These are the days of EL RANCHO TEXACO ...... How it really was

The big house was quiet. Bart and Zeb sent communications from the hospital from time to time. Miss Sissie, or Miz India picked up. Nothing much to tell. Davey still 'holding his own.' What ever that means. They  got a little room for the families off intensive care. The chairs are big and plush. Folks sleep. People snore. Every two floors got a small coffee shop. Android gal in it look jus' like Susan Sarandon. Old timey movie stars is big now. Bart jus' had hisself a coffee...black. She try to sell him a big, ole sticky bun, but he don't want no food. Zeb sleepin. It ain't that he don't love that boy. It ain't that he don't worry. It ain't nothin' 'cept the fact that Zeb gotta sleep. Bart don't care. He don't wanna talk too much now anyway. Funny how that android gal watch the little halovision. What she think? Do she care about the story? Do she side with the people or  the blender? Once had a big story on the news...Do Androids Got Souls?........ Big goomer from some denomination say they ain't got none cause God din't make 'em. Some other goomer say the fac' that androids been askin' if they have souls shows they do. 'Cause God steps in where He is needed and He ain't gonna leave them innocent contraptions all high and dry. Then some lady say - How you know you gotta soul? Goomer say he do 'cause Good Book say he do....Android woman get up from audience and start cryin' bout her mate (also an android) what got stomped on by a elephant when the circus come to town. And she cryin' and cryin'. She say - You mean a tell me I ain't gone see him when my time come to die? ......... Goomer fellah say all she  gone see is bottom of a recyclin' bin........News lady say - Well ain't that what the dirt gone do to you?.......It just go 'round like that, 'cause truth is, nobody know...... You see, God good at keepin' surprises.


Miss Monica layin' all curled up in her bed. Ain't her real bed. That one back in town. This a guest room bed. But it in Alec's old room. They use it ev'ry time they come out here. So it a little bit like home. She thinkin' 'bout Alec. She paintin' up brain pictures a her dead husband. He a actor. Well, I mean before his recent permanent hiatus he was. Made all kind a shows back in Barsoom. Nobody know he Bart Texaco's son, 'specially in them early days. Ev'rybody jus' think he nobody son. And you know how hard it is for actor what ain't got no daddies, or uncles, or cousins. So he beg. And he go hungry. And he take all kind a job.....Sellin' teeth buds to old folks over the phone. Teachin' semi-reformed, cripped-up pirates how to tap dance. I don't know. Maybe it was jazz dance he was learnin' 'em. I can't remember. But it turn out one a them cripped up pirates got a daddy in the entertainment industry....Excuse me, the entertainment cousins' club, I means. Pirate know how patient Alec be learnin' him to do them 'jazz hands.'  So he communicate wit' his daddy and say - I want you to git a job for my friend, ole man. ........ Ole man say - What your friend do?......... Cripped up pirate say - He a actor. An' he know how to dance around a lot too............. Ole man say - Jesus Christ, that do sound special. But who his daddy? Why we gotta slice off piece a pie for him?........... But cripped up pirate mighty tricky. He cagey. He shifty. He know things. So he say - What I got here is Bart Texaco's baby boy. You want a friend like that, ole man?........Ole man say he do an' two day later Bart makin' peek-a-boo naked hinky-dink wit' some fancy breasted gal on a prime-time HV show. (that what they say 'stead a halovision.)


Miss Monica thinkin' 'bout all that. They already got stories 'bout her husband all over the halovision and ev'ry other kind a 'vision' too. Talkin' 'bout him. Talkin' 'bout his funeral. Talkin' 'bout the shootin's, 'bout the quality a the brisket. Talkin' 'bout all a it. And she doan want it no more. She sick and tired bein' a hootchy-hootch for ev'ry piece a gold come her way. Miz India don't gotta do that. Miz India jus' meet folks and say - Howdy-do! Why you not come swimmin' at my club?..... She got fancy lady friends all eat lunch outta same trough. All buy brassieres together. Say - Do this thang make part a my lef' tittie look a little bit funny to you?


