These are the days of EL RANCHO TEXACO ..... Time keepin'

Folks what refugee out here finds it strange at first. It not the day what gets 'em. That only 'bout thirty nine Earth minute longer than the one you all got back on the 'home' world. And we already told you how folks use that time for an after lunch siesta, or maybe like a leisurely crap-takin'. So that ain't the hard part. It the year we got what give 'em the hinky-dinks.  Y'all tend to forget that we the next road out. It take 'bout ten and a third a your months longer for us to glide  our way 'round 'Kansas.' So most years Christmas come twice. Easter come twice. The Feast of Divine Redemption (I believe Jews in your time still calls it 'Passover') come twice. And The Month of The Revelation (what y'all know as Ramadan) come 'round two times too. That means all them holidays got a warm celebration an' a cold celebration. 'Cept if they hit on the spring and fall. Then they both just so-so. Now some folks like the variety. Winter time mean a big, ole turkey (cultured for the poor. freshly killeded for the rich) and hotter months bring out other stuff, like barbecue, or seafood.  Maybe that why we so rough and ready up here. Life always changin'. Some goomers say them bitty, little moons, Phobos and Demos gone come in for a landin'. I do not know when that will be. But if I recollect correctly, it gone be a good, long time. Who cares? We won't miss 'em. They so shrunken-up and puny, don't look like much no how. And not like the gov'ment gonna let it happen. They prob'ly send 'em off careenin' into Kansas long time 'fore.


Yeah, 'Kansas.' We calls it Kansas. That star. The sun, I mean. An' I guess y'all can figure out why. It from that Oz book. It from that movie. First time anybody ever give it a name. Oh, they call it Big Light, Great Sol. What them Romans said. What them 'Gyptians said. All that shit. But nobody ever give it a real name. Not till that book anyways. 'Kansas, she said, was the name a the star. Kansas, she said, was the name a the star.'....................... And that what it is. 


It seems I do have a recollection a some goomer tellin' y'all that in another parallel universe. I think y'all call 'em 'story arcs.' But I just wanted a polish it up all over for you. So when you goes outside and squints up at the sun, stop and say 'howdy-doody' for a minute. 'Cause it ain't jus' some nameless furnace up there. It Kansas. It  got a name. And now you know.


Now when them Tuva-Tuva gals went loppin' off in a the badlands, they din't do much squintin'. They eye's is used to it. Earth humans (them recently arrived ones anyways) pays docs for some kind a hinky-dink so they don't squint much either. That how you tell rich folk from poor folk. Poor folk get all squinty-eyed. They can't pay no docs. Rich folk can. We got other ways, but that jus' one.


And them badlands ain't all bad. Got 'molasses' mines out there. Got skinny, ole lakes out there. Some folks goes out on caravans a see them canyons. And I ain't tole you 'bout all what live out there yet. Some a the towns are all right. Borg stinks. Y'all ain't wanna go to Borg.  But Lucasville can be nice. Hear tell they make good wine out there. Ain't had none and never will, 'cause I jus' the wind in the pines. But you already knowed that. I can smell it, though. 


But them settlements I talkin' 'bout all seperate like and guarded up. Ever see 'She Wore a Yellow Ribbon'? That why they calls 'em 'Troopers.' Mars folk, I mean.  One set a humans (the new kind) does they hinky-dinks in the fence. And one set (them orange goomers) run 'round outside. 


Gonna take them Tuva-Tuva gals few nights a get there, but they will. Tuvas knows how to git water. They knows how to dig up all kind a eatin' stuff. Some of it animal eatin' stuff and some a it not. Soon that money they totin' gone be translated in a fire arms. Soon they gonna have a whole lot a new shootin' irons. 


And that stuff gone on all over this place. Some shit-for-brain travelers already got theyselves throwed in a chupicabra pit. 


And some soldiers already gone out on raids. Zeb gone be a good senator. He gonna vote for raids. They gone mix it up real bad.


Little Davey? He home from that hospital. He like them dogs. He like them sky-ponies. He like what them new kitchen maids cooks up. But he not gone have much time a relax. Badlands be creepin' in on 'em. 


