Sunday, March 4, 2012

These are the days of EL RANCHO TEXACO ..... Look Who's Here

So eleven souls set out across the Martian scrubland, one tough, squinty-eyed old man, his little bit crazy, skinny old wife, two daughters-in-law, they kids and some mighty handy, no-account cowboys plus they two wimmen.


Sky had that hot orange tinge you only see up here. Few day-bats flappin' 'round. Couple mostly chawed up dead bodies. Some folks is real dumb when it comes to avoidin' chupicabras, lemme tell you. Nobody knowed how that big BOOM BOOM BOOM come to be. Miz India say The Lord done it. Miss Sissie think so to. They do not agree on denominational issues, but boaf a them are coincidentally plugged into God's Switchboard. Old lady been gettin' lots a calls lately. You 'member how she haunt that big, ole house at night, creepin' down into the cellar and settin' in that dusty, ole wing chair? Once I see her snatch up a little 'fookie' (essentially a Martian mouse) right off that cold stone floor and hold it up flush 'gainst her face. It squeekin' and screamin, scabberin' wit' it's little pink hands and feet and all. She talkin' to it. She whisperin' secrets at it. She smilin'. She laughin'. Then, after it gets a little bit accustomed to her face and settles itself, she lays in down in a dusty, ole, dried up velvet lined jewelry box, closes the hand carved, rosewood lid and sets it down back a an old, antique 'frigerator. Little bit later it die. She got dead fookies hid all over the place...Primarily in the cellar, I mean. I do not know if each one heard the same secret...... I DO know what that ole, secret is, jus' not if it's the one she been fookie blabbin' 'bout.


Miz India got Little Davey by her side. He want go wit' Bart (that his pop-pop), but she won't let 'im. They trippin' over rock and little gullies and all. Few big, fat grubs racin' 'bout. Some a the grubs up here go real fast. They go zip-zip-zip and then ka-pooey, right down in a the dirt. Got to, else them day-bats gonna get 'em.


Buster, he one a the ranch hands, say folks can eat them grubs. Miz India say - They used a do that in The Bible. Ain't that right Miss Mama? ............Sometime she do that. She get confused. Wanna call her 'mama'. But it just don't come out right. 'Mama', 'Miss Sissie.' Don't make no difference. They been 'family' for mos' eight years now, but ain't no love lost 'tween them two God fearin' wimmen.


Miss Sissie mumblin' somethin' 'bout this bein' the first Season a The Lord's Passover she ain't had in the Big House. Miz India say - But ain't this how they did it way back when...'Mama'?........ Miss Sissie start a cry. Not blubberin', jus' tearin' up is all. Bart go over and put his arm 'round her. He say - You OK, Old Lady?.......... She just nod her head and squeeze his hand. 


Miss Monica just walk. She doan say much. She jus' walk. Them two kids a hers doan say much either. But they decent kids, actually. Ain't no semi-assholes...ain't no kind a assholes at all.


Zeke, he the bestest hand, hear somethin' sneakin' 'round up them hills. Couple rocks tumble down. That how he can tell. So he shoulder one a them ole, lead shooters and pump off a few. But it just a mangy, ole bobcat. Yeah, we got bobcats up here. Some goomer brought 'em out long time ago to eat up them fookies. Only Earth cats is fussy eaters. You know that. And to be truthful, them fookies does taste like shit. How do I know? I am 'the voice a the lonesome pines.' I knows ev'rything..........


Zeke did not hit it. But he fixin' a fire off a second salvo, when a ole lady...... a ole Tuva-Tuva lady come bouncin' 'round a big, ole boulder on a broken down, Hover-Round. You know, them granma scooters, cripped up old folks sat they skinny asses on like a hun'ert years ago? Well she mus' have the las' one. It got stickers all over it an' ev'rythin'. I do not know how she keep that battery charged. Maybe she know old Tuva-Tuva magic. An' she nekkid too. All saggy an' orange and bald headed and nekkid... Did I tell you she was nekkid?..... Oh, yeah...I did.


An' she start yellin' - Get yore killin' stick 'way from my cat! Put that 'hell-jabber' up you ass, you shithead, Earth boy. 


Bounce right up to him too. An' you know what that bouncin' do to a saggy, ole, nekkid Tuva-Tuva lady? I tell you what it do. It make ev'rybody speechless. Then she say somethin' in her very own lingo and  five heartbeat later that yeller wild cat come walkin' down outta them hills an' jump right  up in her lap. Ain't even scratch her one little bit. Start purrin'. Start nuzzlin' up her chest wit' its head. She pet it. She stroke it. She croon  just like it a little baby. 


An' you know what? Two a them got the 'sact same kind  a eyes. 


Real kit-kats... the boaf a them.


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