He didn’t just die. He vanished like a punchline cut short.
Richard “Kinky” Friedman, the cigar-chomping, Stetson-wearing troublemaker who turned Texas into his personal stage, is gone at 79—and something in the state’s heart went with him. He was a satirist, a musician, a political prankster, a philosopher in a barroom booth. He never asked permission. He never begged forg… Continues…