These are the days of EL RANCHO TEXACO ..... But not tonight

Tonight I must rest. If you are familiar with this site, you know I've only done that a handful of times. Few others post as much.


But this night is not like other nights. If you like, please leave a lengthy COMMENT. Tell us about yourself. Spin your own tale. Make it like a guest blog. PROMOTE your own sites. Step into the candlelight and speak that we might hear. Or wander through past arcs. GOOGLE THE LITTLE MATCH BOY by Billy Kravitz. That's a good one. 


And here's another site you'll enjoy..... http://www.caballoblue.com/ ....... Go ahead. Take a chance. Explore.


I'll be back..........


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These are the days of EL RANCHO TEXACO ..... Fast Shots

Cannot forward much material tonight. Something wrong with the etherial passage connecting my parallel universe to yours. Think the phenomenon is primarily a localized event, due to all the atomic and sub-atomic discharges produced by ships and weapons maneuvering for position in the skies above the Martian capital city of Barsoom.


Citizens seek shelter in underground subway system. But unlike yours, ours rely on magna-lift technology. Mars based cannon-like projectile launchers provide cover for The Martian- America flagship, The Twenty First Century. Of course we know it's the twenty second century (here, at least), but the line began then, so they use the name.


And deep within a hidden laboratory Stinker Jones henchman study an embryo. It's a clone. But not just any clone. These cells come from Alec Texaco's nose. The only viable part of him to be recovered after a brutal 'hit.'......


So Miss Monica's husband 'survives.' Granted, if she gets him back it'll be as a wailin' little sucker. And she might not be so interested in takin' up wit' a romantic partner so much her junior. But his mama gonna want him. Miss Sissie miss that boy real bad. She do anything a have him back. She pay a whole lot a money.


Stinker not 'sactly sure how he gonna use what he got in that l'il pyrex dish, but he know he gonna use it. That is if they ever get rid a them Chinese goomers. Miz Stinker learnin' herself a eat wit' chopsticks. But it mighty hard pickin' up sauce-slathered barbecue wit' them delicate, little implements. So she just jab 'em in, like a big, ole toothpick and gnaw away. Only it purt near impossible a balance it that way. That why her pants is so dirty.


And then we got that ORANGE SKINNED BOY. Big sucker too. Got hisself a mighty handsome physicality, in an exotic kind a way. That who Miss Monica been holed up ('scuse my 'spresion) wit'. And I hear he the Tuva-Tuva pregnancy-makin' champeen a the world. You know, bein' 'the voice a the lonesome pines,' I hear lot a stuff. She seem a like him too. Big, ole Poo-Poo woman get herself out a her seat. She sneak over an' take a peek. She laugh. She giggle. False teeth fall out, but she scoop 'em up and put 'em back real fas'. Nobody see. She vane that way.


Hope that flagship get through. Hope them North American/Muscovite bastids do sumpin'.


I do not want a have to learn how to channel my thoughts in Chinese......


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These are the days of EL RANCHO TEXACO ..... Found Sheep

Miss Sissie was the first to awaken. She sat right up and saw a man with copper luster lead Monica through the door. The others all still slumbered upon the jadeite floor. But she looked to another and she said - Now, won't you tell me more. 


The woman cracked a smile. She pointed to the sky that stretched beyond the mountains and she said - It's time for us to fly. 


She offered Sissie her hand. The woman took it. They walked back through the rock and stood beneath the stars. The orange female spoke. Her words were clear and strong. --- It's time for us to write The Book of Mars. We share a special place. But then, you know that. Excuse the simple way I phrase these things. But words can often give a people wings. 


And Miss Sissie did not understand the way the woman spoke, but she was trying.  She whispered foreign words. They sound like crying. She told of long gone days when time was plenty. They danced upon the plains and drank from fresh clear springs, the children of an unknown race, set down upon a place beyond the sun-ward sky, out in the darkness.


Who knows why? Is that important? The thing is we won't die and you won't too . For I know all the Words of Poo (she was a Big Poo-Poo woman, after all). 


And the man with the copper luster, took the 'widow' for his bride, deep within the place Where Secrets Hide. 