Well Monica want that too. Not the funny, lef' tittie part. She too much a body-wise, self-aware actor lady to wish herself somethin' like that. But she do want the rest a it. An' she make sure folks sees her goin' in to check on Miss Sissie and all. 'Specially them cops sleepin' in the blue room. She make sure they sees her walkin' by real good. 'Specially that cute one......


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

Things got real quiet at the hospital. Once they get everything all set up there ain't much noise. Little Davey hung suspended in a twelve foot lucite cube. We have other names for the material now. But you'd probably call it lucite. The interior is filled with a clear substance much like aloe vera gel. Young Texaco floats in it. There are not tubes. Vital signs are transmitted directly through the gel to detailed read-outs on the exterior side of the enclosure. 


Oxygen transference is accomplished via chemicals and molecules dissolved in the clear viscous substance. The boy's eyes are open, though he appears to be in an unconscious state. He rests in a 'sitting position, but tilted forward approximately forty five degrees. 


Upon close inspection it is possible to detect subtle movements and currents flowing through the gel. It penetrates deep into the wound on the front of his shoulder and exits the opening on his back.


A physician, this time human, whispers something to Bart and his son, Zeb. They ignore most of the details, focusing on one pivotal phrase.....'We'll know more in the morning.'....................Zeb just swallows and nods. Bart demands more. He grabs the 'healer' by his upper arm and says - Wait a minute. If that was your boy in that thing. What would you wanna hear? Don't tell me what's 'good' for you. Tell me the truth.  'Cause what I'm hearin' is 'He ain't gonna die during my watch.' Is that it?.............. The doc exhales and says - what do you want me to tell you?.............Bart says - Gimme the odds. What's his chances?.............The doc studies the data scrolling across the side of the cube, thinks for a moment and says - Right now, he's got a thirty percent chance. We don't know what can grow in there. He's torn up real bad. They got so many prions and virons here. We don't know them all. How many generations have lived here? Not that many. It's gonna take centuries for us to get a handle on all this. ............Zeb wakes up and says - Well, what are you gonna do for him?...........The doctor says - This is it, I'm afraid. Will it be enough? I got to go back to what I said before. We have to give it a few hours............. Don't say 'it'! Don't say 'it'! He is not an 'it'! That is David Lightner Texaco you got in there. Do you hear me!? I give one point five mill a year to this shit hole... Gimme back my kid!!................ Then he knocks over the coffee machine. Doc don't care. He ain't gonna clean it up. Tuva-Tuva man come in to do that. Hell, he cheaper than a robot and damn sure less than an android.


Zeb try to get Bart out the door. Ole man slap him off. Doc say - Please, Mr. Texaco. We just have to wait...............Bart just stare him down and say - Look, you bastid. You charge like you sellin' miracles...You make sure he gets some......... Then he shove that 'dedicated man of medicine 'gainst a wall and stomp out............ Five yard later he yell - Zeb!..... And Davey's daddy runs out after........


Miss Monica a actor, jus' like her late husband. She play lot a roles. Loud mouthed hootchies a specialty. But she can do other parts too. Right now she playin' 'strong-woman-in-charge'. Got Miss Sissie upstairs in bed. Got the cops all liquored up. They did not want any at first, but it did not take too much convincin' to change they minds. Ev'rybody know how good Texaco   drink is. 


Nobody run over to scrape up Whitey or that sky-pony. Flies don't mind. More juicy meat for them. It crazy hearin' flies buzz like that at night. They far off from the house. But you could still hear 'em. Tillie, the kat-kat gal (excuse me, Tuva-Tuva) say some a them big blues (locusts) and squasha-bugs (another Mars variety) prob'ly diggin' in too. Cops don't seem to care much. They already got the truth. Got it straight from Stinker. And that all that count 'round here.


