CHAPTER 10 ( revised )
“Hey, John, do you know
why you like big boobs?”
“I thought I liked big butts.”
“Well, yes, your freak of nature desire for large cellulite rippled buttocks is
disturbing to any sane male, but I’ll admit the attraction is derivative.”
“So, what’s the answer to your socially awkward question inappropriately poised
as our female acquaintances are mere yards away?”
“Hey, this is pretty darned appropriate given that our acquaintances directly
have placed us in a dangerous position we so nonchalantly accept and respond
to. And a fun filled fact knows no time
limits. And don’t you think that our
lives are pretty damn cool right now?
Here we are like this is a Quentin Tarrantino film, the two dashing hero’s cracking wise as
they face down imminent danger as if it were but an interlude to an interesting
conversation?”
“Okay, now I get where your propensity to lighten dangerous situations with
dialog comes from.”
“Natch. The Q Man did more to redeem
Hollywood than all the PBS nature documentaries put together ever did.”
“PBS films in Hollywood?”
“Hollywood as shorthand for filmmaking, my good fellow. Now, pay attention. Due to very long periods of infant
helplessness and the long periods requiring human young to fully program their
developing minds, humans need monogamous pair bonding. Parental units must invest over a decade in
each offspring, and in some cases that consists of up to half the lifetime of
an adult. Also, species survival
necessitates a very social being outside the family unit. Higher cognitive species are always very
social, a lot of mental energy devoted to interaction of clan members. In order to attract and keep a couple
together, sex is year long rather than linked to ovulation. In fact, female ovulation is rather well
hidden from both genders, as if evolution was forcing this difference.
“In ape species, swelling
of the genital and or buttocks area signals ovulation and stimulates the
males. So in humans, it is thought that
a permanent ‘swelling’ is a permanent attraction. As humans walk upright, the chest is a more
logical area of attraction than the nether regions. Some apes that spend inordinate amounts of time
sitting have a swelling in the neck area.
Now, keep in mind that a permanent attraction to a mate is not all of
it. The reason males are attracted to
larger breasts is that prior to the last few hundred years of abundance, the
norm was periods of lack of food either from herd animals wandering out of
reach or village granaries being depleted before the new crop came in.
“The hips, butt and
breasts are the female primary stores of fat for times of starvation. Any larger sized female signaled reproductive
advantage since the baby would have milk even if food became scarce for the
mother. So, big boobs is both a male
stimulant for sex to continue a pair bond and a signal that her offspring would
be the best.”
“Okay, but what about
contrary examples? The Chinese being
attracted to feet-although I’ll admit that is bizarre- or the Flappers in the
20’s with near flat chests or the current starved Yuppie look?”
“Well, of course culture
is going to give us exceptions. Culture
is a survival trait that individualizes behavior to fit local conditions. The Chinese chose quantity over quality. Vast numbers, with all but the one tenth of
one percent in perpetual malnourishment or calorie deficit. There was never enough fat to go around for
fatter to be a common attraction. And
the modern infatuation with skinny women is a cultural trait, the economics of
farm factories mean that starch is dirt cheap.
Poor people are fat from starch.
Rich people eat lean and healthy.
Skinny, obviously needing to be accompanied by other telltale signs of
wealth, means higher reproductive success.
And breast augmentation shows that skinny WITH boobs is the best of both
worlds. As for the Flappers, I’d guess
this was the first signs of the migration from farm to cities. City living outside the ghetto being a
healthier environment than an impoverished farm. And skinny meant you could afford to heat
your house with coal rather than just your body with food. Just guessing on that one. But carved statues from thirty thousand years
ago show ginormous breasts, hips and butts.
Males have been attracted to boobs forever. And women know it. The exceptions have got to prove the rule.”
“Why did you bring all of
this up now? Although, granted,
fascinating.”
“Of course you’ve noticed that Pam is well endowed. Even Susan signals reproductive success if
you ignore her after she gets up and tries to move around too much. Surely if I’ve noted this, so have our
friends over here.”
“Your ‘friends’ have an
immediate hungry look which precludes sticking around long after conception to
raise a family.”
“Which our female companions have undoubtedly noticed far quicker than you,
being the target of such dangerous attraction.
Let’s face it, brother, male reproductive urges are rather straightforward. With a brain that size, what do you
expect? We just want to rut. It is the female who must expand most of the
energy, biologically speaking, to keep the rutting confined to herself
exclusively for the benefit of the raising of children. Calorie-wise, fat storage in the upper torso
and continual sexual availability are small prices to pay. So, one must deal with males on this basis of
DNA programmed mindless urges. You can’t
rationally discuss with them why killing you and taking the gals is a bad
idea. Only fear of losing the ability to
reproduce is likely to work.”
