These are the days of EL RANCHO TEXACO ..... BUNKER BOUND

Now this not like a little back yard cold war bomb shelter. What they got here more like a big, ole, pretentious, suburban ranch house. Contractor put in in years ago when they built the place. That why it got a early 22nd century look.  Lemme see. How am I gone describe that to you?...... Picture The Jetsons if they was first cousins with Caligula. Lots a gold gilt, cream colored cushions, fancy control panels fill a colorful screens that flash on and off. Got these metallic veined, marble floors and bidets what shoot the water out so fast you could permanently castrate a horse. But it safe in there. Them communiss goomers from the M.I.R. ain't gettin' in. Done stripped all the upstairs rooms. Communiss' all stompin' 'round in hand-tooled, chupicabra-skin, rodeo boots. Funny, but Karl Marx never predicted such a predilection for fine footwear and premium time pieces. Sweetie-Pie gettin' tired cookin' up all that challah-bread french toast, but that seem to be her job in 'the new regime' and she don't wanna make waves. 


Meanwhile, down below, they sleepin two to a room (place got six). So we got Mister Bart and Miss Sissie...Miss Monica and her daughter..... Little Davey and his cousin (Monica's son).....Zeb and his legal wife, India.....an' them two ranch hands and they gum-chewin' wimmen folk. Kind a like a pixilated, crazy version a The Waltons, 'cept with more 'go to hell's' than 'good nights.' Zeb and India's room 'specially rich in them go-to-hells. They echoin' off the walls.


Bart sit up in the little holadome watchin' the news. Empire a China movin' in. Tuva-Tuva folk gone crazy. Communiss goomers eatin' up all the french toast... But, as you know, The Twenty First Century (state of the art Space Train) did get through. So somewhere deep in another subterranean Barsoom bunker that Russian/North American consortium busy spittin' out pulse bombs. Only thing is, they gotta conjure up a good way a deliverin' 'em to the enemy. Right now they fixin' on a plan. Gonna feed little ones to whole mess a big blues (large, sometimes man-eating, locusts). Then they gonna do some kind a hinky-dink and remote control 'em so's they swarm all over them God damn evil folk. You remember what happen to them chupicabra settin' all over that tank? This all work right, we gonna have a big, ole mess a General Sao's Chicken and Texas Pulled Beef in no time. 


News say other rich folk got throwed out too. They highlighting all the families....the Gillespies... the Ginsbergs..... the Watkins.... the DiBrunos ... all of 'em. Bart like when they say 'the Texaco's.' He love to hear his name on 'TV.' Shame it gotta be part of a dispossessed oligarchy. But name recognition all that matter...and they gone be back.


Funny thing though.......'TV' goomer never did say the Jonses....... Wonder how 'Stinker' pull that off?


Five heartbeat later, Bart 'sawin' wood.' He snorin' away. Miss Sissie layin' in bed lookin' at some ole, classic, flat-screen movie (I think it Bob & Carol and Ted & Alice). Ranch hands all hootchyin' up they wimmen. This like a vacation for them. Davey and his cousin doin' head transplants on 'genuine-live-miniature-animals. (they got a kit). MonkeyHead-Cobra they favorite.


But Miss Monica ain't doin' nothin'. She jus' lay there, singin' to her daughter and feelin' that baby growin' up inside her.......


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These are the days of EL RANCHO TEXACO ..... Urban Warfare

It came from out in the street. Most folks did not know 'bout this place. That why they call in 'The Hideout, or The Hide-away.' Texacos  got 'nother official townhouse little ways off. Lot a rich folks do it like that. Dumb kitchen gal come runnin' out. But when she sees nobody bleedin' they guts all over the floor she seem a little bit relieved. Guess she 'spectin' a clean it up.


Zeke pull a gun. He go over and peek through them fancy lace panels they got blockin' out them 'sidelights' by the door. Then he say - Trucks! They got  trucks all up and down the street!


Bart run over to see too. Bunch a raggedy goomers jump out. Most of 'em totin' them cheap, Mars made 'hot shots.' You know, them energy shooters. Sort a like a ray gun, 'cept it come out in a line a hot, little spit bubbles.


