CHAPTER 9
The wind blew over the dusty plains of Flatsacks. It was early Monday morning. The buzzards were picking the flesh off dead varmints, the rattle snakes were slithering around on their bellies and shaking their tails when threatened by predators, the scorpions were waving their poisonous pointy things, threateningly, the buzzards were picking the flesh off dead varmints, and the rattle snakes were slithering around on their bellies and shaking their tails when threatened by predators.
And most importantly, the wind blew over the dusty plains of Flatsacks, the meanest town in the West. So mean in fact, that the buzzards were picking the flesh off dead varmints, the rattle snakes were slithering around on their bellies and shaking their tails when threatened by predators, the scorpions were waving their poisonous pointy things, threateningly, and the buzzards...
"Shut up! You ignoramus," said Ed "Mule Butt" Cracky.
He walked around the camp fire, sticking his chest out. "Now I been the leader of this gang for... how long?"
"Fifteen years," said Farlo "Old Midget With One Leg" Gimp.
"And ain't I done right by you?" He asked again. "Ain't I done right by ALL O' YA?"
"Yassir!" They all replied in unison. He had led them from their humble beginnings as a group of common thieves, to the prestige and glory of being the most feared gang there ever was.
"Ain't I got you all together for your special skills so's we can be a gang of men with special skills?"
"Sure boss," they replied. "Anything you say, boss." Ed Cracky took another sip of his bourbon. He had been nursing the bottle since sunrise, and by now, he was ready to give birth to a big brown pumpkin. The worst part for the gang was his tirades. Such a pompous show of bravado! These meetings always happened just before the gang would go into town to rob the Bunkerheim Bank. But it helped Ed to be the leader. After all, wouldn't you?
"You!" Ed said, pointing to Farlo the Midget. "You're small. You can sneak into places a man of ordinary size might not be able to go." Farlo smiled, his stained and ugly smile. "You're a tiny man, Farlo. You got one leg, so you hop around. Sometimes, a man needs to hop, so that's what you're good for." He had another sip of the booze and staggered over to the next man in line.
"And you, Arthur 'One Ball Hanging' McGillicutty. You and your one ball there can not be as tempted by a woman as an ordinary man can. A woman can bring down a man if you give her a chance; with her fancy talk and her perfume and her perky pink hair; but with your one ball, you're half as likely to fall victim to the unholy."
"That's right," said Arthur. "One ball. I counted it last night."
"SURE you did," said Ed. He staggered over to the next feller'. "Now here, we got Sammy 'Breastman' Kates!" Sammy lifted up his shirt and revealed an ample pair of bosoms; a genetic defect he had come to adore. You could see the love for his breasts in his delicate blue eyes.
"Whatever," Ed said. He moved on to Reddog "Bluedog" Yellowdog. "You're the man who can mark out the territory and let us know where we belong. You got the stinkiest pee this side of creation!" He had another gulp and finished off the bottle, and then cast it into the fire. "You can sniff a good butt there, Reddog Bluefrog... whatever the fuck's your name."
"Arf," he replied. Ed scratched behind his ears, and made his leg do the funny thing.
"I love that," Ed said. He stumbled over to the last of the gang, Lippy "Don't You Ever Make Fun of My Lip" Smacks. "Here's a man who don't need no special honor," Ed said. "Look at his face, would you? Look at that thing."
Lippy gave Ed the evil eye and had his hand on his knife, ready to stuff it into the man who might make fun of his large pouty lip.
"Look at that fuckin' thing on his face. Look at it. Goddamn biggest fuckin..."
Lippy pulled the knife out. "...biggest fuckin'... NOSE I ever seen." The gang breathed a sigh of relief. "I didn't say it." Said Ed. "I said, NOSE. I didn't say nothing about his... ugly... huge... ugly..."
