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

The essentially human, Tuva-Tuva aren't the only reconstituted life form on the red planet. Due to the vacillating conditions, many organisms developed  similar methods of survival. One species, the fearsome chupicabra, occupies the top of the food chain. The original natives (the Tuva-Tuva) obviously call it something else, though they rarely mention it at all. Just breathing the name draws bad luck. But human colonists , collectively known by the nickname 'Troopers,' (gleaned from the classic, John Ford cavalry film trilogy) christened it with a moniker taken from Spanish tabloids. 


The creature, as it exists on Mars, can best be described as a huge, strongly built baboon or mandrill. It has a wide, strong muzzle, lined with razor sharp teeth and canines worthy of an ice-age saber toothed tiger. The big ones weigh upwards of three hundred pounds. Their skin, comprised of supple, fine lined platelets (almost like reptilian scales) ranges from a rosy brown to a sunset orange. The deep set eyes are yellow and cat-like. A thick, heavy, segmented, hairless tail functions as a whip. Chupicapras almost always hunt in packs. Indeed, an especially large pack (known as a 'party') decimated  Fort Bodine back in the first days of human habitation.


They don't come near the city. Barsoom (pronounced Bar-sum) is safe. But rouge parties, unafraid of isolated human settlements, like the Texaco holding of Polvarosa, are out there. Special weapons are required to kill them. Most are guns of one type or another, armed with plasma rays. A direct hit to the skull vaporizes the brain. Anything less is dangerous. Tuva-Tuva shamans brew a particularly effective poison, delivered through blow guns. It's good, but not foolproof.


Chupicabras eat their victims from the thighs up. They prefer 'live' food. A component of the saliva stimulates the heart and prolongs life. Some unfortunates take hours, if not days to die.


You want to go out in space? You take your chances. That's just the way it is. 


They've also been known to snatch people right out of their beds. 


But that don't happen this close in. You gotta go real far out for that...... At least the way I heared it... 


And don't think you're gonna hear 'em, 'cause  you ain't. 


Them things can scoot up walls like a snake. They knuckle-trot like a ghost. 


First thing  you see is the eyes......... Don't make no difference what you see after that....... They say rich folks use 'em for guard dogs back on Earth. Don't know how the hell they control 'em. But what the hell do I care? I can't stand them Earth Folk.......


Hear her? .... Hear her?..... Hear her screamin'? She doin' it again. Miz Sissie, I mean. Soon somebody gonna run down the cellar to get her. 


I hear it all the way out in the stables. She crazy. She got it real bad. Not like me. Not like Whitey... 


All I do is talk to myself.....


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These are the days of EL RANCHO TEXACO ..... MISS SISSIE

The big house was quiet at night. All the windows were shut real tight. Don't wanna waste no air conditioning. Everybody was sleepin', even the two 'kit-kat' maids (excuse me. that was uncalled for), I do know better. They are Tuva-Tuva , native Martians. Look, just peek back at yesterday's post. It explains the whole thing. Scroll down. You'll see it. 


But Miss Sissie was different. She did not require much sleep. Her nervous system couldn't accommodate it. So after Hobart (you know, the Old Man) bounced hisself down on the bed and grunted hisself off to sleep, she crept out and went prowlin'.


Now a house is a different place at night, 'sepcially one on Mars. Ain't got no Moon shinin' down out here. No fancy, little ghostly beams dancin' in through the glass lightin' up the hardwood floors and all. Dark is dark. And she could not switch on any lights. But she did not care. You see, them what's got the money buys 'night eyes'. Dedicated, caring docs fix 'em up real good ('ceptin' for the ones who go blind). Puts a special nano-'lectronic film in they eyeballs, right 'long side a the retina. Reflects what little illumination we got. Gooses it up a few notches and presto-shimy-sham. Folks sees better than Old Yeller. Them Tuva-Tuva goomers got the stuff naturally.What? I can say 'goomers' can't I. So it is somewhat easier for the skinny old dowager wannabe to pussyfoot  her way 'round the palace. Kinda takes the place a the Moon we ain't got. And every night got a full one.


Sometimes she just pads through every room, touchin' all the 'tchotchkies' (that an old Earth expression) and rememberin' stuff. Runs her boney fingers along the tops a the dining room chairs recalling long ago gatherings and birthdays. Other nights she goes down into the cellar, picks her way over all the old shit and arranges herself in a worn out wing chair. That's where she cries. The 'fookies' don't bother her. She ain't afraid a no mice. And that's what they basically are....... basically.


Miss Sissie got her secrets. That why she don't sleep so much. Oh, one a the Tuva-Tuvas knew 'bout it. Not one a the two sleepin' out by the kitchen. Not them bald headed things in the maid's room. I am talkin' 'bout a different one, an earlier one. Chupicabras know who I mean. Hell they fed off her  for two nights...... and she did not die till the second one.


Don't be a stranger 'round here. Come on back. You'll figure it all out.


Shhh...hear her? She singin' somethin' down in the cellar right now......


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

Soon we are gonna introduce some representatives of original Martian fauna. They lived there back when the planet was a hot, wet moister place, before nature powdered it up with a lot a Gold Bond. 


But they did not die out. They just dried up. Apparently the ocher orb went through a lot a those stages in the past. Them what lived there learned how to go with the flow, or lack of it, kind a like water bears on Earth.


What are water bears?...... Why don't you know that? What'd you do, cut too much tenth grade biology? Bet you know what a Chi-weenie is. But I am non-judgemental, so I will tell you.


Picture teeny-tiny little critters. actually very cute. shaped like huggable, pale green gummy bears. Only they got six legs and flatworms for cousins. We still got 'em, in ponds and bogs and deep inside Kim Kardashian's  more than adequate butt crack. It's true. Scientists have recently confirmed that fact.


But these almost microscopic animated boogers got a special talent. When the water goes 'way they just dry up. And they can stay dried up long as they want to. Ten years...Fifty years..... Half a million years.... It don't make no difference....They just close their eyes and hum to themselves (and that's all they do). N.A.S.A. geeks speculate that similar creatures could make it all the way to Earth (or Mars, or the food court at the mall) hibernating deep down inside some dark sheltered crack runnin' 'round a big old meteor or somethin'. 


Appears that a similar biological accommodation developed on Mars (like we said earlier) and it percolated all the way up to their version of us. Hoomin beans, I mean. They got Martian, not-quite-the-same-as-hoomin-beans who was dried up in deep caves till us genuine hoomin beans showed up and turned on the garden hose. 


We did not know they was there. But now we do. Look like bald-headed, russet skinned hoomins. Only big difference is they eyes. Irises go up and down like cats. Some bigoted bastids 'round here (and by that, I only mean about 95% of the populace) call 'em 'kit-kats' or 'pussies.' 


You gonna meet 'em soon. We just thought you'd like to know. Oh, and anyone want a semi-domesticated, Martian chupicabra for a pet? I can't keep it, 'cause it killed  the neighbors and peed up all the rugs.....


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