locos gringos no8.1

LOCOS GRINGOS no8.1

Randy jerked awake with a start, clearly having fallen asleep after having shoveled close to half a cow down his gullet, his butt still in the same indent in the lawn chair outside in the back yard, his trail of sleep drool washing away a culvert through the spilled BBQ sauce on his shirt and his mouth tasting like John’s two ill-tempered Satan Disciples cats had not only squatted over his slightly opened orifice and relieved themselves of a bloody loose stool or two but had also scraped their befouled rectums across his teeth to clean them.  Randy wiped his eyes and looked desperately around for a liquid of a consumable nature to cleanse the worst of the taste from his mouth.  God!  How long had he been asleep to warrant such a condition?  “Randy, mi amego!  How you feeling there buddy?”
“Dammit, John.  Did you shit in my mouth?  How long was I sleeping?  Did a pair of desperados sneak into our fine friends home and slay us after I fell asleep and Situational Awareness went to crap and now we are in Hell and I’ll never get this taste out of my mouth even if I soaked my tongue in fermenting cabbage seasoned with rotted seafood-in other words if I performed oral pleasure on your old girlfriend?  Why would this unpleasurable situation be the first thing to transpire on the first day of our new post Apocalypse adventure.  John And Randy’s Happytime Adventure Story!  How can that start with the sensation radiating from my often brushed and always flossed and usually mouthwashed piehole?  Why, I beseech you, WHY?”
“Are you done?  It’s morning breath, and you got it from a twenty minute nap.  Your father had the same reaction, but he made it to his bedroom to take his nap.  Which, I might add, is a natural reaction of a really old bastard whose been alive way too long and who sleeps three hours a night in-between getting up to pee three drops every twenty minutes and what is your excuse being a relatively younger specimen?”
“John, remind me to do to your grave what you did to my mouth just now as I sweetly slumbered the sleep of the innocent and the just, a momentary lapse of consciousness after a hard days labor to rid the world of unworthy mouth breathers, putting a now clearly unwarranted trust into my once bestest buddy in the whole wide universe to look after me.  Where the hell is something to drink?  I swear on the soul of the first hamster you shoved up your ass as you partied with Richard Geer that if I don’t get this taste out of my mouth I will vomit blood on your shoes to improve the situation.  Did we NOT bring water bottles along?  Are we the world’s most incompetent survivalists?  Wait!  There is a butterscotch in my pocket.  A bit covered with lint.  A LOT covered with lint.  How long has this thing been in here?  Do I ever wash this shirt?  Why am I asking so many questions?  Good Humping Christ On A Liferaft, that is much better.  Okay, what’s the plan?

END

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