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

Now do not think all the Tuva-Tuva are tamed. Sure, you see 'em workin' in stores and playin' nanny to snot nosed little bastids. But that's just some a them. The rest are 'out there,' far beyond where the Earth folks dare to go. Every once in a while they send army dudes into to the badlands on 'clean-ups'. And I mean dudes a both sexes. They fire off a few rounds, rattle some dried up bones, lasso a Tuva bandit or two. Once in a while they accidentally on purpose kill somebody..... You know what I mean when I say 'somebody.' I mean one a them orange hinky-dinks. ....Hinky-dinks is a big word out here. It's like what-cha-m'call it, or yadda-yadda used to be back in your benighted time. Everybody say it. You see a dust devil, it a hinky-dink. Cowboy start actin' crazy, he got the hinky-dinks.  Ugly babies is hinky-dink babies. Yah get gas  and start shootin' bunnies, yah go - 'scuse me, I got a bad case a the hinky-dinks. Some a the dumber ma's even tap it out on absence notes for they lazy, little fat asses...... Please excuse my little catfish. He got the hinky-dinks. ........ Me? I hardly ever say it. I prefer 'turdarific' myself. I believe it conveys a certain sense of dis-stink-shun.


Now, where was I? Oh, yeah. I was tellin' you 'bout them Tuva folk...the wild ones. 


They got caves, real deep ones, back from the days when Mars had its own water, before we brung them comets. Nobody go all the way down. Nobody want to. Look, you don't know about all the critters we got out here yet. What, you know 'bout them big, blue crickets? Hell, they ain't nothin'. You can eat  them. Cook up real pretty, just like hard-shell crabs. I gotta take you to a cricket shack. Show you what I'm talkin' 'bout. And then  you heared about the 'chupis'? All right, but we got chupi guns for them. We got zap fences. Them, we can beat. Sure they take out a few wide-eyes, screamin' settlers. Bunch a dopes. Should a never stepped off Earth in the first place.


And you know what gets me? The blood. The DNA. why is it all them varmints runnin' round  over here got relly-tives back on Earth? Somebody been playin' in the pet shop. Somebody been messin'  wit the herd. Egg-head types say it happened prob'ly back before the last ice-age. But we ain't never found no 'arks' yet. 'Less they out in the badlands. 


Ever once in a while Whitey take out a sky-pony. He like to glide low over the border lands. Not exactly bad...yet. Just a little bit mischievous. Sometime he see things. Sometime he don't. Once he circled for maybe half an hour, watchin' a bunch a chupicabras   gnawin' on what was left of a half dead human. Couldn't tell if it was 'boy' or 'girl'. They already chewed up all the good parts.  He a bit too far out that time.  Don't do that too often. His best trick is lettin the horse dump a heavy load a hot crap all over city folk. You know the type. Got guards. Got chupi guns. Got protein bars. Got face wipes. All duded out in that catalog ' gear they order up from Earth. Shit that makes 'em mad. But them sky-ponies fast. They go WHUMP-WHUMP-WHUMP wit them big wings they got and BAM, they out a there. 


Only this time, he did see something. Horse was up high, so maybe they did not notice. But he saw. He saw the whole thing. Two big  guys drag a tied-up dope outta  a 'tank.' (armored 'Hummer-like vehicle). Guy screamin' and pleadin'. But it don't do him no good. They just drag him over to a long, twistin' crack and start rollin' him in. He tense his body, tryin' to bridge the gap. They pick up a few rocks and drop 'em on his belly. He groans. He screams. He cries. He shrieks.  But he goes down. Took a little work. But they get rid of him. Then they get back in the tank, slam the door and drive away. Mars is real good at hidin' stuff. And them Tuva-Tuvas is real good at findin' 'em.


Whitey saw it all. And one a them goomers look like somebody he seen before. Who knows? Maybe it was just the way he limp.