Then Bart say - It the M.I.R.! It the M.I.R.! Communiss'! Communiss!............... Women folk start screamin' an' twistin' they diamond rings 'round, as if communiss' ain't never learned how to rotate no finger ring. 'Sides they prob'ly all gone go 'gook' down that basement after M.I.R. goomers shoot 'em up anyway.


Zeb yell - Safe Room, downstairs NOW! ........ Them what knows the place start runnin'. Them what don't know pick up the rear. Soon ev'rybody 'hunker in the bunker.' as Bart used to say. But back then it was only a game. Zeb and Alec were partial to playin' war. They 'tend this place is headquarters. Kind a what Hitler would a had if he didn't 'gook' off off all them Jewish scientists and they chillun'. Bunker got nuclear fussion, electro-pulse power, all kind a lazer gadgets, fancy communication devices, freezers (nuclear powered) fill up with frozen pizza (not the shitty kind) and gourmet, genuine Mrs. Paul's fish stick, made from genuine stick-shape fish. Not to mention all the bestest, scented, pastel ass wipes this side a the ass-teroid belt. Miss Sissie kind a fussy on certain thing. That why the hardwood floors so nice.


So there they be. Sixty five feet under ground, sealed behind sixteen feet a titanium, with fool-proof water and ventilation system. Kitchen all fill up wit' genuine twenty first century 'food court' delicacies. Bedrooms filled with clean underwear and brassieres....... When Zeb say - Sweetie-Pie! Where my Sweetie-Pie!? .........'Cause she kinda got partially trampled in the stampede, 'specially when she crouch down a pick up her new, special-made head-crown. So she ain't never made it to the 'safe place.'


Miz India jus' throw back her head and start laughin' and laughin'. Then she go - Sweetie-Pie! Sweetie-Pie...just like some screechy-voice, old witch would say it. 


But nobody pay her any mind. They already pickin' out bedrooms.


An' when that Mars Is Red brigade smash down the townhouse door, Sweetie-Pie right there to greet 'em.  Pimple face bastid go - Which one are you, bitch!?...... Sweetie-Pie think fas'. She go - I the maid. Come on. I show you where they keep all the good stuff.


So they run upstairs to loot all them Rolex watches and satin jockey shorts. Then she take 'em in the kitchen for challah-bread french toast (hootchie gals all know how to make that) and big, ole glasses a TANG. 


You know, war is sloppy bidniss. An' now we got 'nother contingent a deal wit'.


Funny how Stinker Jones steer 'em all right over to the doorsteps a his bestest 'frienemies.'


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These are the days of EL RANCHO TEXACO ..... Honey, I'm Home!

Now Zeb happened to be dining alone that evening. His new pregnant sweetie-pie was attending yet another fashion show to benefit the brave troops. It should be mentioned that she sailed through society under her own name. Insiders knew the truth, but nobody talked. Why muddy up somebody else's bloomers when they all got bloomers a their own?


Ole Effie was gone. She stayed 'round for  a while, a lot longer than most a them other kit-kat 'retainers.' Government wanted a put her out, just pick her up and dump her old, scraggly ass out somewhere's in them badlands. Zeb intervened. He knew who to call. So she had time to pack up her stuff  and wait  for a tank to transport her out to a Chinese base in the borderlands. Some folks say she went on to join her sister in one a them nice little oasis settlements. But I also heared certain un-publicized accounts that claim she 'workin'' as a lab rat for a big Chinese (and not just Chinese...big Earth-side American interests are in on it too) drug - beneficial prion, research and development hinky-dink. She did have a good way a makin' sweet potato pie. Hope they give her a nice cage.


The new gal, some jumped up shop girl from one them boutiques just off a Neil DeGrasse Tyson Avenue, open the door and jus' look at 'em. She don't know who they are. She jus' wanna  go back in the kitchen an' read her sexy-trampy holazine. So she say - Yes? And wit' all due respect, who the hell do we got here?................... Miss India (who rarely talk that way) say - You ain't got nothin', you buck-teeth, big ass, hootchie gal. This My house (Bart clear his throat), this our house and we jus' catchin' our breaths is all. Now where my 'huzzzbind'?


