CHAPTER 10
10 A.M.
The sun rose and the rooster crowed. Then, somebody shot the rooster in the little red neck thing. Buke Bunkerheim, an old man with a white beard, dusty clothing, and a special pistol that had never been fired, opened up the Bunkerheim Bank with a key. He walked over to the safe and opened it. He got out the money and put it in the cash box behind the customer service window. Then he waited for people to come and either get out or put in some money. It might be the bank’s money or the customer’s money, depending on which thing they did; put it in or take it out, but in the end, all money belongs to God. At least that’s what the rooster crowed, and he’s sure as goddamn dead now, isn’t he, motherfucker.
Suddenly and without warning, they came with their pistols drawn and their bandanas wrapped around their faces. The gang of five that had terrorized the bank so often before. Bandits! Ed Cracky approached the robber’s window and waited for service. Buke took the money out of the cash box and went over to the robber’s window and handed Ed the money through the opening, but not before giving the thieves a piece of his mind.
"It’s wrong to steal," he said.
In the meantime, Sheriff Useless P. Clodstopper was in the jailhouse sitting at his desk when he began to think about Whore Betty. He reached down to feel his manhood growing and pulled it out of his pants. He put his fist around it.
"What the hell," he said. "Nobody’ll care if I just pleasure myself." He began to shake his little man as he moaned. "Oh Betty," he said, "Maybe you were right. I should have done you better in the bar. Instead, I treated you like the whore you is, but I know deep in my heart there’s more to you than a couple flaps of skin and some stiff hairs."
He stood on his desk, squatted, and stuck his left forefinger into his ass while cupping his balls. "I’m thinkin’ about you, lover," he said aloud. "You mean the world to me, you little fishy. Yes, little fishy. Oooo, little fishy."
At that moment, as he began to ejaculate, the door came open and Old Elmira Pennington came in. She stopped in her tracks and her mouth fell open when she saw the new town sheriff hunkered over his spurting organ. He looked up at her as the semen dripped out of his shaft.
"Yes?" he said.
"There’s a robbery goin’ on down at the bank."
"Okay," he said.
There was an awkward silence.
"Maybe," she said, "you better go down there and do something about it."
"That’s a good idea. I’ll be right down there."
She turned and left, carefully closing the door behind her on the way out.
He had the money. They were laughing and they shot at the ceiling with their guns. They shouted the prerequisite hooting and hollering as they exited the bank and made for their horses. Several people had gathered to watch from behind the cover of the buildings.
"We got yore money!" shouted Ed "Mulebutt" Cracky. "And we’ll be back again and again ‘till every one o’ you sons o’ bitches is broke! YEEHAW!"
But then, he came in a cloud of dust, riding his trusty steed, Little Mo. Sheriff Useless P. Clodstopper! His silver star glinted in the sunlight, and the gang knew something was about to go dreadfully wrong. A shot rang out, and Farlo "Midget With One Leg" Gimp was down.
"Jesus, what the hell is this shit?" said Arthur "One Ball Hanging" McGillicutty. Another shot rang out, and Arthur wasn’t one ball hanging anymore.
"My ball! My ball!" he shouted, and grasped his bleeding hole.
"It’s a Sheriff!" shouted Ed Cracky when he saw the badge. "Let’s get the hell out of here." He drew his gun and fired on Useless, striking Little Mo in the snout and leg. The horse continued to ride.
"What about gimp?" asked Reddog. "We can’t just leave him here to die. The Sheriff was fast approaching and he got off another round which grazed Cracky’s crack.
"Rope him up and let’s ride!" Reddog spun his lasso and threw, catching Farlo Gimp’s one leg. He wrapped the other end around the saddle and then kicked his spurs into the hindquarters of his ride. The horse was off like a shot and Farlo "Midget With One Leg" Gimp was dragged along the ground over many sharp rocks, broken glass, nails, horseshoes, cactuses, and porcupines. He was pretty ground up when they finally made it back to camp, but we’ll get to that in a minute.
Reddog reached back and fired his gun. He hit Little Mo in the eye and the horse performed a tumble, but the Sheriff was agile enough to jump from the horse, land on his feet, and continue running and shooting.
"Stop right there, you villainous murderers!" He shouted. "Stop or I’ll kill you all!" He fired off three more rounds. One struck a tree, one struck the same tree in the same place, and one struck a little girl and she, her hat, and her pop gun fell to the ground. She recovered later thanks to the skill of the Indian Medicine Man who was known only as Creepy.
Creepy had lived by the river and learned the special secrets of the plants and animals who grew there. For example, he once made a tea that cured his loose stool. Also, he once created a paste out of berries and leaves that dyed his leg red. And it’s a good thing, too, because sometimes, red is right. Ask Creepy. He knows. Then there was the time he communicated with a monkey.
A Western monkey.
Okay, that’s the story of Creepy, and that’s how he healed the girl, but I can tell you, her leg will never be the same color again. And that’s how she came to be called Little Wendy Leg Spot.
"Kill you!" Shouted Lippy as the robbers escaped. "Come back soon and kill you, Sheriff." His lip was flapping in the wind.
Useless came to a stop and holstered his weapon. "There’s a new Sheriff in town!" He shouted back. "There’ll be no more robbin’ in Flatsacks! And if’n you do, I’ll lock you all up and stuff the key up my everlovin’ butthole!"
"Hey mister," said Clumsy, the blacksmith. "Yore dick is hanging out."
Just then, a gruesome sight emerged. A living flaming corpse came lumbering down the road and fell over in a heap of ash and gook. The stench of human suffering permeated the air and billows of black clouds rolled off the thing and into the sky.
"Old Smokey," said Sinister Grim, and he went off to get another coffin.