Miss Monica eyein' all that silver they got displayed in the fancy eatin' room. Got it all locked up in them fancy glass cupboards. Not that she want a big mess a old timey gravy boats and curly-que  candle sticks (some of 'em rumored to be from the Liberace Museum in Las Vegas, Earth), but she know how much wealth they represent. And she want the mama bear part a it  for her kids. 


India jus' set in the chapel mouthin' her prayers. Miss Sissie got it all tricked out for her Pittsburgh Platform, Reform Judaism psalm singin'. But Miss India say that don't matter none 'cause Jesus prob'ly prayed in place jus' like that...... 'Ceptin' all signs point to Him havin' a more Orthodox kind a upbringin'. 


Tillie laugh at all a them from the kitchen. She know her way the best. She grindin' her 'spirit' herbs in that little jade bowl. She hummin' her songs.  Dip a finger in it and take a lick. Oh, look at her. Now she start a tremble, doin' the Saint Vitus dance, 'cept they ain't got no Saint Vitus in her holy book. But them Tuva-Tuva ain't got no book at all. Well, they do, but it written inside they heads....


Sun gone pop up over by the big pond soon... Then maybe we know.


Miss Monica run her hand over that long shiny table....You can tell....She like the way it feel......


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

He didn't deserve that. Davey's a good little kid. And it's not like Whitey meant to hit him. But when you go berserk with high powered fire arms crazy stuff is bound to happen. 


Bart saw him get hit. His eyes picked up the very instant when the 'red hot' cut through the boy's shirt and sliced through his body. Saw him twitch. Saw him fall. Saw him bleed. Old Man jumped up and barreled through all them screamin' people. Some folks go flyin'. Stuff gets broke. He don't care. He don't care 'bout none a them bastids. Let 'em all drop dead and go to hell. 


Folks is already crowdin' 'round the boy. Them what can't move fast enough gets clobbered. Bart falls down by his grandson. He's heavin'. He can hardly breathe. And it's the old man I'm talkin' 'bout. Little guy is still alive. His eyes is open. He look scared... real scared. His legs is tremblin'. Somebody mumble 'bout that bein' a good sign. But Bart don't hear him. He wanna hug the boy, but he afraid a hurtin' him. So he brush his cheek. He kiss him. He say - You hold on, you little chili pepper, you. You hold on. You hear me!?...........Davey wanna say somethin', but he can't. Whole body tremblin' now. Bart cryin'. Bart cryin'. Zeb (he the daddy) come runnin'  over. Slide down on the other side and start feelin' for a pulse, like he know what he doin'. Then the mama (Miss India) start bellowin'. She 'bout a pass out. Two fat ladies get her all set  up in a lawn chair. Bart say - Where that pod!? Where the hell that pod!?


You see, on Mars folks got chips put in 'em. Some they know 'bout. Some they do not. But most ev'rybody got a 'code blue' chip. They the good ones.  You get sick, you get torn up. Pod know 'bout it. Them big  ground level doors slide open. Pod rise out. Little blue engines fire up and it zip right to you. Folks sees it tearin' in toward little Davey. Bastids go flyin' back. They don't wanna get hurt. 'Sides, show gone be just as good from ten yard back. It come in. It hover. It set down. Door slide back and doc come out. Only he ain't a real doc. He ain't no human doc. Them pod docs is androids. Real good ones too. This'n favor Mister Peabody from Rocky and Bullwinkle. That 'cause it a kid what got hurt. Grown up prob'ly get like Jesus or Richard Nixon, depending on their prerecorded preferences. An' they ain't just one doc. They got three of 'em. Chase ev'rybody 'way. Tube him up. Truss him up and stow him inside. Folks what ain't hurt stand back watchin' like it a holovision show. First Mister Peabody say - Who goin' wit us? ............. Bart say - I am............. Zeb say - No, you ain't, you old bastid! I am. I the daddy! I the daddy!.......... But Bart jus' drag hisself up and fall inside.  Shove that shit ass son away like he a putrid mess. Somebody say Miss Sissie rollin' 'round on the floor in the house. People cryin'. People bleedin'. Dogs barkin'. Zeb almos' smash one a them Peabody docs. An' even android doc don't wanna be 'dead,' so it jump back a little and let him in. Door slide down and they tear off, straight into the city, straight to Albert Einstein First Hospital a Mars. An' soon as they gone, folks sees the other pods glide right in. 