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These are the days of EL RANCHO TEXACO ..... Dinner time

Ole Effie led 'em all into the fancy eatin' room. Miz India had it all tricked out with rare antiques. The table was a twelve seater, made from two attached slabs a double thick pine, taken from the last Sizzler on Earth. It still had the original, carcinogenic, glossy veneer. And a close inspection will show you that a certain lothario, named Ray-Ray loved Bootsie back in '86. India wanted to sand that out, but the dealer said it only adds to the value. But Stinker Jones is a low-life. He don't know nothin' 'bout no antiques. Justs smacks hisself down and breathes heavy, waitin' for the food. Poor folks, which in most places means just about everybody, eats 'cultured' beef. They grow it in factories from discarded cow placentas. Some a them cells get twisted into chuck roast, or hamburger, or poor-folk-steak. Who cares? They buy it. They don't know no different. But rich folks eats the real stuff, made from authenticated, certified, dead bovines. That's what they were havin', big ole, thick, grilled rib steaks, hacked off a terrified, fresh slaughtered, young heifer. Her little boy went for veal chops. Same day and everything. Ain't that nice?! You know, that way neither one had to go on without the other. Them what kills 'em strives to be real humane.


Zeb sat back in his big, host chair (also an antique reputed to be from Pee-Wee's Playhouse)  givin' the fat man the ole fish eye. He knowed 'bout this dinner for weeks. Hobart fixed it all up. Had a shove a lot a 'hot peppers' (Trooper slang for money) up Stinker's ass for that one....... 'Senator'....... Senator Zebulon Vance Texaco from the great state of El Plano, Mars. And to be truthful, even if he did not like all the tedious, busy work involved, he did like the sound of it. Couldn't help but advance his status at The Mount Olympus Club. That a big town club. All the old Trooper (1st settlers on Mars) families keep memberships. Got the best food, the best booze and the best whores. And some a them whores even graduated theyselves into wives. You see, Mars is that kind a place. Folks ain't so formal here. People be graduatin' into all sorts a thing.


Look, here come Effie wit the food. Whole roast cow, on a silver platter. One a them new mini varieties.  Weigh 'bout fifty pounds 'fore killin'. Cleanin' and dressin' bring 'em down  to 'bout thirtyfive or so. Effie old, but she strong. She can handle it. Stinker get the head 'cause he a guest.


They say the cheeks (lips too) is the bestest part.


Yes siree, life in the later day a the twenty second century is mighty special...mighty special indeed.


See? He likes it! Look  how he dig out that fat, little tongue!


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These are the days of EL RANCHO TEXACO ..... Goin' to the WALGREEN

The Old Man took Davey out to the Walgreen. That was a big thing 'round here. They had a cafe and a department store and drogeria and a fooderia. It was the place to be. Cozy too. Not all under one big air craft hangar roof, but laid out like a itty-bitty, crossroads town. Davet 'specially liked the toy shop. That kid loved anything, just so long as it could fly. This time they were huntin' for a nice, little android sky-pony.  Now why the boy would want a toy one when he had the real thing at home, I cannot tell you. But Davey knew. You see, they don't let kids go  up on the real ones. And he wants to do that real bad. Little man-made ones is different. All he gotta do is clip that little plastic thing over his ear and let her fly. They got some kind a circuitry that keys into the human brain. It's all done by thought control. Military uses it too, but on a much bigger scale. Started 'bout twenty or thirty years ago when they first made contact with them goomers out yonder. In space, I mean. Sure they fifteen light years out, but who knows what they up to. And we don't wanna play no 'Monctezuma meets the Spaniards', if you know what I mean. What? You wanna know what them space goomers look like? I do not know. Nobody knows. Guy down in Brazil, on Earth, says they big, ugly lookin' things.  Claims he deciphered some a their squiggly-jigs. Says they tend to favor big Praying Mantises and wear velour jumpsuits and smoke cigarettes. But he also says they members of the Presbyterian Church. And how the hell could that happen?