10 A.M.
The sun rose and the rooster crowed. Then, somebody shot the rooster in the little red neck thing. Buke Bunkerheim, an old man with a white beard, dusty clothing, and a special pistol that had never been fired, opened up the Bunkerheim Bank with a key. He walked over to the safe and opened it. He got out the money and put it in the cash box behind the customer service window. Then he waited for people to come and either get out or put in some money. It might be the bank’s money or the customer’s money, depending on which thing they did; put it in or take it out, but in the end, all money belongs to God. At least that’s what the rooster crowed, and he’s sure as goddamn dead now, isn’t he, motherfucker.
Suddenly and without warning, they came with their pistols drawn and their bandanas wrapped around their faces. The gang of five that had terrorized the bank so often before. Bandits! Ed Cracky approached the robber’s window and waited for service. Buke took the money out of the cash box and went over to the robber’s window and handed Ed the money through the opening, but not before giving the thieves a piece of his mind.
"It’s wrong to steal," he said.
In the meantime, Sheriff Useless P. Clodstopper was in the jailhouse sitting at his desk when he began to think about Whore Betty. He reached down to feel his manhood growing and pulled it out of his pants. He put his fist around it.
"What the hell," he said. "Nobody’ll care if I just pleasure myself." He began to shake his little man as he moaned. "Oh Betty," he said, "Maybe you were right. I should have done you better in the bar. Instead, I treated you like the whore you is, but I know deep in my heart there’s more to you than a couple flaps of skin and some stiff hairs."
He stood on his desk, squatted, and stuck his left forefinger into his ass while cupping his balls. "I’m thinkin’ about you, lover," he said aloud. "You mean the world to me, you little fishy. Yes, little fishy. Oooo, little fishy."
At that moment, as he began to ejaculate, the door came open and Old Elmira Pennington came in. She stopped in her tracks and her mouth fell open when she saw the new town sheriff hunkered over his spurting organ. He looked up at her as the semen dripped out of his shaft.
"Yes?" he said.
"There’s a robbery goin’ on down at the bank."
"Okay," he said.
There was an awkward silence.
"Maybe," she said, "you better go down there and do something about it."
"That’s a good idea. I’ll be right down there."
She turned and left, carefully closing the door behind her on the way out.
He had the money. They were laughing and they shot at the ceiling with their guns. They shouted the prerequisite hooting and hollering as they exited the bank and made for their horses. Several people had gathered to watch from behind the cover of the buildings.
"We got yore money!" shouted Ed "Mulebutt" Cracky. "And we’ll be back again and again ‘till every one o’ you sons o’ bitches is broke! YEEHAW!"
But then, he came in a cloud of dust, riding his trusty steed, Little Mo. Sheriff Useless P. Clodstopper! His silver star glinted in the sunlight, and the gang knew something was about to go dreadfully wrong. A shot rang out, and Farlo "Midget With One Leg" Gimp was down.
"Jesus, what the hell is this shit?" said Arthur "One Ball Hanging" McGillicutty. Another shot rang out, and Arthur wasn’t one ball hanging anymore.
"My ball! My ball!" he shouted, and grasped his bleeding hole.
"It’s a Sheriff!" shouted Ed Cracky when he saw the badge. "Let’s get the hell out of here." He drew his gun and fired on Useless, striking Little Mo in the snout and leg. The horse continued to ride.
"What about gimp?" asked Reddog. "We can’t just leave him here to die. The Sheriff was fast approaching and he got off another round which grazed Cracky’s crack.
"Rope him up and let’s ride!" Reddog spun his lasso and threw, catching Farlo Gimp’s one leg. He wrapped the other end around the saddle and then kicked his spurs into the hindquarters of his ride. The horse was off like a shot and Farlo "Midget With One Leg" Gimp was dragged along the ground over many sharp rocks, broken glass, nails, horseshoes, cactuses, and porcupines. He was pretty ground up when they finally made it back to camp, but we’ll get to that in a minute.
Reddog reached back and fired his gun. He hit Little Mo in the eye and the horse performed a tumble, but the Sheriff was agile enough to jump from the horse, land on his feet, and continue running and shooting.
"Stop right there, you villainous murderers!" He shouted. "Stop or I’ll kill you all!" He fired off three more rounds. One struck a tree, one struck the same tree in the same place, and one struck a little girl and she, her hat, and her pop gun fell to the ground. She recovered later thanks to the skill of the Indian Medicine Man who was known only as Creepy.
Creepy had lived by the river and learned the special secrets of the plants and animals who grew there. For example, he once made a tea that cured his loose stool. Also, he once created a paste out of berries and leaves that dyed his leg red. And it’s a good thing, too, because sometimes, red is right. Ask Creepy. He knows. Then there was the time he communicated with a monkey.
A Western monkey.
Okay, that’s the story of Creepy, and that’s how he healed the girl, but I can tell you, her leg will never be the same color again. And that’s how she came to be called Little Wendy Leg Spot.
"Kill you!" Shouted Lippy as the robbers escaped. "Come back soon and kill you, Sheriff." His lip was flapping in the wind.
Useless came to a stop and holstered his weapon. "There’s a new Sheriff in town!" He shouted back. "There’ll be no more robbin’ in Flatsacks! And if’n you do, I’ll lock you all up and stuff the key up my everlovin’ butthole!"
"Hey mister," said Clumsy, the blacksmith. "Yore dick is hanging out."
Just then, a gruesome sight emerged. A living flaming corpse came lumbering down the road and fell over in a heap of ash and gook. The stench of human suffering permeated the air and billows of black clouds rolled off the thing and into the sky.
"Old Smokey," said Sinister Grim, and he went off to get another coffin.