I gotta tell you. Mars know how to make trouble. But we do know how to clean it up once it happen. 


Miss Monica wanna be the good widder/daughter-in-law now. She wanna make points. She wanna get the money. She wanna be the firs' one. So she set her two kids up wiff some kind a gladiator video dome in the basement. Then she kneel down by Miss Sissie to set things right. Miss India waitin' a leave for the hospital. Can't drive her tank 'cause it all shot up. Some no account cousin fixin' to take her. Guess they figure this gone make 'em less no account.


And Stinker still there. He ain't hurt. He ain't even thirsty. Jus' sippin' a drink and walkin' 'round. Misses Stinker OK too. Shit, she still pickin' at some brisket.


Cops come racin' up the road. Guess this gettin' a be a regular thing wiff them. Boss cop fly out, bound  up them steps. And who do you think he fixin' a talk to?


You see, Stinker Jones do what he do best. Stinker Jones specialize in control-takin'. He jus' sets that badge wearin' bull dog down on a settee, slides in next a him and commences... to spin out... the truth... 


And over off toward the west, sun go down on a real nice purdy scene. Hills look red. Sky look blue. Clouds all smoky-orange. Only thing messin' it up is a big, ole pile a smashed up, missin' a head, sky-pony and a little ways off is an equally smashed up Whitey.


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These are the days of EL RANCHO TEXACO ..... Target Practice

Now when I say folks 'shucked down' for the afternoon's 'festivities,' I do not mean they went sashayin' round like a bunch a hairless (more or less) gorillas. Few a them did that. Might a been some blood curdlin' whoopin' and skivvies flyin' later on. But for the most part they kept theyselves decently trussed up.


Families enjoyed heapin' platefuls of succulent, deliciously charred prime beef. Bartenders poured liberal libations (occasionally raised in memory of the departed) and ev'rybody soaked up a lot a nice sun.  They don't truck much wit that skin cancer shit no more. Humans got rid a that sucker years ago. You wanna be brown? You take a pill. You wanna be white? You take a pill. True, some folks got religious objections to all that pill takin'. But  you can tell who they are... They the ugly ones........


And then we got goomers like Stinker. He doan care what he look like. Why he have to?  Nobody gone tell him the truth. He like a Roman emperor. He like Nero. Who gonna say - Yo, Nero, y'all look like a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle. Y'all look like your mama play hinky-dink wit a hunch-back monkey. Any body do that gone get killed so hard they never forget it.


But look at him settin' over there wit Bart. Look at them talkin' like they really mean it. They circlin'. They ain't talkin'. It like watchin' two big 'bull' chupicabras eyein' each other in the chupicabra pit, waitin' 'fore them chains a come off. Waitin' for the bets a be placed. Waitin' 'fore the battle a start. 


Bart say - What you think 'bout folks up in the northern part a El Plano? You think they gone vote for my boy?......... Stinker say - They knows what a do. We done schooled 'em real good. They want water? They gone vote. They want clean water? They gone vote the smart way. I waxed 'em up real good. Don't rattle you brains none. Snatched a few agitators. Din't take no credit 'fore it. But happy to do it. You know how I like (slimy smile) to pull out weeds... And doan worry none over no bodies............ Bart say - What you do wit 'em?..................Stinker go - ttsssss! ttsssss!!...... Make a sound like spit on a griddle........ Then he whisper - Acid bath........... Bart say - What, to the bodies?..........Stinker say - Well... when I give it to them... they wern't exactly bodies yet............ Then he give out a disgustin', little, fat man chuckle....... Bart don't say nothin'.  He jus' look up at the sky. You know them hard, squinty faces old goomers make? Well, that what he do.