Bart (the Old Man, Hobart) picked up a nice, little pinto sky-pony. That was one sweet model. Had dusty, yellah wings, a mane to match. Davey liked it. Ran right over to it.........How 'bout this one? - said the pop-pop......... Davey said - What's its name?.........What difference does it make what its name is? You can call it whatever you want. It gonna be yours. - said the Old Man................ Lady behind the counter comes out. She don't like folks messin' with the merchandise. Maybe she knows they Texacos and maybe she don't........ But she says - Each one got a name. And it ain't no 'it'.......... Then she politely takes the toy from Bart, holds it up and says - Look here, right down on the underside. Can you see? This one a boy. See here on the tag? His name 'Chicito'..................... 'Chicito'? - say Bart. That ain't no name. It just mean 'little boy' or little 'cute' boy. I don't want my grandson playin' wit no horse like that. What else you got?........... So the woman took out a bigger one from the cabinet behind the counter. It favored a Clydesdale. You know, one a them beer totin' horses? 'Bout twice the size a the first one. All buff colored and strong...real strong, with big, ole light brown wings.  And you ain't gotta look on the underside to  know this one's a man.......... I want that one. - says Davey............. Wait a minute. What they call this one? - asks his pop-pop........... His name Geronimo. - say the lady. That tough enough for you?........... I want him! I want him! I want him! - piped the little boy. Give her the money! Give her the money! Come on. We gotta go get ice-cream............ So after a few more seconds, the deal was struck. Bart gave her eight hundred and ninety-nine dollars (ain't no sales tax on Mars) and she gave him  the android sky-pony, all wrapped up snug in his 'doubles as a stable' box. Even put it in a nice, heavy-weight, Walgreen shoppin' bag. Davey wanna carry it. He so excited.......... Quit swingin' it the way you do. Make it look like a God damned pocky-book - snarled the Old Man....... And Davey stopped.  Then they walked out onto the landscaped winding pathway and headed toward the Sassbarilla House. Some folks nodded to Bart. A few a them knew who he was. A few did not.  But he smiled back at all a them. Voters is voters you know, even if the game is fixed. And Zeb gonna be president. That boy better reconcile hisself to that fact. Senator just the first stop on that train.


So they sat there in the authentic recreation of an alpine ice-cream parlor (and who the hell know what an alpine ice-cream parlor look like anyway?). Some scrubbed up Tuva - Tuva fellah come over to take care a them. Davey had a Happy the Clown sundae. Bart had a Fu*k Face the Bastid mocha latte. They did not call it that. But that how he felt, 'cause this election' gonna cost him plenty.


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These are the days of EL RANCHO TEXACO ..... Stinker Jones

So Zeb and Miz India stood there, all decked out like pigs at a stock show. She had on her best sequinned gown, all the way from Las Vegas, Nevada. He sported a more subdued look. Historians might call it 'Elvis meets Mad Men' circa 2150. But the boots were local. Hand tooled by a bunch a all cripped-up, Tuva-Tuva craftsmen. I don't know what kind a hides they was. Look a little bit human, but I don't think he'd do that. Stiffened a little (both of 'em) when the doorbell rang. Ole Effie, the Tuva-Tuva housekeeper went over to open it up. They don't keep no big staff over here at the 'Hide Away.' Who wants witnesses? You know what I mean?  And before the old native woman had a chance to mangle his name (she got a real bad Canyon accent), the robust personage, known as Stinker Jones, waddled hisself in and smacked his fat ass down into one a Miz India's prized, antique, Zsa-Zsa Gabor Era frou-frou vestabule chairs. Supposedly the last two left this side a the asteroid belt. She could hear 'em creakin'. Man, were her teef grindin'. 


Stinker spoke. He said - Why you make me drag myself out here!? Everybody in town know where this place is, everybody who count, anyway. And he fanned his puffy jowls with  a brand new,butter-cream Stetson, even though the air-conditioning kept all them gaseous molecules at a comfortable sixty-eight degrees.


Zeb made 'fast eyes' at  OleEffie and she run off to fetch a cold drink. Nothin' fancy. Just a lot a ice wit bunch a rot gut poured down on it. The roly-poly bastid don't know no better. Why waste the good stuff, right? 


'Sides, everybody know better than to let 'Stinker' get too flustered, 'cause a what he might do. So allow me to drip some smarts on y'all. In his younger days, he had a touch a the sugah. They told him to do them stem cells. But he too smart. Don't want to pay the mercenary bastids in Barsoom. So he find a cut rate doc (oh, he got a license and all) way out in Rodenberry. You know where I mean? And the guy does manage to patch him up. 'Cept there was a slight hinky-doo in the laboratory and Stinker got hisself juiced up with skunk cells. Doc did vet work on the side too, you know. And after he has his guys shoot the bastid (don't worry. not to torture him. just to finish him off and learn him a lesson), somebody's brother-in-law back in Barsoom hook him up wit a doc who does the job right. So now he ain't 'zackly tetched wit the sugah. But he does release a might powerful stink when he get a wild hair up his ass. Once had a fumigate the grand ballroom a the Green Clover Hotel, jus 'cause a certain coltish debutante ain't wanna dance wit him. You shoulda seed what it did to her hair. Not to mention she was blind in one eye for a week. Twitched a bit for a few months too. 


That why Miz India don't say nothin'. That why she put that grimmace-passin'-for-a-smile on her face and kiss his greasy cheek like she do. Lemme tell yah, them other cheeks woulda got kissed too, if he ast, considerin' the offer he 'bout to make. 