To which, Randy took his
rifle from his shoulder, chambered a round and shot the leading Wigger in the
chest even as his target was lifting up his 9mm pistol to take aim himself.
*
Which, of course,
facilitated the other Wiggers from
inaction and they too started jerking off rounds of underpowered handheld
firearms, the girls squealing in fright and diving to the ground, John yelling
something close to “Randy, you simple cocksucker” or some such banality,
aforementioned Randy wearing an inappropriately timed grin as he manically jacked more rounds into his rifle and fired
into the mass of Wiggers mere scores of yards away, John trying to follow suite
yet only at half speed and in general all the mayhem one would expect when
reality intruded in the Hollywood script of Uber Cool Character Combat. Of course, as our hero’s were by then more
conversant in actual firearm conflict than their adversaries, and as the
Lee-Enfield rifle had been designed for superior battlefield performance by
allowing for twice the speed in loading a round into the chamber compared to
the Mauser and double the magazine capacity for longer periods of shooting
before needing to reload, and given the fact that rifles were being used
against anemic close range pistols, it should surprise no one that while the
boys should have once again emerged triumphant over the forces of evil and
vanquished the modern Vandals, in fact what happened was nothing short of
disastrous and one can guess that hubris had already set in and our team of
intrepid hero’s had simply let the last few victories go to there head. Not only did they NOT hit another single
target but their antagonists both winged John AND took a pretty large chunk out
of Randy’s wooden furniture which was a pretty mean accomplishment for a 9mm or
whatever the other side was using and while Randy was squealing something about
Robin Williams and his semi-automatic Italian battle rifle John was hitting him
upside the head and yelling about a tactical withdrawal and how his right arm
was hurting like a syphilitic wang, and so the guys had to untangle themselves
from a firefight they weren’t experienced in, namely being retarded losers, and
had to do everything but kick the girls in the ass to get them to stop acting
like speedbumps and start acting like there was a two hour only sale on wrinkle
cream at JC Penney’s and get a damn move on.
And if that wasn’t bizarre enough, as if a Hollywood script was in fact
being followed, a couple of jokers looking of the Latino variety passed the
crowd bumping assholes and elbows going toward their Wigger pursuers and
engaged them in combat hence allowing the innocent and moronic-mainly Randy we
can all agree- to escape from certain death.
Well, certain death from gunshot wounds because Big Butt was wheezing
like an asthmatic in a hooka bar, Randy was hacking up mucus and other
unmentionable lung parts just proving that bike riding isn’t a very good
training regimen for a marathon and John looked like a ghost had not only
passed over his grave but placed a grenade on it also. And this was only after two blocks. Once
everyone passed the point of needing an ambulance that wasn’t ever going
to be arriving, John certainly tried to put a good face on his friends
participation in the preceding affair,
but unfortunately for Randy, the females, rather than falling into his
arms in submission and in gratitude, were decidedly NOT amused at being “saved”
by their errant knight.
*
By the time Randy got done
raising a clenched fist in righteous anger back the way they had come, amidst
shouts of “that will learn ya to shoot at me, motherfucker!”, and slyly
glancing at John and sincerely hoping THAT unfortunate mother fucker wouldn‘t
die on him which he‘d NEVER live down, they had gotten quite a distance away,
even at a waddling gait as befitted a lass of Susan’s girth. And apparently trailing a long list of
girlishly appropriate obscenities at the uncouth and violent nature of Randy
himself. John trailed an approved
distance away, traitorously making excuses for himself and damning Randy as
enthusiastically as his new companions, just going to prove that his earlier
attempts at making the peace were certainly NOT heartfelt and implied his bestest
buddy had absolutely no moral issue with throwing Randy under the bus. Randy threw a glare of his own and went to
poke around at the apartment he thought the Wiggers came from. Let that simple fuck John kiss the gals
asses. By the time he was done with the
ampleness of Susan’s backside it would be dark and Randy would hopefully have
found himself drugs ( for barter, of course.
He had little desire to lose his teeth to crack since his foreseeable
future had a LOT of tough wheat bread eating ), guns and ammo and whatever
other non-electric treasures his perhaps vanquished foe-even if he hadn’t done
the vanquishing and who WERE those masked men, Tonto?- had possessed. He wasn’t sure if these guys had been smart
enough to already fight for food.
Hopefully they had lived on more than just Taco Bell take out and AM/PM
microwave burrito’s ( okay, there were no such convenience stores in Elko,
having originated in California-he assumed, anyway- and barely made it over the
Sierra mountains to the edge of western Nevada, but every Habeeb store had
microwave burritos. Alas, few could copy
the example of the Super Big Gulp of AM/PM, the memories of childhood mass
sugar consumption through Mountain Dew soda bringing a sad but happy
memory. He wondered why few used the
cheap corn syrup magnet to attract customers like the original store. Never a sugar consumer of more than the
average American, he knew he would miss the opportunity to do so just because
it was no longer an option ).