Lippy pressed the knife against Ed's neck, but Ed continued. "...big...fat...ugly...EYEBROW." Again, the gang took a deep breath. They had seen the horror before, and it was a horrible shame that Ed felt the need to irritate the poor man. "I didn't say it," Ed repeated. "I ain't stupid 'nuff to say nothin' about that enlarged... floppy... swollen up lookin'... stickin' out..." Lippy grabbed Ed by the neck and held the knife against his temple. "...gloppy...spit soaked..." Lippy's grip tightened around Ed's neck. "... bloated..." And then, he burst out laughing in his cigarette choked raspy voice. "Ahh ha ha! Yeh ha hack horche hark ha ha! I wasn't gonna' say nothin' about your lip. I was just kiddin'." Then, Lippy started to laugh too as he relaxed his strangle hold. The whole group of renegades followed with guffaws and chortles that frightened the wilderness animals, and they scattered like confetti in a monsoon. (Jesus Christ, what a shitty metaphor.)
"So, it's settled!" Said Ed. This afternoon, we go into town and rob the bank." Everyone nodded in agreement. And then, Ed Cracky looked up into the sky and his mouth fell open. The others, upon seeing his astonishment, looked up as well and their mouths fell open too, especially Lippy, whose lip fell particularly low to the ground and into a pile of fly-encrusted horse dung.
"What in the hoediddle-podunk-world-of-charity's-sin-on-a-popsicle-stick is THAT?"
And also in the morning, Old Smokey awoke with a smile on his face. His heart was full with love. He held his beloved tumbleweed in his arms and lightly stroked its bramble.
"Good morning, special friend," he said. He lightly kissed it on the scruff. "You were something last night. Really something."
He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit one on the embers of last night's fire. After a deep drag, he looked over at his beloved and asked it, "Care for a cigarette? I'm having one. What's that you say, tumbleweed? Yes? Sure-a-thing. I tell you, there's nothing better than a cigarette when you've shared your love with someone special." He lit another cigarette up and stuck it in the tumbleweed. It began to smoke.
"That's good, tumbleweed. Draw it in."
FOOSH!
And then, the tumbleweed was enveloped in flames as Old Smokey screamed and tried to beat out the fire with a bushel of dry hay. When that didn't work, he tried dumping lamp oil on it, and his jeans caught on fire.
"God, no. My love..." he shouted. The fire licked its way up his trousers and across his shirt and hair. He ran, shouting, from the tent as his flesh began to burn.
The wind blew over the dusty plains of Flatsacks. It was early Monday morning. The buzzards were picking the flesh off dead varmints, the rattle snakes were slithering around on their bellies and shaking their tails when threatened by predators, the scorpions were waving their poisonous pointy things, threateningly, the buzzards were picking the flesh off dead varmints, and the rattle snakes were slithering around on their bellies and shaking their tails when threatened by predators.
And most importantly, the wind blew over the dusty plains of Flatsacks, the meanest town in the West. So mean in fact, that the buzzards were picking the flesh off dead varmints, the rattle snakes were slithering around on their bellies and shaking their tails when threatened by predators, the scorpions were waving their poisonous pointy things, threateningly, and the buzzards...
"Shut up! You ignoramus," said Ed "Mule Butt" Cracky.
He walked around the camp fire, sticking his chest out. "Now I been the leader of this gang for... how long?"
"Fifteen years," said Farlo "Old Midget With One Leg" Gimp.
"And ain't I done right by you?" He asked again. "Ain't I done right by ALL O' YA?"
"Yassir!" They all replied in unison. He had led them from their humble beginnings as a group of common thieves, to the prestige and glory of being the most feared gang there ever was.
"Ain't I got you all together for your special skills so's we can be a gang of men with special skills?"
"Sure boss," they replied. "Anything you say, boss." Ed Cracky took another sip of his bourbon. He had been nursing the bottle since sunrise, and by now, he was ready to give birth to a big brown pumpkin. The worst part for the gang was his tirades. Such a pompous show of bravado! These meetings always happened just before the gang would go into town to rob the Bunkerheim Bank. But it helped Ed to be the leader. After all, wouldn't you?
"You!" Ed said, pointing to Farlo the Midget. "You're small. You can sneak into places a man of ordinary size might not be able to go." Farlo smiled, his stained and ugly smile. "You're a tiny man, Farlo. You got one leg, so you hop around. Sometimes, a man needs to hop, so that's what you're good for." He had another sip of the booze and staggered over to the next man in line.