Zeb, who almost choke on little bit a gristle say - Sugar-babe! What the hell has Jesus done to me!? (as he run out into the hall) You here! You all here! ....... An' he do hug her, but not like he really mean it. Then he pick up Little Davey too. Kiss him on the cheek and all that...... Davey say - Howdy, pa......... But if you look real fast, you see he rollin' his eyes over to Bart. 


Miss Sissie squeeze him 'round his neck. He is her firstest baby, after all. Even Bart slap him on a shoulder. Them other folks, the ranch hands and they women doan say nothin'. They just stand 'round takin' it all in.


Bart lead 'em all in a the 'quiet talkin' room' (that what they call a livin' room in these parts. He set hisself down in his big chair, just off the side a the fireplace. Then he yell - Effie! where my drink?....... Zeb say - We  ain't got no Effie no more. Government goomers done toted her away........ Bart shoot him a look and say - What this 'Gov'ment' shit you tellin' me, boy? Ain't you part a that too!? Why you let it happen!? .................. Zeb doan say nothin'. He jus' look down at his lap. Miz India grab his hand. Oh, she do smell some kind strange toilet water on him. But this ain't no time for no scratch fight. She can pencil that in for later.


Dumb kitchen gal figure she better fill 'em up wit' somethin'. She better keep 'em busy. So she whip up a big, ole crystal pitcher  fill a Tang. You know, fancy Earth shit like that hard  to get up here. 


Bart commence a detailed account a their sojourn wit' the Tuva-Tuva folk. Kids start playin' wit' an antique porcelain Flintstones-Bedrock chess set originally won by some ancestor almost one hundred and sixtyfive years ago on the boardwalk in Wildwood, New Jersey. Nobody been stabbed or killed yet. So for the Texacos things is goin' all right.


But then it happen. Somebody push they little finger 'gainst that door bell. One second later chimes start playin 'She Wore a Yellow Ribbon.' Zeb freeze. He look just like alabaster (or alabastid, as we say in these parts)... Miz India say - Honey-pot, why your han' so cold?


Two heartbeat later door slam open and new sweetie-pie bellow - Nevah mine. I foun' my key. Zeb! Puppy-dog! Come look what all I bought!


An' kids is kids. They jus' rush over like she a reg'lar Miz Santy Claus. But then Miss Monica's youngest say - Hey, lady, who are you?


That when Miz India start squeezin' his han' real hard. And you know she got them real pointy, sharp, lacquer nails. I think a little bit a blood come out too.


I mean if she not call him Puppy-dog, they might a made up somethin'. They could a say she like an Avon lady, or maybe an over friendly disoriented stranger. But she call him 'Puppy-dog,' an' she call him 'Zeb'. Not too many disoriented stranger ladies gonna do that.


An' ev'rythin' stan' still for like four heartbeat, till new sweetie-pie look down at them little Texaco heirs and heiresses an say  - Who the hell am I? Who the hell am I?.... Who the hell are you?


That when somebody start shootin'.........


oooooooOOOOOOO(TEXACO)OOOOOOOooooooo


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These are the days of EL RANCHO TEXACO ..... But Tonight Belongs to Celtic Magic

There is much magic in the world. And when it flows free it is a wondrous thing, bearing prophecies and knowledge to chieftain and milk maid alike. But when it weaves itself into the flesh and bones of a mortal soul noxious cysts begin to grow and the beneficial nature of the thing festers into something else.

Such is the way with Life-Eaters. Those wide-eyed innocents beguiled into never ending union with the night. You may know them by other names. Your people may call them Nefalim, or Windego, or Vampires. 

In rare cases a few have been domesticated, living in darkness and spitting out lies which simple souls took to be divine. But most survive as outlaws, racing with the moon. They hide from the sun, for their silver, orbed mother is at war with him and she knows he'll kill her babies.

And they bed down to rest in alien earth each morn, for they are forever on the run.

