Tuesday, February 14, 2012

These are the days of EL RANCHO TEXACO ..... Target Practice

Now when I say folks 'shucked down' for the afternoon's 'festivities,' I do not mean they went sashayin' round like a bunch a hairless (more or less) gorillas. Few a them did that. Might a been some blood curdlin' whoopin' and skivvies flyin' later on. But for the most part they kept theyselves decently trussed up.


Families enjoyed heapin' platefuls of succulent, deliciously charred prime beef. Bartenders poured liberal libations (occasionally raised in memory of the departed) and ev'rybody soaked up a lot a nice sun.  They don't truck much wit that skin cancer shit no more. Humans got rid a that sucker years ago. You wanna be brown? You take a pill. You wanna be white? You take a pill. True, some folks got religious objections to all that pill takin'. But  you can tell who they are... They the ugly ones........


And then we got goomers like Stinker. He doan care what he look like. Why he have to?  Nobody gone tell him the truth. He like a Roman emperor. He like Nero. Who gonna say - Yo, Nero, y'all look like a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle. Y'all look like your mama play hinky-dink wit a hunch-back monkey. Any body do that gone get killed so hard they never forget it.


But look at him settin' over there wit Bart. Look at them talkin' like they really mean it. They circlin'. They ain't talkin'. It like watchin' two big 'bull' chupicabras eyein' each other in the chupicabra pit, waitin' 'fore them chains a come off. Waitin' for the bets a be placed. Waitin' 'fore the battle a start. 


Bart say - What you think 'bout folks up in the northern part a El Plano? You think they gone vote for my boy?......... Stinker say - They knows what a do. We done schooled 'em real good. They want water? They gone vote. They want clean water? They gone vote the smart way. I waxed 'em up real good. Don't rattle you brains none. Snatched a few agitators. Din't take no credit 'fore it. But happy to do it. You know how I like (slimy smile) to pull out weeds... And doan worry none over no bodies............ Bart say - What you do wit 'em?..................Stinker go - ttsssss! ttsssss!!...... Make a sound like spit on a griddle........ Then he whisper - Acid bath........... Bart say - What, to the bodies?..........Stinker say - Well... when I give it to them... they wern't exactly bodies yet............ Then he give out a disgustin', little, fat man chuckle....... Bart don't say nothin'.  He jus' look up at the sky. You know them hard, squinty faces old goomers make? Well, that what he do.


Now Miss Sissie settin' over there by the 'water feature' wit her lady friends. She showin' 'em little cylinders, little holograms a her baby what went 'gook.' They gettin' all misty-eyed recollectin' Mister Alec durin' his livin' days. Other folks gathered over by that Mars-Mariachi band. Couple dumb shits playin' Marco Polo in the cement pond. Some wet, slippery young folks mushin' up out back a the barn. This a real good funeral. I kid you not. 


And high up against a hazy sky, ole Whitey leadin' them fine, purdy sky-ponies through lazy figure eights and fancy arabesques. They know the drill. They do it in the rodeo. They do it up by the Canyon Stampede purt near ev'ry year. Only this time gone be different. 'Cause this time...'stead a wavin' at the folks... Whitey gone be shootin' at 'em. 


Ain't gone be no noise. Not down by ground level anyway. Jus' a bitty, ole 'crack-crack-crack' when them plasma balls shoot out. But they hot. And they go far. And they do damage. Sure it easy  to patch folks up these days. They can burn down scar tissue . They can resurrect a shot off pecker, make it even more imposin' then it ever was. Whitey know all that. He ain't that dumb.... That why he aimin' for the heads..... 


First one take a dive right off the veranda. Mus' a be settin' on the balustrade or somethin'. Big plate a juicy brisket go flyin', mixin' right in wit the brains. 


Second one a mariachi goomer. He not only singin' 'Cielito Lindo' he actually tourin' the place.


Bunch a screamin' shits go runnin for the house. Miss  Sissie's bes' lady friend, Hilda, take a 'red-hot' (that what they call plasma balls) right in part a her ass. Man, did she scream. But seein' as she ain't got too much a her brains down there, she gone be OK.


Whole bunch a plasma balls go 'ping-ping-ping' down in the dust. Whitey good, but he ain't no crack shot. 


An' I do not think he meant  to hit little Davey... but he did...


Whitey seen it. He saw. Even from that high up and it rattled him. It mess him up real bad. Almost los' his seat.  But he stay on. 'Cept his hand cramp up and he pop a shot right through that horse's head. Bust it up jus' like a pinata.


Sky-pony stop, jus' like a smashed up toy and go spiralin'  right down to the groun', wiff  ole Whitey givin' out a rebel yell allll the whole way..... 


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