Now Miss Sissie settin' over there by the 'water feature' wit her lady friends. She showin' 'em little cylinders, little holograms a her baby what went 'gook.' They gettin' all misty-eyed recollectin' Mister Alec durin' his livin' days. Other folks gathered over by that Mars-Mariachi band. Couple dumb shits playin' Marco Polo in the cement pond. Some wet, slippery young folks mushin' up out back a the barn. This a real good funeral. I kid you not. 


And high up against a hazy sky, ole Whitey leadin' them fine, purdy sky-ponies through lazy figure eights and fancy arabesques. They know the drill. They do it in the rodeo. They do it up by the Canyon Stampede purt near ev'ry year. Only this time gone be different. 'Cause this time...'stead a wavin' at the folks... Whitey gone be shootin' at 'em. 


Ain't gone be no noise. Not down by ground level anyway. Jus' a bitty, ole 'crack-crack-crack' when them plasma balls shoot out. But they hot. And they go far. And they do damage. Sure it easy  to patch folks up these days. They can burn down scar tissue . They can resurrect a shot off pecker, make it even more imposin' then it ever was. Whitey know all that. He ain't that dumb.... That why he aimin' for the heads..... 


First one take a dive right off the veranda. Mus' a be settin' on the balustrade or somethin'. Big plate a juicy brisket go flyin', mixin' right in wit the brains. 


Second one a mariachi goomer. He not only singin' 'Cielito Lindo' he actually tourin' the place.


Bunch a screamin' shits go runnin for the house. Miss  Sissie's bes' lady friend, Hilda, take a 'red-hot' (that what they call plasma balls) right in part a her ass. Man, did she scream. But seein' as she ain't got too much a her brains down there, she gone be OK.


Whole bunch a plasma balls go 'ping-ping-ping' down in the dust. Whitey good, but he ain't no crack shot. 


An' I do not think he meant  to hit little Davey... but he did...


Whitey seen it. He saw. Even from that high up and it rattled him. It mess him up real bad. Almost los' his seat.  But he stay on. 'Cept his hand cramp up and he pop a shot right through that horse's head. Bust it up jus' like a pinata.


Sky-pony stop, jus' like a smashed up toy and go spiralin'  right down to the groun', wiff  ole Whitey givin' out a rebel yell allll the whole way..... 


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

A day on Mars is about one half hour longer than our terrestrial counterpart. But that don't mean they tacked on another hour at 12am. Mars watches look like Earth watches. Each day has twenty four hours. And every hour has sixty minutes. What they done was stretch all them seconds a little. Nobody minds. It fits. It works, 'cept during athletic competitions. Then they gotta stipulate Mars time, or Earth time. But folks out here is used to it. Know what they actually do wit that extra half hour? They spends it sleepin.'  'Siesta,' what they call it.  An' after lunch, ev'rybody jus' be sawin' wood. But seein' as we don't all eat lunch at the same time, the practice is real easy to stick to.


Service this mornin' was real nice. Them purdy tank-limos all lined up out back. Folks all dressed up like for a real concervative weddin' or somethin.' Miss Sissie had Teacher Davis read the liturgy from the Pittsburgh Platform Prayer book. Ev'rybody say the 'Magnified and Sanctified's' all together. Mister Hobart got a preacher from the church out by the Walgreen. Miss Monica wrote a speech for one a her theater friends to read. First she was gonna oversee the whole thing. Do a big production, kind a like Thornton Wilder's 'Our Town,' but then she start ruminatin' on all that money and she figure no need a stick cactus spines  up the old bastid's ass. So she put her hatred in another place an' jus' make widow-eyes at ev'rybody.