*
He wondered if he had more
than a single five pound sack of sugar in storage. Okay, something like four pounds and fifteen
and three quarters ounces IF none had dribbled out between the poorly glued
seams because at one time long ago he had tried to start drinking his coffee
with sugar thinking it would be a shortcut in breakfast calories and save him
time the few months he worked in the mornings but alas, coffee black and strong
and boiling hot ( which is to say, NOT how McDonalds prepares it just because
some skeevy twat “accidentally” tried to give herself a hot coffee douche on
her way to collect at the Lawyer Lottery ) is how the elixir of the Gods should
be consumed and not lukeasswarm like Mickey’s, and not all gayed up like
Starbucks with frothy milk and fake sugar ( okay, AM/PM used fake sugar in
their Big Gulps, but it wasn’t gay fake sugar, defined as wimpy chemicals as
opposed to a real he-man type of sugar that caused real diseases like diabetes
which caused limbs to fall off and shit unlike chemicals which caused rectal
cancer which was by definition gay because with all that unnatural stretching
and Entrance Rather Than Exit movement you can be sure that if the faggot didn’t
die from Government Approved And Tested AIDS he was going to be on the short
list for something nasty like rectal cancer ) and not even with regular table
granulated sugar because by gum Americans were NOT like those tea suckling
Brits which, come on, needed sugar and all the other help they could get to
slurp down mildly colored mop water and the only reason we had been drinking
the slop prior to the Revolution was because all those Gott Damn Yankee scum
were Loyalist Blue Blood Assholes, like George Washington who gave the South a
bad name by living there but was probably a Carpetbagger there for the Black
gash for all Randy knew, ( although there were tidal area Brit approved slave
owners who knew what side of their scone was buttered and then there was the
hill folk of Celtic decent not slave owning and not Brit approved and you can
guess which group of rich pompous assholes George belonged to, the tea drinking
former Redcoat so just as there are mostly all bad Yankees there were also both
mostly good Southerners and some bad ones like, need it be repeated, Washington
) and were emulating their hero’s like Hollywood celebrities fastening upon the
bloody rectum of any Socialist politician ( except Tom Selleck and a few others
like Chong from Cheech And Chong ) they endorse with limp wrist
conviction. Whereupon Randy did in fact
come across an actual can of Mountain Dew, AND the freezer still had most of
its ice trays full of only partially thawed cubes. Which just proved the Wiggers couldn’t have
lived here because those are not the type whom keeping ice ready to go at all
times is a priority. Randy wondered
whose apartment he was ransacking, and why they weren’t here. And then came to the realization of who would
keep ice trays full and that was an alcoholic ( okay, granted, also someone who
drank a lot of soda, but Randy needed a win here ) so searching closets and
under mattresses for rifles was probably not going to do him much good but a
great place to secure treasure was to search out bottle hibernating areas.
*
Well, needless to say, by
both rooting around for some time for possible trade goods, long enough until a
can of soda emerged, and then the long preparation time incumbent in finding a
cleaner glass as he simply didn’t know the owners and while he knew they weren’t
Wiggers for all he knew they were rectal cancer gays, followed by a search for
liquor which included a search for a martini shaker because if you want a
really cold soda you shake the bitch with ice and then get rid of the cubes
before it diluted your sugary drink ( which, granted, was surmised by Randy
having little basis in scientific testing since he didn’t have an abundance of
ice out beyond the grid ), followed by a more frantic search when no alcoholic
beverages could be found THEN finally moving on to slowly drinking the ice cold
soda, in a glass without first being shaken which come to think of it might
have exploded from the carbonation, relishing it as it might be the last cold
soda in warm weather as indeed his last barbequed meat was enjoyed although not
as slowly but more in a gluttonous fashion, why after all that it had gotten on
in time and suddenly Randy realized that he could have in fact allowed his
friend, his friends ball and chain and possibly his future wife all to go
missing. Which had definitely not really
been in the plan, if indeed a plan is what any thought process of his could be
called at that preceding juncture in time.
Randy of course swilled the last of the soda so as not to waste, figured
a quick spot of urination in the relative safety of this hovel was preferable
to holding it until later when once again same damn fool would be shooting at
him and or hopefully them if he succeeded in reuniting with his potential new
world order clan, and so in a fit of contrariness began to piss on the drapes
of the living room, congratulating himself on doing his part in preventing this
part of town from burning down like most of the rest. Done forevermore with this domicile, he
gracefully exited the building after a short furtive glance about.