You see, Stinker Jones runs this place. And he 'bout to buy hisself a new toy soldier...a real glossy, fancy one, named Zebulon Vance Texaco.


So Miz India gonna be a senator's lady after all. Old Man Hobart gonna be happy (he Zeb's pa). All the folks out by Polvarosa gone be happy. Hell, all a Mars gone be happy.


All a Mars what ain't Tuva - Tuva, I mean. 


Ole Effie knows. That why she spit in the'taiters.


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

She was real pretty. Dark and glossy like her mother, with a white mark right down the middle of her forehead. And even though the wings were still a little damp, you could tell they'd be long and graceful. David just sat there taking it all in. The mama, Sybil, was real nice. Some horses (and sky-ponies act like any other horse) get skittish. Some mares are different. But she was not like that. Just stood there, right next to her little one and quietly taking her feed.


David asked - When can I ride her?
Whitey, the stable boss, said - What you mean? Here, like on the ground, or up in the air?I know you know what yer cousins get away with, but they just a bunch a half wild, asshole, shitheads, if you ask me. And please don't tell yer pop-pop I said that. OK?
No, I won't - said David. I keep everybody's cursin' secrets 'round here. You know that. That's how come I got so much money in my piggy bank. So when, whitey? When can I ride her?


Don't you think it'd be better if you let her grow some first? - said the stable boss. Give her a while. You know how it goes. Gonna be nine months at least. And I am talkin' 'bout Mars months. Look,I know yer grandma still holds to that Earth calendar. Her and that crazy ree-ligion she got. But I was raised different.


Why you tellin' me all this? - said the grandson. I don't know nothin' 'bout no religion. One a the Tuva-Tuva girls got a little jade bowl she talks to. That a religion?


That's 'her' religion. - said Whitey. But he didn't seem to set much store by it. David reached out and softly stroked one of the black, iridescent wings. Sybil snorted a bit, but she wern't too scared. Horse life was good on the Polvarosa. 


Whitey picked hisself up and went over to look at some tack. He always doin' somethin'. David said - But I will ride her, someday................ Yeah, someday. - said Whitey. But you can't take her up till you growed, boy. Law don't let no kids go flyin'. You gotta be eight years old. And I don't have to tell you I  talkin' 'bout Mars years........... I know - sighed the little one............... After that, nobody said nothin'. Just kept on doin' whatever they was doin'. And the settin' sun, shining in through them big, old stable doors, washed everything in a deep, warm golden light.


Whitey felt bad 'bout tellin' all that crap to the book-writin' guy. But life on Mars costs money. And he sure as hell wern't no Texaco, even though he did like the kid a lot.


So they just stayed like that till the skinny Tuva-Tuva girl come out to fetch the little one back inside. I think they call her 'Tillie' or somethin'. Davey did want to go into town with his ma and pa, but they hardly ever take him. But maybe after supper the Old Man will drive him down to the Walgreen for like a toy, or somethin'. They got two chupi-proof 'tanks.' Won't be no big thing.


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These are the days of EL RANCHO TEXACO ..... Miss India Speaks

Just what the hell do you think is gonna be the defining issue on this planet in the next ten years? Well, I'll tell you. And the thing is, you probably know. You're just too God damn dumb and lazy  to say it. - said Miss India. 


Zeb just sat there, sippin' his big, 'old fashioned' glass a 'Jack.' He did that every night. It was part of his routine. 'My medication' he called it. And he just stared off into the middle distance and let her go.


You know them son-a-bitches in Washington gonna start tongue-kissin' them Tuva-Tuva bastards. It makes me sick. It makes me want to vomit. 'Give 'em the vote'.....'Integrate 'em into society'..... Oh, I can't stand it. Look how they go walkin' 'round town with them wigs plastered down on their bald heads, like that's gonna make 'em look any more human. - she hissed.


They are 'human,' just a subspecies, or somethin' - mumbled her semi-sedated husband. DNA tes' proves that. Do we know how they got all the way out here by theyselves? No we do not. But apparently sometime back in the good old days, our orange tinged brothers got a lift. From who and what for is still a mystery. What you wanna do, hook us up with them fascists? - said Zeb. Man, could that boy hold his liquor. 


They  ain't fascists. They just a little bit practical. That is all. Now you just get youself dressed. He gonna be here any minute. And you gonna be standin' right there next to me when he come in. 


