Friday, August 15, 2014

locos gringos 8.2


“Well, I thought we would meander down the road a spell, visit some nice folks that might sell us some vittles, take in the sights and then take it from there.”

“No crap, Sherlock.  We didn’t come into town so you could get your ashes hauled and I could visit the old folks home where I took my guitar and sung “Cumbiya, old fuckers, may your days be blessed as you take your pills which may or may not contain hallucinogens so you can go back to better times when you were humping in fields of flowers and designing intercontinental missiles for the military industrial complex at your day job.”
“That has got to be the worst all time song of forever.  Have you actually ever heard any folk songs?”
“I think Joan Biaz or some leftie commie whore like that.  I might have been drunk at the time.”
“Remember the guitar singing on the stairwell in Animal House, Bulushi smashes the thing after that little weasel is singing some pap?”

“That might be why I never listened to folk songs, after that.  No, what I was wondering is what are we going to do NOW.  Wait around, leave, wait until Old Dude kills himself so we can have his sweet pistolero?”
“You are all heart and compassion, Randy.  No, we are out of here if you are all done with Twenty Questions.  Are you ever done with that game?”
“Shall I remind you that without my curious banter your existence out in the hinterlands would have been more hermit-like and dull, your daily companions two evil felines, your only social interactions that of demanding and rude customers making impossible service demands and willing to only pay below profit levels?”
“You shan’t.  No, let’s take off so we don’t wear out our welcome.  I was bid farewell in no uncertain terms, even if it was polite.  I think our host muttered something along the lines of not letting the gate hit our asses on the way out and to have an interesting life.”

“Chinese curse.”
“Indeed.  He did seem to have picked up bad habits over with the Asiatics, your biological father.”
“I told you mom never made it to Oklahoma.”
“Greyhound tickets were cheap back then, and a lot more stops on backcountry roads.”

“They did kind of go downhill quicker than a fat broad rolling towards a buffet line.  Every little burg used to get service and now it you ain’t on the Interstate you don’t get a bus.  You go on them much?  Used to be no big deal coming up with the ticket price, even if you were poor.  And you used to be able to smoke in the back rows.  Politically correct sniveling asswhores.  Then it used to be cheaper to take Southwest Airlines, but only for awhile until 9/11.  Well, no, probably til just a few years ago when fuel went up so much.  Didn’t they have a commercial, you are free to move around the country and it was like $59 each way?”
“Are we now free to de-ass this place and go about our business?”


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  1. Sorry, this fiction seems forced. Maybe it's just me, but I'm just not getting into this one. I think some of your other stuff is much better. Just my .02 and I could be wrong.
    Jarhead in Kolorado

    1. Did you read the other chapters? I know this one is a bit different, but only because I'm publishing 500 words at a time instead of 3k. It kind of messes with the flow.

    2. I have read most of the other chapters. Just can't get into it. Sorry.
      But, I'm still here. Like I said, maybe it's just me.
      Jarhead in Kolorado

    3. Hey, no prob. I'm thinking I go a week at a time, one chapter, than wait til next month for the next. That way, those that don't care for it aren't overwhelmed.