Law say folks can plant departed goomers on family land. Provided, that is, you got family land. Flower boxes on condo balconies do not count, 'cept maybe if you had the goomer all burned up (after death, I mean). They do got cemeteries and crypt parks runnin' 'round out here. But folks like the Texacos sticks to them old ways.  All of 'em line up wit a silver garden trough full a dirt. Take they turn dumpin' it on top a the casket. Miss Monica pick out the burnished, gold egg variety. She see it once on a reconstituted hologram from the old days. Some European noblebitch, name Lady GaGa had herself carried 'round in one when she went like out to dinner. Alec's was a might longer and a bit more opaque. Look a little bit like a big, ole, fat cigar case. I don't know how they knowed which side was up an' which side was down. Stinker Jones appear to be thinkin' the same thing, 'cause we all see him lookin' at it. But it hard to tell. Maybe he jus' wanna see the dead body. Maybe he jus' wanna know how they did it. Paid good money for it, after all. 


Zeb (Alec's brother) go 'round shakin' hands wit all the folks. He the one gonna be a senator, you know. Miss Sissie thankin' ev'rybody for comin'. Miss India settin' wit her lady friends from that 'Trooper' organization. Bart appraisin' all the goomers and figurin' out who need killin' and who don't need killin'. Them kids, Davey and Alec's two, wander off to see the horses. Folks drift inside and upstairs to shuck down for the swimmin' and barbecuin' part a the festivities. Tuva-Tuva gals handin' out towels and special, little souvenir soaps. They got whole mess a bafrooms and toilets in this house, so there not gonna be too much waitin'. Caterers commence to throwin' on all the meat. Bartenders servin' up all them bourbon and branch waters. They got special beverages for the ladies. Not that they weaker, jus' sweeter.


If you look up at the sky, sun gonna be little smaller than it be from Earth. Clouds all got that deep orange, Mars tinge 'round they edges. Whitey up there exercisin' a few a them sky-ponies. That jus' for show. Bart like the way it look. An' Whitey know to keep 'em off to the side, so they don't drop no turds on nobody.


But he also know somethin' else. Folks gonna find out 'bout it soon enough. Right after they all get good and lickered up. Right after them bellies all blowed up  wit meat. Give 'em time to lay down by the pool. Excuse me, 'cement pond' them rich folks all calls it.


Give it time. Jus' give it time. That new purchase he make in town gone come in mighty handy.....


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These are the days of EL RANCHO TEXACO ..... Stinker and Family

First thing is the sign. More like an arch, really. It go over the road leadin' up to the house. Genuine wrought iron from when they take down that Eiffel Tower in France. Stinker did not buy the whole thing, jus' a little piece a it. But he paid 'nuf for it. Now it form a dull, black satchel handle, wit the  words 'Number One' scrawled out on top. That what he call the place. Was gonna call it 'God's Country.' But Misses Stinker's decoratin' taste don't jibe wit that monicker . She partial to a more flamboyant atmosphere. If you ever been to Graceland, back on Earth, it like that, only mite less tasteful. 


Now 'Number One' is not a workin' ranch. It too close  to the city for that. What we got here is a 'play land' for a fat assed son-a-bitch. Sure they do got a few a them fifty pound, miniature bovines. I don't know what breed 'zactly . Stinker got all a them flavors.  Some got a honey-onion-garlic stink. Some got a Mexicali ambiance. Few got Kansas City all over 'em.
From what I hear, they real good eatin' too. 


He sittin in the media room right now watchin a hologram a 'West Side Story.' Look at that flabby son-a-bitch, singin' all the songs  and screwin' up his face. Oh, he don't spit out the words so's you'd hear 'em. Jus' moves his malf aroun' like a ventriloquist's dummy what ain't got no hand up it's ass.


Tuva-Tuva gal crackin' off his toenails wit the same, little scissors she use to cut up kitchen crap. But he doan know that. Bet she wanna jab them scissors right in his stomach. Bet she wanna reach inside that robe and prune off that disgustin' little pecker. Bet she wanna do a lot a shit...... But she can't, 'cause this here  Stinker Jones we talkin' 'bout. 


He wanna look real good (for him) tomorrow when they go to that funeral. That why he gettin' the pedicure.  Doan wanna make nobody up-chuck they barbecue durin' the swimmin' part. 