You have seen these lucid wanderers. You know you have. You know that. A silent walker spied through the draperies of an upstairs window on a frost-tinged winter's night. How did it know you were there in the darkness? How did it know to look up? But look up in  did, as you jumped from the glass, burrowing deep into the covers and shivering with fear and delight.

How fortunate you were to have witnessed such a miraculous thing. How lucky to survive.

And early spring nights are a special time. Young ones are drawn to the chill, moist vapors swirling through trees and cold, parked cars. Be careful. Go not out alone, for the night has a thousand eyes. Just be sure not to close your own if you should sneeze.

God bless you. God bless you all.

And may the Children of the Moon dance with other partners, for all that I have  told you here is true .

Piper, piper, in the night. Skin so pale and eyes so bright. Play your tune for other ears. Tarry not with me......

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These are the days of EL RANCHO TEXACO ..... Native Magic

In the middle of Barsoom lies an oasis, a cool, fresh, greensward known as Jules Verne Memorial Park.  It has a picture book woodland, a clear, bright stream, called the Sambation and a lush, verdant meadow called The Plains of Sharon.


Tiny creatures, brought from Earth, wriggle through the sylvan night. Flying squirrels glide through the shadows. Cunning, dowager spiders weave webs. And specially designed, nocturnal turtledoves sing of steadfast love.


Eleven strange sky-ponies circled o're this rarefied spot, carefully choosing the proper place to alight.  And after a time, each one came down to silently find purchase upon the ground. I do not know if mechanical devices (of which the Troopers have many) saw them as they flew. In all probability they are able to do so. But this night and the events therein, were very far from probable.


Bart slid off first. Then he and the ranch hands went 'round to help the others. Although never stated, each soul sensed the importance of discretion and no one spoke.  After perhaps ten score heartbeats they assembled in a small circle under the starry sky. 


The strange sky-ponies stood 'round for maybe three dozen heartbeats more, until one-by-one, they slowly dissolved and merged with the late-night mist. Little Davey waved good-bye, as the last one nickered softly.


India mouthed a prayer. Miss Sissie did too. The ranch hands and their women said countless 'amen's.' 


But Miss Monica knew who the sky-ponies were. She knew that and other things too. And she whispered the secret to her daughter - They were the 'elders,' the Tuva-Tuva elders. The same ones who welcomed us into the jadeite cave......... And then she told no one else. 


Now Bart was a spiritual cynic. But practical, none the less. A ride was a ride, no matter how fortuitous. And miracles in the dark, although unexplained, could still be welcome gifts. So he gathered the little band together and led them along a narrow path toward the sounds of traffic not so far away.


Upon reaching the Ring Road surrounding the park, they shunned the androids and their rickshaws and set off, on foot, for 'the secret hide-away' (a jewel-box townhouse unknown to the press), there to rejoin their kin.


Zebulon almost died when he saw them in the hall....


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SCREW THOSE MARTIAN COWBOYS! I AM TALKING NOW!

You know my name. I am Jonathon ben Macabi. And Although My story has not been smeared all over your after school television for seventh grade female children to shriek over, certain tit-bits of my 'life' have been illuminated via this blog. 


So you know of my 'family.' and you know of my predilection for fine, trim, black, leather bootkins. You know of my dark room deep beneath the cellars of the GlenGary house in Chestnut Hill,  plus assorted other jewel-box hide-aways scattered about the ancient districts of Philadelphia.


I know. I know. I know... Those cowboy, Martian bastards occupy the space right now. Yet what is Mars to one like me who's walked the moons of Saturn?...........Why am I doing this unseemly thing? Why am I speaking out of turn?..........Well, let me catch my breath and I will tell you.


Approximately fourteen hundred heartbeats ago, I witnessed a shameful burlesque of the Life-Eater existence upon my magic-calling-card........ I know. I know. I know. you call it by another name...An 'I-phone.' An 'I-Phone.' ....Two syllables. I know! I know! I have it. I got it. NOW SHUT UP!!