"And you, Arthur 'One Ball Hanging' McGillicutty. You and your one ball there can not be as tempted by a woman as an ordinary man can. A woman can bring down a man if you give her a chance; with her fancy talk and her perfume and her perky pink hair; but with your one ball, you're half as likely to fall victim to the unholy."
"That's right," said Arthur. "One ball. I counted it last night."
"SURE you did," said Ed. He staggered over to the next feller'. "Now here, we got Sammy 'Breastman' Kates!" Sammy lifted up his shirt and revealed an ample pair of bosoms; a genetic defect he had come to adore. You could see the love for his breasts in his delicate blue eyes.
"Whatever," Ed said. He moved on to Reddog "Bluedog" Yellowdog. "You're the man who can mark out the territory and let us know where we belong. You got the stinkiest pee this side of creation!" He had another gulp and finished off the bottle, and then cast it into the fire. "You can sniff a good butt there, Reddog Bluefrog... whatever the fuck's your name."
"Arf," he replied. Ed scratched behind his ears, and made his leg do the funny thing.
"I love that," Ed said. He stumbled over to the last of the gang, Lippy "Don't You Ever Make Fun of My Lip" Smacks. "Here's a man who don't need no special honor," Ed said. "Look at his face, would you? Look at that thing."
Lippy gave Ed the evil eye and had his hand on his knife, ready to stuff it into the man who might make fun of his large pouty lip.
"Look at that fuckin' thing on his face. Look at it. Goddamn biggest fuckin..."
Lippy pulled the knife out. "...biggest fuckin'... NOSE I ever seen." The gang breathed a sigh of relief. "I didn't say it." Said Ed. "I said, NOSE. I didn't say nothing about his... ugly... huge... ugly..."
Lippy pressed the knife against Ed's neck, but Ed continued. "...big...fat...ugly...EYEBROW." Again, the gang took a deep breath. They had seen the horror before, and it was a horrible shame that Ed felt the need to irritate the poor man. "I didn't say it," Ed repeated. "I ain't stupid 'nuff to say nothin' about that enlarged... floppy... swollen up lookin'... stickin' out..." Lippy grabbed Ed by the neck and held the knife against his temple. "...gloppy...spit soaked..." Lippy's grip tightened around Ed's neck. "... bloated..." And then, he burst out laughing in his cigarette choked raspy voice. "Ahh ha ha! Yeh ha hack horche hark ha ha! I wasn't gonna' say nothin' about your lip. I was just kiddin'." Then, Lippy started to laugh too as he relaxed his strangle hold. The whole group of renegades followed with guffaws and chortles that frightened the wilderness animals, and they scattered like confetti in a monsoon. (Jesus Christ, what a shitty metaphor.)
"So, it's settled!" Said Ed. This afternoon, we go into town and rob the bank." Everyone nodded in agreement. And then, Ed Cracky looked up into the sky and his mouth fell open. The others, upon seeing his astonishment, looked up as well and their mouths fell open too, especially Lippy, whose lip fell particularly low to the ground and into a pile of fly-encrusted horse dung.
"What in the hoediddle-podunk-world-of-charity's-sin-on-a-popsicle-stick is THAT?"
And also in the morning, Old Smokey awoke with a smile on his face. His heart was full with love. He held his beloved tumbleweed in his arms and lightly stroked its bramble.
"Good morning, special friend," he said. He lightly kissed it on the scruff. "You were something last night. Really something."
He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit one on the embers of last night's fire. After a deep drag, he looked over at his beloved and asked it, "Care for a cigarette? I'm having one. What's that you say, tumbleweed? Yes? Sure-a-thing. I tell you, there's nothing better than a cigarette when you've shared your love with someone special." He lit another cigarette up and stuck it in the tumbleweed. It began to smoke.
"That's good, tumbleweed. Draw it in."
FOOSH!
And then, the tumbleweed was enveloped in flames as Old Smokey screamed and tried to beat out the fire with a bushel of dry hay. When that didn't work, he tried dumping lamp oil on it, and his jeans caught on fire.
"God, no. My love..." he shouted. The fire licked its way up his trousers and across his shirt and hair. He ran, shouting, from the tent as his flesh began to burn.