Wednesday, February 1, 2012

These are the days of EL RANCHO TEXACO ..... Barsoom

Stinker Jones liked to walk. For a fat bastid, he didn't do too bad. Sure the 't.t.' was there. That means town tank, for you folks in other timelines.  Driver kept pace wit him, holdin' up traffic and all. But who is gonna say somethin'? This is Stinker Jones we are talkin' about. He owns this city. And if any asshole livin' here is deranged enough to doubt that, he better get used to bein' dead, or possibly just blind and crippled, depending on the present mindset of 'The Stinker.' Sure, when you go out a town other people start pickin' up the slack. People like Bart Texaco (Hobart) and his tribe. That is why this Zeb bein' senator thing is so impordent. Yeah, I know. You lookin' for that 't' in impordent. But we got rid a that lousy, Earth hinky-dink real fast. Who the hell wants a be like them son-a-bitches? We 'Mars' and we proud. Do you know children here grow three inches taller than them puny Earth bastids? It the gravity what does that. We got less a it. Spines are straighter. Legs is longer. I know somebody must a told you that already, 'cause you been here a while and you must know. Go into a store here and them pants wit the thirty four inch inseams is for the midgets. Thirty eight is more like it. Open your eyes. You must a picked up on that. Hell, even our midgets wun't be no midgets back on Earth. And Stinker's a midget. Don't never say nothin'. No, really. I am not jokifyin'  you. Just keep your malf shut 'bout that thing. Last shit-for-brains did that wound up donatin' his lower legs to medical science. 


Look how folks give him the 'howdy-doo' when he go by. But take note a how he do not look up to no man. Just glances off to the side, like he disgusted wiff 'em, or somethin'. And you know what? He prob'ly is. Knows all their secrets. Stinker knows ev'rything. My guess is he knows 'sactly where Mister Alec is right now. How could he not. Who you think paid them goomers?


It jus' his way. Like to give a little 'pinch' to guys. Make 'em jitterfied. Give 'em palpitations. Wun't never 'make bang-bang' wit the good son. Won't never do that to Mister Zeb or nothin'. That 'cause he got use for him. I mean, who the hell gonna vote for Stinker Junior? He too much like his pa.  And even though the fix is in, you still gotta go by the rules..... a little bit.


Zeb look like a senator. He smile like a president. And Miz India stand there just like a later day Nancy Reagan. But don't think she ain't got teef too. She got plenty teef. Them what knows say she pay people to gather up secrets for her little basket too. And I hear it overflowin'.


Oh, Stinker real glad now. He goin' into The King's Club. That joint got the best steaks in town. All the 'big hats' stuff they taiter traps in there. Know who owns it? Larry King. Yeah, Larry King. Same Larry King as you got. After he retired, the skinny, little bastid had hisself all re-upholstered and juiced up in some secret hinky-dink. Now, them what can pay, do it all the time. But he was one the pioneers.


Know what brought him out here? Know why he came to Mars? His ticker. Folks wit bad tickers does better here. Got less pullin' on it. Brand new fresh air.  This place God's country. It is. It really is. Why we got more chapels in assorted varieties  out here than a dead cow got maggots.


But you know Mister Stinker's driver?....... Mister Hobart pays him.....


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