The orange woman said - The sun will shine for you, through children he will give you with the magic to survive, so both of 'us' can keep this world alive.


While far above the russet land, bright pinpoints streaked across the sky. Some bee-bops. Some destroyers too. And drones that do what hornets do, persuading 'other' people how to die.


 Miss Sissie whispered - This will be the first Feast of Lord's Passover I have spent like this. She gestured toward the barren land about them. Then she added - And I know India won't like it. They always took Little Davey to see her people for Easter.


The Tuva-Tuva Big Poo-Poo Woman patiently waited for the old Trooper matron to stop weeping. 


Then she lead her to a place were they could gather manna.


When they got back, the others had all awakened.....


But Monica still 'slept' with the strange, new man.....


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These are the dats of EL RANCHO TEXACO ..... Aboard the Twenty First Century

We were going to run the blockade. The Empire of China could not stop us. This is the Twenty-First Century, flagship of the most venerable Martian-America Line. Let me describe this conveyance to you back there in your benighted age. We streak through the void like the solar wind, compliments of twenty-eight Jeroboam Class, Baser Drives. They could have used Nebacanezzers, but what we would gain  in speed would be lost in maneuverability. So it was thought best to double up on the traditional 'wolf pack' configuration (fourteen engines constitute a 'wolf pack') and achieve greater speed that way.


The body of the craft is a vast cylinder, comprised of an inner and outer hull. The interior surface spins via electro-magnetic forces, at a rate necessary to approximate lunar gravity. All twenty eight engines (each housed in silvery pods more than fifteen hundred meters long) are mounted together in a honey comb-like arrangement at the 'posterior' of the ship. Twenty thousand human (so far as we know) souls slice through the inky night amidst splendor unseen since the heydays of Dubai. 


Young people particularly enjoy the Icarus Chambers. Imagine, simple light weight wings afford the wearer the power to fly. Others achieve similar sensations in Aquatica - Huge, beautifully decorated and sea-scaped aquariums filled with hyper oxygenated fluid allowing humans freed from any form of encumberance (and we do mean ANY) to cavort through the depths like merfolk. 


Now the purpose of this crossing is not completely frivolous. A huge contingent of North American and Muscovite scientists go with us to offer their assistance to the brave 'Troopers' (nickname for native born, human Martians). Indeed, rousing choruses of the Martian anthem - She Wore A Yellow Ribbon, can be heard all over the ship. 


The Empire of  China would not dare attack. Fifteen destroyers go with us, in addition to a dense swarm of  Yellow Jackets (unmanned drones). Best of all, The Second Brazilian Empire notices. And things are quieter down in Mexico since this convoy took off, because they don't want a similar one showing up in the skies over Sugar Loaf.


Look at the North Americans and Muscovites sitting there, heads together hatching their plans. Perhaps the North Americans will repel the Chinese? Perhaps the Muscovites will 'liberate' Siberia?


But just maybe, a certain, old Tuva-Tuva woman  will be able to work miracles of her own?



Because the 'prince' has arrived... and he leads a still groggy Miss Monica into another room...


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These are the days of EL RANCHO TEXACO ..... Ice Cream Time

Meanwhile, back inside the cave, or the chapel, or the chamber, or whatever it is, all them Earth humans are still layin' all over the floor, droolin' and snorin' and all. Miss Monica lettin' lose them soft, fuzzy farts, but you already know 'bout that pattern. 


Them orange skinned folks just sit there, like a whole bunch a Ramases II or somethin'. I don't even think they blinks as much as Earth people do. But they communicatin'. They talkin'. You can tell. They sayin' things  to each other. 


Old, Big, Poo-Poo woman 'say' - We must adopt some of the 'Ice-Cream's' ways....... That what they call them. That what they call the Earth Humans. Oh, come on. Figure it out. Them what sailed out here from Earth come mostly in three flavors ... white... chocolate and like a pink, strawberry color.  You know, like 'Neapolitan' ice-cream? Yeah, I know. Some folk got a sallow look to 'em. I know. I know all about it. But that just a blend. That just a variation.  You know how it get when you smush it all together at the bottom of the cup? Well, so? Happens a people too. That's all. 