Hell, soon even that Walgreen gone be a dang'rous place.......


'Around her neck she wore a yellow ribbon. She wore it  for her sweetheart who was in the cavalry'...... I likes that song......


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

So the official word was that a bunch a crazy, liquored up Tuva-Tuva men did it. I  told you we don't see too many a them in town, or workin' the ranches. More now than in the past, but still not a lot. They stay out in the badlands. Got settlements. Got harems. Women folk in the city send 'em money and all kinds a shit. A few got guns. Not the high powered ordinance, more like the that little 'red hot' shooter Whitey had. Only now folks don't know 'bout Whitey. They be talkin' 'bout them 'God damned kit-kats.' That's what Stinker Jones said. Cops ain't gonna argue. They hates kit-kats. Oh, they be polite when they gotta be..No, not polite, just regular...just official. But let 'em pick one up for boostin' a box a PopTarts or pissin' on a tank stop an' you see  how fas' that orange skin turn black and blue. Now don't think these cops like what you got in your time, 'cause they ain't. Life is tough out here. Jus' gone to the Walgreen can be precarious without  you got the right kind a vehicle. Chupicabras go after you. Wild kit-kats pinch your ass. (That Mars slang for kill you.)  Nasty, crime-boss, politician like to f#*k with you kids.  Hell, you had it back on Earth. I seen old prints a Marshall Dillon. So don't judge us. All right? Keep you trap shut. Cops is peace officers out here and if they take a little piece in return, who the hell care? What? You wanna do it?


Only now, Stinker tell Zeb he gotta bad mouth all them kit-kats. Zeb don't wanna do it. He like kit-kats. He played wif kit-kats. He 'tickle' kit-kats. The female variety, I mean. Stinker say - You wanna be senator, don't you? You wanna go all the way to The Stone House, don't you?.......... Zeb say - Yeah...you know I do...............Bart, his daddy, like to bash his head when he talk like that. Put down his big, ole steak-eatin'-fork (They in town. They in The King's Club) and he say - Shut your tater trap and learn somethin', boy! You listen a what he say! I payin' big money for this 'lection and you ain't gonna f#*k it up!...........Then he turn a Stinker and say - You  got them holagrams? You got the 'wiggle pictures' (like bill board ads) all ready?...........Stinker fingernail a piece a gristle outta his teeth and say - What the hell you think!? I a professional!


And that how it go. So tomorrow, Zeb gone give speech 'bout securin' them badlands. Then later he gone shake hands  wiff folks waitin' at tank-bus stop. Like he ever in his life once sat his ass in a tank-bus. And the fact is, this family never be that way. They got no grudge 'gainst them kit-kats. Hell, Tillie and the other one eat same shit they do...jus' a few days later is all. Little Davey, who is mostly all healed and resurrected by now, hardly ever bad mouth them Tuva-Tuva folk. His mama, Miz India do, but she say prayer after, so it all right. 


Tillie know all this. Bein' bald doan make her deaf.  The other one know it too.  And now they got all a Whitey's money...that whole vial, what he once had shoved up his butt. Two hundred and fifty thousand dollahs. His half from sellin' Mister Alec's partly spoiled body cells to them 'duplication' goomers in Barsoom. 


And what you think them orange skin gals  gone do wiff it? After spendin' some at the Walgreen, I mean. They gone git it to the men folk. They gone git it to the badlands.


Mister Stinker want trouble? He gone git it? Mister Zeb want trouble? He gone taste some too. All them rich, powerful 'Troopers' (descendants of first settlers) gonna git it. An' them poor, dumb goomers humpin' after them gone git it even more. 