Her mate sighed, got up, dropped the towel and went into the wardrobe chamber, but he did take that half empty glass a Jack with him. India sat back in the chair (a Kennedy Presidency reproduction) takin' stock a things.


Don't you spill none a that crap! You hear!?- she yelled. I ain't gonna have that low-life stink in my house no more!


He just shook his head and grinned. Wifie-poo hate when he do that. She knows what it means. This house ain't hers. This is Texaco territory.


But she pretended not to notice. Just glared back, sizin' him up......... You know what that crap is doin' to you? - she says, It's givin' you chest like a tittie-woman.


He knew that was not true..... Well, not 'real' true. But she was happy she said it, 'cause it did shove a burr up his ass.  She could tell by the way he spin hisself  'round to look in the mirror. Tittie-woman, tittie-woman, tittie-woman. He hate that word. Old Man, Hobart, used to throw it at him when he was little. Zeb used to be a whole lot fatter back then.


So they groomed theyselves up like prize sky-ponies, stepped into the elevator and rode down to smile at their guest. Shame she had a little bit a lipstick on one a them Bugs Bunny teeth. 


Zeb saw, but he didn't say no God damed thing.


And then the doorbell rang.........


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

Zeb went down to get her. Miz Sissie, I mean. First she tries scratchin' him. Wants to claw his face. Spins at him. They should put her in a home. Lock her up in old folk's jail. But Hobart won't have it. So she ain't even chemically controlled.  He show her a picture. Every time it's the same picture. Took in at Lake Verne back when she was young. Not Zeb. He didn't take it. He the son. He wern't born yet. Hobart took it. She likes that picture. Calls it her 'favorite little girl.' Then he slips her a little flask. She goes 'gug gug gug' smacks her lips and slumps back. First she cries for a minute. Then she goes back up. And that's it. Tuva-Tuva gals in that room out by the kitchen laugh. They peek 'round the door. They see it all. Sound like shakin' a can fill a dry rice when they laugh. Lots a people can't stand it. 


Zeb been thinkin' 'bout stuff lately. The Old Man, his dad, been pourin' lot a talk in his head. Want's to run him for senator. Yeah, they got senators on Mars. They got most everything Earth got, 'cept some folks wants more. Agitators they is. 'FM's' they calls 'em. That stands for Free Mars. Texacos ain't like that...not exactly. These people don't like rockin' no boats. But they sure as hell wants to be the captains. 


I don't know too much 'bout no science. I know they do still take lots a that 'molasses' out a the ground. Only now they cooks it into somethin' else. Big secret. Just commenced doin' it. Hobart been lockin' hisself up with them college teachers from the university. Been back to Earth a few times too. And he hates goin' back there. Says the gravity hurts his heart. Also gives him a big case a the shits. I ain't never been there, so I don't know.


Zeb don't care so much 'bout bein' no senator. It's his wife, Miss India, crave that crap. He tell her - 'Then why don't  you go out speechifying and grab that job for yourself?........ She just look at him and get real mad. You know, that quiet kind a mad. 'Cause Hobart ain't her daddy and he ain't gonna do it for no in-law. She know that. Zeb does too. Look, sometime he must picture hisself like that. And I guess it does appeal to him. He just don't like doin' all the the God damned work.


Yeah, I sleep in the stable. Not with the sky-ponies. Not with them. So, don't be funny. I got a little 'studio' I think they call it, over off to the side. But I hears 'em when they come out to ride. And I hears 'em when they swim naked in the pool. You know how dark nights are out here? Got sizzle wire and sizzle beams all over the place to keep out the chupicabras. But I knows where it is. I knows just about everything.


You want the address a their place in town? No! I am not talkin' 'bout the big townhouse on Canal Street. Everybody know 'bout that. I'm talkin' 'bout the other place. The secret place. Don't worry. You ain't never seen it. Well, maybe you did. But you ain't never knowed it was theirs...... Gimme the money first. I'll tell yeh. .......... Yeah...... OK, OK, OK, OK,... A little more...A little more..... That's all right. You can stop. I ain't no pig.......... You got a 'chupi' gun wit yeh?...... No reason. They just been a little antsy lately.


I gotta go.  Got a mare in foal. She due soon. You know it tricky wit the wings and all...... Wish she were mine though..... I'd truly value a horse like her.....Who knows? Maybe someday...... Am I right? Am I right? Am I right?.... Now you better get outta here, 'cause I can hear 'em off by the Big Pond.....


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