Sunday, February 12, 2012

These are the days of EL RANCHO TEXACO ..... Side windin'

Davey sat in the stables with  Whitey. He liked watchin' him groom them sky-ponies. Had a be special careful wit them wings. You see, what look like feathers actually tufts a hair. Can't grow no bird stuff on a horse. Them science goomers tried a do it back before they finally got Oberon and Titania. But all they got was a bunch a mush. Mammal to mammal and bird to bird. That the way it gotta be. Two species gotta have some kin in common. So first they whip up a horse thing wit crazy shoulder blades. Can't walk none. But it just an intermediate step. Next they get one wit actual wing buds. Then they build 'em up and build 'em up. Took a while, even though horse generations run 'bout three years. And sixty years later, them two fiirst ones was borned. Happened back on Earth. Bigger boxier breed they was back then. Mars ones is lighter, finer. Gravity here is what does it. Firstest ones was red-coats, kind a like an old timey gasoline sign they used to have. Now we got 'em in all colors. All horse colors that is. Sometimes them wings match the rest a the coat and sometimes they do not. 

Davey like to watch the young'un nurse. He say - How come she got her boobies all the way down there? That can't be right. Why she not got 'lady boobies' like ev'rybody else?............ Whitey say - Dog got 'lady boobies'?........... Davey say - No.......... Whitey say - Cat got 'lady boobies'?.........Davey say - No............ Whitey say - See? Lord don't  want ev'rything a got 'lady boobies.' Ain't they learned you that in Sunday School yet?...................... Davey say - They learn us. They learn us lot a stuff. Just ain't got to the 'lady boobie' part yet. That's all..................

Some days on the Polvarosa jus' like that. Some days jus' quiet. The big goin' 'way party, the funeral, ain't for two days more. Nobody fightin'. Nobody cussin'. Nobody squirtin' piss on nobody's bes' boots. They all jus' settin' up there on the big-porch, sippin' that whiskey and noddin' they heads.

Oh, but they thinkin'. Bart wonderin' what he gotta do to Stinker? Who he gotta kill and how hard he gotta do it? See, they got easy killin' and they got hard killin'.  Easy killin' like a shot to the head. BAM, 'splode some brains an it all over. Hard killin' take a little bit. Hard killin' smart a mite.

Miss Monica ruminatin' on the hard kind. She wanna 'hard kill' Zeb real bad. She wanna kill him up real good.  Feed him to them chupicabras, maybe. That all she can conjure up in her head right now. But give that gal some time. She got talent. She creative. She an actress. She find somethin'. Maybe somethin' wit red hot baton shove up his ass? She used to be a majorette. She know awful lot 'bout them batons. Give her time. Jus' give her some time.

Wait'll after they got that dead-box party. Ain't gone be quiet all the time. This Mars. This the Polvarosa. Gettin even a party game up here.

And wit that 'lection comin' up...we gonna have a lot a parties...


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