Saturday, February 18, 2012

These are the days of EL RANCHO TEXACO ..... Cher said it best

Cops finally got around to scraping up what was left a Whitey. Ran some tests. Stored a few cells in the dead-poor-folks freezer.  Gave some to a cosmetic skin cream manufacturer. Hell, he more valuable dead than alive. Horse got buried out in the Texaco sky-pony cemetery. Nobody knowed what religion he was, so they just guessed. Figured his kind must hold to somethin' like an old plains indian hinky-dink. Ain't too many full, or mostly full blooded Plains Indians 'round here, so they got one a the Tuva-Tuva gals to say somethin'. I do not think it was Tillie. I think it was the other one. So she take an ole maraca outta Mister Zeb's ole toy box an' a cup fill a coarse kosher salt from the kitchen. Don't take much. She in business. Mister Bart (temporarily back from the hospital) stand there all craggy-faced. Miss Sissie tetterin' next to him. It gettin a be funeral-central 'round here.  Kid's like it. Even Alec's two get into it. Boy read a poem. Girl tear it up to confetti. Tuva-Tuva gal catch it in her cup, light it up and sing some shit from an ole Ima Sumac record. (I told you, mid twentieth century stuff real big out here). Then she shake that maraca like a palsied Xavier Cugat and 'poof' that horse 'ficially dead. 

Mister Bart take kids out to the Walgreen for new sneakers and ice cream. (The traditional thing to do wit' kids what just saw somethin' dead.) Then he  rush back to the hospital. Zeb never left no hospital. Holavision guys outside. That would look bad. Daddy gotta stay there. Sides, android gal in a coffee shop doin' right by him. An' it ain't like she carry no human disease or nothin'.  Can't never give birth to so much as a pimple. Lucky she know 'bout them discreet, little storage closets. An' so what if that coffee shop gone through whole lot a sugar lately? Ev'rybody know sugar good for you. It IS made from a vegetable, ain't it? So shut  your malf.

But the good thing is little Davey do seem to be 'roundin' the bend. Doc say he gonna live. Doc say he gone be fine. Doc say he want two hundred and seventyfive thousand dollars.  I mean after all, he did manage to look concerned and go 'tsk, tsk, tsk' five times. That do count for somethin'. Not like Bart gone pay it. But don't hurt to ast. You want fish in a pan, you gotta go fishin', right? An' ev'rybody know how much doctah do love them fish. Side's 'surance goomers give him plenty. Ast his wife. Ain't that why her mama make her marry him? But that part a other on-going serial. We talkin' 'bout other shit. We talkin'  bout our own crap. 

And speakin' a money, Bart send themTuva-Tuva gals out to de-Whitey-fy them stables. They don't mind 'cause it get 'em outta house for a little bit. He got nasty stuff out there. Them orange skin gals like a look at it. He got little holograms for his player, look like some kind a shiny ceegar case. They push 'em in a machine. They stick the dome on top. They laugh. They jabber. They watch. Then one a them see a little hologram case on a floor, layin' right by an ole shoe. She pick it up, fixin to slide it into that machine. But it stink funny. It stink real bad. She say somethin' to the other one. Other one smell it all up an' down. Then she starts to shakin' it. Now it not only stink funny, it sound funny too. This aint no hologram case. This too heavy. This too solid. First one take it back. She lookin for a way a crack it open. Then she spot the seam. Not so easy to do, considerin' the glare from that late day sunlight slicin' through the place. An' them two parts is screwed together real tight like. But after 'bout three farts an' a half belch she do manage a get it open. Them Tuva-Tuva do got nimble fingers. Ev'rybody know that. An' ten heart beats later, there it is.... Two hundred and fifty five thousand dollahs (mostly in ten thousands), laid out all over dead Whitey's crusty, ole blanket. Them slit-pupil cat eyes they got open real wide, obliterating most a the purdy amber part. One say somethin' a the other. Other one shake a hand. (that how they say 'yeah'.) And them bills get split up real fast. Place get a five minute tidy-up and two newly-minted bald headed, pun'kin skinned (jus' the color) beauties sashay back into that house like they Sonny and Cher. 

Gypsies, tramps and thieves. What else you 'spect? I told you...this a Mars..... Ev'rybody get rich sometime.....


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