Troopers used a give 'em treats in the early days. Used a give 'em cup cakes. Used a give 'em ice-cream. Not none a them good flavors. Never got no mint-chocolate-chip, or butter pecan. Them Tuva-Tuva folk, I mean. Palmed off all the cheap stuff. You know that three flavor slop what come in  'em store-brand, flimsy, cardboard boxes? Then you know what they served. 


Orange folk thought each a the three colors in the box stood for one a the main flavors a Earth-born humanity. They thought eatin' the stuff was like the Christian sacrement of communion. They thought it gonna make them an' the Earth folk all one. This is back in the early days, when they first started peekin' outta them caves. But after a while, when the Earth folk still tell 'em to go to hell and drop dead, they formulated other ideas..... But they still calls 'em all 'ice-creams.'


Couple bob cats came back in.  They real soft. They real silent. You don't hear 'em when they move. Curl up right by them children. You know they weighs thirty pounds (on Earth, that is). When they purr, you feels the vibration. It like a quiet, old-time 'frigerator. But them kids must a like it, 'cause they snuggle in real close.


Big Poo-Poo woman wanna see safety for her people. Wanna see security. She not thinkin' 'bout now, or right next a now, when them Chinese goomers still here. She thinkin' 'bout the later times, when Mars go back a bein' Mars.


Shame them 'ice-creams' had a come. Still, they did 'goose up' the atmosphere and make things how they was. Tuva-Tuva'd still be bunch a freeze-dried cave mummies if it not for them God damn 'ice-creams.'


But seem like it time a add a new flavor to that box. Seem like it time for a little orange creamsicle. An' the Tuva-Tuva ain't got no word for it, but they know what it is. It the 'sun kiss.' 


See, them Tuva-Tuva been brought here more 'an thirtyfive thousand years. They can stand it. They used a it. All that solar radiation, I mean. It doan do nothin' a them. Earth folk (them new ones, I mean) got take special pill. They got wear special cream. All on account a Mars don't got no magnetic field. Ain't no sky magic holdin' back all that crap come shootin' out a the sun.


Big Poo-Poo woman jus' wanna help 'em. She jus' wanna see what kind l'il tugger she goan get if she put one a her folk wit' one a 'them.' An' so far, 'one a them' gone be either Miz India, or Miss Monica. That all she  got on hand........


Depend mostly on who her brother-in-law like bes'.......


Shhhhh, he be here soon........


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These are the days of EL RANCHO TEXACO ..... In the City

Neil DeGrasse Tyson Avenue (called Tyson Avenue, for short) was filled with military vehicles. The Empire of China managed to consolidate their forces on the other side of the planet and were steadily tightening the noose. Most of the kit-kats (war brings out the worst) side with them. They want the Anglo (or actually Spanglish would be more like it) occupiers to leave. Are they enamored of the Chinese? No. But powerful shamans within the group sense something. They recognize subtleties within the Chinese strategy. The government in Peking doesn't really want Mars. Confiscated territories on the red planet are merely proxies for what they wannt on Earth. 


Although Siberia is nominally part of The Empire and Prayer Centers for The Emperor have been established in every major city east of The Urals, the Princes of Muscovy still agitate for it's return. And lately, they've forged links with the Pan Semitic Empire. Together they hope to confront the Imperial Forces along the entire length of The Great Silk Road. Turandot (please forgive this one's inferior spelling) has come to life, though played on a stage more vast than Grand Opera could ever devise. 


And most of the Earth-bound humans would let them have it. The United States and Provinces of North America doesn't care. They have The Second Brazilian Empire to worry about. I mean the thought of Bossa Nova music playing in Tex-Mex bars makes 'em sick. China knows this. That's why they need Mars. North America still sees the place as an 'off world' possession. It adds imperial prestige to a supposedly staunch republic.


And Mars just wants to be left alone. 


Zeb was at the usual table. Oh, they did go to other places, but The King's Club was home. Couldn't beat the steaks (genuine, not cultured). Couldn't beat the atmosphere. Couldn't beat the gossip. So he just sat there, masticating a big, ole twenty four ounce New York Cut. The salty, juicy taste was better than anything. And the crunchy, batter-dipped, fried onion rings (do you know how big onions grow in the low Martian gravity?)were pure cocaine. Two or three a the other oligarchs gorged with him. The ladies were all off at some fashion show. It's supposed to raise money for the war effort. I mean you gotta put on a good face. 


