
He stopped writing the column when he ran for governor in 2006. But two years later, the newspaper brought back his column every two months. In 1986, Richard ran as a Republican for Justice of the Peace in Kerrville, Texas, but lost. This was before he ran for Governor.
I Opened a Mysterious Door in My Cellar—Now I Regret Everything
I never believed in hidden doors or secret rooms; those were things from mystery stories. But when Florence and I decided to renovate our cellar, we found more than just a door behind the old wallpaper. It was something we were never meant to discover, and now, I wish I had never opened it.
You never truly understand a house until you’ve lived in it for some time. That’s what I always believed. Florence and I bought this old Victorian house five years ago. We called it our dream home. It had history, charm, and unique details, the kind of house with a past you could feel in every room.
When we started the renovation project, we thought we knew what we were getting into. The cellar was dark, damp, and unused. Peeling wallpaper and cracked tiles told us it hadn’t been touched in years. But we were excited about turning it into a useful space, maybe a wine cellar or storage room. That’s when we noticed something odd—a section of the wall that didn’t match the rest.
I never believed in hidden doors or secret rooms; those were things from mystery stories. But when Florence and I decided to renovate our cellar, we found more than just a door behind the old wallpaper. It was something we were never meant to discover, and now, I wish I had never opened it.
You never truly understand a house until you’ve lived in it for some time. That’s what I always believed. Florence and I bought this old Victorian house five years ago. We called it our dream home. It had history, charm, and unique details, the kind of house with a past you could feel in every room.
When we started the renovation project, we thought we knew what we were getting into. The cellar was dark, damp, and unused. Peeling wallpaper and cracked tiles told us it hadn’t been touched in years. But we were excited about turning it into a useful space, maybe a wine cellar or storage room. That’s when we noticed something odd—a section of the wall that didn’t match the rest.
In the back corner, we found something even stranger: an old wooden chest, covered in dust and cobwebs. It was locked, but the lock seemed weak, like it could easily break. Florence begged me to leave it alone, but I was too curious. I forced it open, and what I saw made my heart race.
Inside were old documents, letters written in a language I didn’t understand, and something wrapped in a faded cloth. When I unwrapped it, I froze. It was a small, strange object that didn’t belong in this world. Florence screamed and ran out of the cellar, terrified.
I should have followed her, but I was too deep into it. I put everything back in the chest and closed the door, but the feeling that something had changed wouldn’t leave me. Since that day, things have been different. Strange noises, cold drafts, and shadows moving where they shouldn’t.
Now, I regret opening that door. Florence refuses to go back into the cellar, and I can’t sleep at night. I don’t know what we uncovered, but I fear we’ve let something into our home that we can’t control. Every day, I wish I had just left the door hidden behind the wallpaper, where it belonged.
Now, the cellar remains locked. I’ve sealed the door with heavy boards, hoping that will keep whatever we disturbed at bay. Florence refuses to go near it, and our once happy home feels suffocating with the tension between us. It’s like the house itself has changed, like it’s watching us.
At night, I hear whispers coming from the floor below. I try to convince myself it’s just the wind or my imagination, but deep down, I know something’s wrong. The object I found in the chest haunts my thoughts—I’ve hidden it away, but it’s like it calls to me. Florence says I need to get rid of it, but I’m too afraid to touch it again.
I tried contacting the previous owners, but they didn’t know anything about the hidden room. They had lived here briefly before selling the house. No one in the neighborhood seems to know its history, and records of the house are vague. It’s like this part of the house was meant to stay forgotten.
I keep telling myself everything will be fine if I just leave it alone, but the strange occurrences are getting worse. Lights flicker, doors creak open on their own, and sometimes, I catch glimpses of something moving in the dark corners. It feels like the house is alive—angry that we disturbed its secret.
Florence is talking about moving, and maybe she’s right. But part of me knows that whatever we let out, whatever we disturbed, might not stay behind. And now, I wonder if sealing that door was just the beginning of something far more terrifying.
I never should have opened that door.
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