Misses Stinker want him to get hisself a professional back-shave. But he doan wanna. Say he gonna wear a big, ole t-shirt anyways. Coulda had hisself all lazer-ized when they was on vacation, cruisin' them Jovian ice moons. But he jus' say 'no.' He a slob. 


Stinker do like goin'  to funerals, though. That how he make sure folks is truly dead, 'specially when he the one who want 'em that way. Funeral grub good too. Out here it mostly barbecue. That like a tradition. Mars-Mariachi band sound real nice too. I don't know which one they havin' , but you  know it gonna be a good one.


Is he takin' a chance struttin' out to this shindig? ...... Hell, yes. Folks been known to cetch a bad case a death at a Martian funeral. But it not like he gone by hisself. Stinker-boys'll be there. And what Bart gonna do anyway? He wanna see his kid in The Stone House real bad. Losin' Alec jus' an unavoidable piece a collateral damage. 


Shit, any good general know that.........


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These are the days of EL RANCHO TEXACO ..... Side windin'

Davey sat in the stables with  Whitey. He liked watchin' him groom them sky-ponies. Had a be special careful wit them wings. You see, what look like feathers actually tufts a hair. Can't grow no bird stuff on a horse. Them science goomers tried a do it back before they finally got Oberon and Titania. But all they got was a bunch a mush. Mammal to mammal and bird to bird. That the way it gotta be. Two species gotta have some kin in common. So first they whip up a horse thing wit crazy shoulder blades. Can't walk none. But it just an intermediate step. Next they get one wit actual wing buds. Then they build 'em up and build 'em up. Took a while, even though horse generations run 'bout three years. And sixty years later, them two fiirst ones was borned. Happened back on Earth. Bigger boxier breed they was back then. Mars ones is lighter, finer. Gravity here is what does it. Firstest ones was red-coats, kind a like an old timey gasoline sign they used to have. Now we got 'em in all colors. All horse colors that is. Sometimes them wings match the rest a the coat and sometimes they do not. 


Davey like to watch the young'un nurse. He say - How come she got her boobies all the way down there? That can't be right. Why she not got 'lady boobies' like ev'rybody else?............ Whitey say - Dog got 'lady boobies'?........... Davey say - No.......... Whitey say - Cat got 'lady boobies'?.........Davey say - No............ Whitey say - See? Lord don't  want ev'rything a got 'lady boobies.' Ain't they learned you that in Sunday School yet?...................... Davey say - They learn us. They learn us lot a stuff. Just ain't got to the 'lady boobie' part yet. That's all..................


Some days on the Polvarosa jus' like that. Some days jus' quiet. The big goin' 'way party, the funeral, ain't for two days more. Nobody fightin'. Nobody cussin'. Nobody squirtin' piss on nobody's bes' boots. They all jus' settin' up there on the big-porch, sippin' that whiskey and noddin' they heads.


Oh, but they thinkin'. Bart wonderin' what he gotta do to Stinker? Who he gotta kill and how hard he gotta do it? See, they got easy killin' and they got hard killin'.  Easy killin' like a shot to the head. BAM, 'splode some brains an it all over. Hard killin' take a little bit. Hard killin' smart a mite.


Miss Monica ruminatin' on the hard kind. She wanna 'hard kill' Zeb real bad. She wanna kill him up real good.  Feed him to them chupicabras, maybe. That all she can conjure up in her head right now. But give that gal some time. She got talent. She creative. She an actress. She find somethin'. Maybe somethin' wit red hot baton shove up his ass? She used to be a majorette. She know awful lot 'bout them batons. Give her time. Jus' give her some time.


Wait'll after they got that dead-box party. Ain't gone be quiet all the time. This Mars. This the Polvarosa. Gettin even a party game up here.


And wit that 'lection comin' up...we gonna have a lot a parties...


(P)(P)(P)(P)(P)(P)(P)(P)(P)(P)(P)(P)(P)(P)(P)(P)


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