Funny how hardly anyone mentioned his wife. They never even brought up anybody back on the ranch. A lot were afraid to talk 'bout Little Davey, 'cause they weren't sure how Zeb really felt about him. I mean that was his kid, after all...... Well, sort a his kid...... Miss Sissie does have her secrets. And the new sort-a-kind-a-wife wants him all to herself...... plus that l'il sucker she got growin' in her dutch oven. Pregnancy a bitch... but so is she.....


So when the guy came in and told him about 'what happened.' he just put down his fork and sat there. Jean-Pierre, his favorite waiter stood by with a big tumbler fill a bourbon and tundra water (they refine it from vast stores of ancient Martian perma-frost)...... 'Got blowed up in a pulse bomb test. Nothin' but a mess a bloody, crunchy bone meal and gobs a fat.'....... That's what they said. That's what they thought happened to his son, his wife and all the rest a his folks.......


If it was true... all the assets were his....the cash.... the holdings.... and the 'molasses' mine..... Provided they can get the Chinese outta there.


But far off...in a little piece a his brain.... a wrinkled up, orange skinned Tuva-Tuva woman sat waggin' her finger at him... 'cause that bald headed, old thing knew better.


Ain't Mars an intoxicatin' place?........


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

And then a certain heavy warmth penetrated the chamber. Whether from the intoxicating vapor, or some other source was difficult to tell. The Tuva-Tuva people spoke to each other, though none got up. They communicated in low voices. I know not what was said. It may have been a most ordinary conversation concerning their everyday lives. It may have been obscure incantations, I do not know. 


The Texaco Party began to lose consciousness. Each one simply curled up and slept. The orange skinned individuals did not sleep. Though they became very calm and relaxed, their eyes stayed opened. And oddly enough, blinking was very minimal. 


After a bit, the bob-cats quietly padded about, softly inspecting their slumbering guests. Then they silently filed out from the chamber to hunt among the cool, dark starlit ravines. 


Now the night sky of Mars surprises people. True, there's no real moon to speak of. It's dark. We've already covered that. But the constellations are the same. Newcomers expect to see different patterns but they don't. The distances are just too great. Orion may rise and fall at different times. But Orion is still Orion. And the others maintain their Earthly identities too. I know not which twinkling light plays the polar star. It is not Polaris. It is not Vega. That much is changed. But we are still within the human incubator, although snug in a different crib. The light still comes from the sun. I explained how we call that 'Kansas' now. And the warmth comes from there too.


Solar bursts produce auroras here, just as they do upon Earth. They may be somewhat lessened by the additional distance, but not much. Yet their electrical effects increase. Earth draws protection from her magnetic field. Mars lacks that insulating blanket. She has no hot, molten, iron core rotating deep within. Her 'batteries' are dead. 


For these reasons, some call this world a 'stepping stone'..... an 'almost Earth'......positioned so as to provide us the necessary training before we reach the stars. Europa and some of  her ice encrusted sisters do that too. But Mars is first.


Indeed, our solar system is a perfect nursery. First we crossed the oceans. Then we stretched a tiny bit and kissed the moon. And now we dance upon the russet plains of Mars. T'is pity we bring war. Perhaps the Tuva-Tuva folk know better?


And the master craftsmen and journeymen in the safety of Barsoom fashion lethal blades and tools. The pulse bomb works. They know that now. The bodies of the dead soldiers are retrieved, resting on cold steel slabs, deep within fantastically equipped laboratories, awaiting the laser's bite. 


Other soldiers combed the aftermath, collecting strange, dead souvenirs. Bits of former chupicabras.  Gooey slime that once was rock. The battered, sterile, dusty remains of a 'high end' tank bearing TEXACO vanity plates. 


What will Zeb do when he 'learns' they've all been killed? That's what they'll think. Must have ventured out of the tank just prior to the blast. Poor bastards never knew what hit them.......... 


Perhaps they think the 'chupi' slime is theirs?


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