*
Now, Elko was never really
a very big town, given its economic importance, and it certainly was much
smaller when one now dismissed any charred and destroyed areas, but Randy was
double dog dry dicked if he could find hide nor hair of his group during the
next hour or so. And let’s face it,
rifle at the ready and scurrying about at an extra brisk walk was getting
exhausting. Plus, you had to be cautious
about every face you saw. Elko was small
by most other standards, but it was also almost equal in population to its
surrounding county which itself was as big as some smaller eastern states. There were still a LOT of faces around, and
while Randy had always railed against the predominance of Thrice Cursed
California Import Yuppie Scum in town, and we all know most vile whore hounds
of said type are universally ignorant and unarmed, he was seeing a crap ton of
firearms being brandied about, a situation he would not have associated with
the usual desire of the majority of the population to discount any disaster as
anything other than short lived and easily manageable by such luminaries as
Bush The Scrub and other short bus passengers.
So after enough time to convince himself he had admirably performed his
duty and before his anxiety level could ratchet up to the point of a spike in blood
pressure followed by the soft thud of his heart exploding, muffled by his now
shredded rib cage, he decided Fuck These Mother Fuckers And How Could Such A
Fat Bitch Waddle Away So Damn Quick and left to their equipment stash,
determined to wait for the reuniting group in a more mellow almost uncrowned
area.
*
And quickly, almost as
quickly as John and his bitches maliciously marooned Randy, Randy who had only
been trying to help by all the gods, boredom sitting at the river bank waiting
for someone to show up grew almost as unbearable as the previous Stranger
Danger Fear And Loathing. Good God
Bouncing Down The Road Paved With Good Intentions On A Pogo Stick, watching
birds sing and toxic smoke waft by was getting decidedly yawn inspiring. Sure, Randy could do this all day long
standing on his head with a cup of beer perched on his ass if he was back home
because home was safe and Bush The Dumbest Dog Ever was pretty wildly
entertaining if he was doing something besides sleeping or “accidentally”
letting rancid flatulence seep out of the poor abused bunghole he had spent
hours that day licking, alternating with his testicles because, hey, that at
least felt good but the only discernable reason Randy could conceive of for
Bush licking his asshole was so that afterwards he could lovingly lick Randy’s
face and make no damn mistake when you are low dog in the pack that was about
the only revenge you could safely deliver in a passive aggressive manner and
Randy wasn’t fooled for a second. Plus,
at home, your ass got a cramp you could get up and do something. Pull some grass ( since the two seasons here
were Christmas and Fire, always good to be clearing combustibles back ) or read
a book or dig a bit more on the probably never to be completed combination rain
catchment tank storage area and spiffy Desert Rat Escape Pod ( okay, sure, he
already had one. Maybe just call it the
Guest Hovel ). Here, what was he doing
besides trying to stay awake and alert?
How many friggin hours was he going to wait here? Wait long enough for John to limp in all
lethargic and weak, just so he could pass out a hundred yards down the
road. Inconsiderate whore. Barely a scratch! He’d had bigger wounds picking pimples on his
ass. Hey, you try digging out that ingrown
hair, not being able to see what the hell you were doing. Thing festered up like a black preacher at a
police beat down of a brother. Luckily
vinegar killed the germs, he hadn’t wanted to get that close to sensitive areas
with the bleach. Damned if he was going
to pay a damn McDoctor serious money for something simple he could self
medicate and LORD sweet merciful Jesus think of all the really nasty germs
lurking in a place like that. Remember
Eddie Murphy? “The new AIDS, you just
stick your dick in there and it explodes”.
That crap got started at a doctors office you can bet your last jelly
donut.
*
Christ, he’d been here
awhile. Looks about later afternoon by
the sun. He was going to be the nicest
bastard in the universe and leave his bike here, leave both so one of the girls
could come back with John if he needed assistance. Screw waiting any longer. The time he’d waited already he could have
walked over the damn summit already.
Something was up and he wasn’t doing any good here. And look-ee here, he was even going to leave
the ingrate fucker a note so John wouldn’t worry like he’d made poor
Randy. He should be getting a prize or
something here. Well, of course no
paper. Who brings paper with them to the
Apocalypse? Randy grabbed a few handful
of pebbles and rocks and wrote out HOME right next to the bike wheel so there
was a better chance of seeing it rather than walking on it. He grabbed a container of water and hefted
his rifle and started the four hour walk home.
If John never showed back up, he just solved most of his food
issues. Still had to work on that whole
Repopulate The World issue though.
END CHAPTER
END BOOK
Please
support Bison by buying through the Amazon ad graphics at the top of the page.
You can purchase anything, not just the linked item. Enter Amazon through my
item link and then go to whatever other item you desire. As long as you don’t
leave Amazon until after the order is placed, I get credit for your
purchase. For those that
can’t get the ads because they are blocked by your software, just PayPal me
occasionally or buy me something from my Amazon Wish List once a year.
*
Also as a free e-book, but not
cleaned up or organized, at Lulu