At times I awaken during my diurnal nap. In the past, I'd lay there contemplating ancient wrongs and visualizing exquisite forms of lethal retribution. But even enjoyable hobbies like that eventually grow boring. Edith, my 'familiar' recognizes this and brings me toys to wile away the hours. The latest is that I-Phone. ...... I use it to watch your idiotic spectacles and entertainments. ...My favorite is the one hosted by an immortal, aged, vampire woman.  'Barbra' I think the vampirina calls herself And she has a trained panel of human, barking seals who spout out ridiculous opinions on cue. 


But that's not why I am here. the Ellen woman ( I do not think her manic display even comes with a name) showed a 'clip' from an up-coming magic-lantern narrative, entitled DARK SHADOWS, ostensibly detailing the 'life' of a buffoonishly typical, penny dreadful blood-drinker called Barnabas Collins.... 'Barnabas Collins' indeed...No better than a threadbare clark from Dickens.


Do not be fooled by this simple and childish, facile rendering.....El Mundo Vampirismo is much more complex.  And I, who have faced the Fire Pits of Marseilles will teach you.


Yet I must endure the tortuous yodels coming from Mars. ....... Let the cowboys have their say. Let the 'troopers' speak.  Their tale will end. I SHALL RETURN and we will taste the warm, spring night together....


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These are the days of EL RANCHO TEXACO ..... Alec's Two

And then it ended. The still, impassive Tuva-Tuva elders silently rose to their feet and filed out of that place. The old Poo-Poo woman nodded to each one, as they left. Moments later, the men, women and children of the Texaco party began to awaken. And Miss Monica came out of the smaller room, followed by the orange skinned prince. That was it. The deed was done. She carried within her the beginning of a line destined to make Mars a true human home. Please know, I speak of the more recent 'Earth' humans. She was the font and her offspring would inherit this world.


No one said much.  Mister Hobart helped Miss Sissie get up. Their daughter-in-law, India joined them. Little Davey went to stand by his pop-pop (Bart). Alec's two went to their mother. She embraced them both. And the ranch hands and their women got up too. 


One of the bob-cats purred, as she rubbed up against the guests. The Poo-Poo woman passed 'round a flask, made of finely worked, native Martian copper. Obviously a Tuva-Tuva antique. She motioned for them to drink. Bart went first. After he was satisfied it was safe, he passed it off to the others, even the children.  The Poo-Poo woman smiled, raised her hands and blessed them. Then she gave old, copper wristlets to Monica's children. There appeared to be some significance to the gesture. But no one knew what it meant. Though I can tell you. I'm the voice a the lonesome pines. I know everything... or almost everything.


Alec's two would be half siblings to the new one. Guardians and protectors to Monica's third child. It's odd. They all knew, on some level, what had happened. But no  one spoke about it. And the orange prince was gone. 


Bart turned to face the old Tuva-Tuva woman and said - Thank you for giving us shelter........ She nodded and smiled. The Earth humans nodded back...... Miss Sissie said - But, what happens now?..... The orange skinned woman from an older human line said - Please, follow me....... And she led them back through the smooth, jadeite chambers to the russet plains beyond.  A little way off stood 'bout a dozen sky-ponies, whether from La Polvarosa, or some other ranch was hard to say. Each wore a specially tooled harness made to accommodate the long, strong wings.  The orange skinned woman showed Zeke and Buster (the two ranch hands) how to lay low upon the horses' backs and hook their legs and arms into the straps, insuring a safe ride.  Bart helped the others do the same. Miss Sissie was scared, but he kissed her and told her she'd be all right. The kids took to it right away. Alec's two had been 'up' already. And Little Davey was more than eager for the adventure. 


They could see a small Chinese outpost a few miles off to the left. But that wouldn't matter. Chinese soldiers don't mess with sky-ponies. They're too professional for that. Since the Trooper-folk would be riding down real low, they'd be pretty much invisible anyway. 


'Bout two minutes later they were off. Zeke's horse flew 'point'. The rest fanned out to the sides... a big, ole 'V' cutting through the yellow Martian dawn, headin' straight for the city of Barsoom. Eleven frightened humans, strapped to the backs of pegasi reborn. Hearts poundin'. Hooves flashin'. Manes flyin'. Just another morn, high over the fabled plains  a Mars.


Wonder what Zeb gonna do when they touch down?....


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