Mars is red. That much is true..... And soon it gonna git a whole lot redder.....


mars  mars  mars  mars  mars  mars  mars  mars


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These are the days of EL RANCHO TEXACO ..... Cher said it best

Cops finally got around to scraping up what was left a Whitey. Ran some tests. Stored a few cells in the dead-poor-folks freezer.  Gave some to a cosmetic skin cream manufacturer. Hell, he more valuable dead than alive. Horse got buried out in the Texaco sky-pony cemetery. Nobody knowed what religion he was, so they just guessed. Figured his kind must hold to somethin' like an old plains indian hinky-dink. Ain't too many full, or mostly full blooded Plains Indians 'round here, so they got one a the Tuva-Tuva gals to say somethin'. I do not think it was Tillie. I think it was the other one. So she take an ole maraca outta Mister Zeb's ole toy box an' a cup fill a coarse kosher salt from the kitchen. Don't take much. She in business. Mister Bart (temporarily back from the hospital) stand there all craggy-faced. Miss Sissie tetterin' next to him. It gettin a be funeral-central 'round here.  Kid's like it. Even Alec's two get into it. Boy read a poem. Girl tear it up to confetti. Tuva-Tuva gal catch it in her cup, light it up and sing some shit from an ole Ima Sumac record. (I told you, mid twentieth century stuff real big out here). Then she shake that maraca like a palsied Xavier Cugat and 'poof' that horse 'ficially dead. 


Mister Bart take kids out to the Walgreen for new sneakers and ice cream. (The traditional thing to do wit' kids what just saw somethin' dead.) Then he  rush back to the hospital. Zeb never left no hospital. Holavision guys outside. That would look bad. Daddy gotta stay there. Sides, android gal in a coffee shop doin' right by him. An' it ain't like she carry no human disease or nothin'.  Can't never give birth to so much as a pimple. Lucky she know 'bout them discreet, little storage closets. An' so what if that coffee shop gone through whole lot a sugar lately? Ev'rybody know sugar good for you. It IS made from a vegetable, ain't it? So shut  your malf.


But the good thing is little Davey do seem to be 'roundin' the bend. Doc say he gonna live. Doc say he gone be fine. Doc say he want two hundred and seventyfive thousand dollars.  I mean after all, he did manage to look concerned and go 'tsk, tsk, tsk' five times. That do count for somethin'. Not like Bart gone pay it. But don't hurt to ast. You want fish in a pan, you gotta go fishin', right? An' ev'rybody know how much doctah do love them fish. Side's 'surance goomers give him plenty. Ast his wife. Ain't that why her mama make her marry him? But that part a other on-going serial. We talkin' 'bout other shit. We talkin'  bout our own crap. 


And speakin' a money, Bart send themTuva-Tuva gals out to de-Whitey-fy them stables. They don't mind 'cause it get 'em outta house for a little bit. He got nasty stuff out there. Them orange skin gals like a look at it. He got little holograms for his player, look like some kind a shiny ceegar case. They push 'em in a machine. They stick the dome on top. They laugh. They jabber. They watch. Then one a them see a little hologram case on a floor, layin' right by an ole shoe. She pick it up, fixin to slide it into that machine. But it stink funny. It stink real bad. She say somethin' to the other one. Other one smell it all up an' down. Then she starts to shakin' it. Now it not only stink funny, it sound funny too. This aint no hologram case. This too heavy. This too solid. First one take it back. She lookin for a way a crack it open. Then she spot the seam. Not so easy to do, considerin' the glare from that late day sunlight slicin' through the place. An' them two parts is screwed together real tight like. But after 'bout three farts an' a half belch she do manage a get it open. Them Tuva-Tuva do got nimble fingers. Ev'rybody know that. An' ten heart beats later, there it is.... Two hundred and fifty five thousand dollahs (mostly in ten thousands), laid out all over dead Whitey's crusty, ole blanket. Them slit-pupil cat eyes they got open real wide, obliterating most a the purdy amber part. One say somethin' a the other. Other one shake a hand. (that how they say 'yeah'.) And them bills get split up real fast. Place get a five minute tidy-up and two newly-minted bald headed, pun'kin skinned (jus' the color) beauties sashay back into that house like they Sonny and Cher. 


Gypsies, tramps and thieves. What else you 'spect? I told you...this a Mars..... Ev'rybody get rich sometime.....


$O$O$O$O$O$O$O$O$O$O$O$O$O$O$O$O$O$


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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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