Time For A Me-Change?
Dearie me, old sad sack that I am……always takes me at least 10 days to get back into the depravity of big city life after ’summering over’ in The Riverine…..
So - as uusse – I’m downright twitchy……
One minute I’m gonna clean out the fridge, the next I’m opening a plus-size frock emporium on Pine Avenue, Leeton, then I’m getting six spotty new cushions to give this dump a lift – and then I’m right back on Pine Avenue as the owner-operator of The Riverina’s first carbon neutral Unisex Brazilian Waxing Rooms…….Â
 ‘Tell ‘em KJ’s Dreamin!’ (Cr: Meredith James: flickr)
And please, PLEASE don’t think you’d be the first to front me with this novel piece of advice:
‘WELL IF YA LIKE ITÂ SOOOOO MUCH WHY DON’T YA LIVE THERE…?!’
And the answer is……because maybe, just maybe we love where we come from because it’s the only place we can still be ruffled, perturbed, all shook up - DISCONCERTED.
Some recent examples of Riverina DISCONCERTION in action……
* I’m disconcerted when my big handsome nephew (who as a youngun’ thought all my deadbeat boyfriends were fascinating) appears with his traditional greeting:
‘Gettin’ any babe?’
*I’m disconcerted when ex-classmate Barb (looking a million bucks)Â approaches me in the Intimate Apparel aisle of The Reject Shop:
‘I’m great KJ, still with hunky carp farmer Steve. Kids all grown up.  All rocket scientists. Nearly didn’t recognise you. GEE, THE YEARS CAN BE CRUEL….’
* I’m disconcerted when Gwennie grabs the pegs: ‘THIS IS HOW YOU HANG OUT A PAIR OF KNICKERS.’ You’ve never understood something pretty basic KJ: ‘IF IT’S WORTH DOING IT’S WORTH DOING WELL….’
*And I’m EXTRA disconcerted when in 43-degree heat I’m lugging a couple of Woolies bags (full of diet Fanta) past St Joseph’s Church and just for a moment think: WONDER IF CONFESSION IS ON…..
And (just for a moment) I imagine putting the diet Fanta aside and going into dark box and knelling down and waiting for the little curtains to separate….and then telling the priest it’s been a ‘long time no see’ but I’m here to come clean and I’m a bit DISCONCERTED because a lot of what I’m about to say isn’t pretty, if not downright disgustin’….
Priest: ‘So child, I gather we won’t be humming along to I Love You Just The Way You Are by the time we’re finished in here….?’
And then I pull myself together. And Barb’s words are back:
GEE THE YEARS CAN BE CRUEL…..
So, let’s all hope that this year we’ll all experience more of the exquisite jolt that is DISCONCERTION.Â
*Looking forward to hearing from you – disconcerted or not. Perhaps you’re experiencing free floating disconcertion which I’ve read is the trickiest of them all. That’s, of course, apart from when you turn up for work after the extended hols and the fruitcake from down the corridor appears: ‘If there’s just ONE person I’m happy to see……..’Â
**El Gingero & The Sundance Kiddo**
Talk about disconcertin’!
The Ginger Man has gone awl Western like……and the results? Sen – SATIONALE!
El Gingero - He’s Drinkin’, He’s Talkin’ Big, He’s Woman-I-sin’, He’s Shootin’ from his hip flask – right now in our comments section….
All posters take a deep breath…..and just click on the ‘comment’ thingo and follow the simple instructions. The place to write your gems is at the bottom of the last published comment. *A little bit of counsel for people new to this caper. Your email (just called ‘mail’ in this case) address does NOT come up on site. And just ignore the URL thingo – just ignore it.
January 18th, 2010 at 2:06 pm
Came downstairs As An Act Of Courage……
Looked at the sunlight – thought about melanomas.
Come to think of it, there has never been a time when I haven’t been disconcerted.
Back to the man-eatin’ doona.
Dear The Knuckle,
Please, NO mention of melanomas. Twitchy AND fair. KJ.
January 18th, 2010 at 2:29 pm
Doctor Dude’s Diagnosis:
KJ, you are suffering from Toowoomba Tricyclic Tension.
Symptoms: First ten days the patient wander round in bliss saying people are better here…I am back with my Roots.
Wonder what ever happened to? Why did I leave.
Second ten days: The streets are wide but the minds are narrow. You cannot take a piss without everybody knowing. I always hated her…she always hated me. I’ll never forgive what happened in fifth class.
Stage 3: They are listening to me. They are on to me. They never forgive and forget. What excuse can I use to leave? I am going bonkers here. I cannot send myself a phoney telegram saying:
Come Quick! Spot has gone to the Vet and Could Die. Come Quickly!
Stage 4: Hypocrisy: Gee I hate leaving. Where did all that time go? You will come and visit me in The Big Smoke? I get so LONELY.
Alas, for the Patient this is an End Game, and will be repeated next year, and the year after that, and the year after that.
Toowoomba Tricyclic Tension.
Dear Doctor The Dude,
How dare you! Just when I was planning opening a superdooper knicker washing facility – cnr Pine and Kurrajong Avenues. KJ.
January 18th, 2010 at 3:43 pm
Hi there KJ,
And many congratulations on your plans to open a superdooper knicker washing facility in Leeton. It’s small business initiatives like this that will be the engine room of our recovery out of the mess left by The Rev Kev’s mad socialist spending spree.
It’s good to see that you’re not frightened of change. Nor am I. For example, my recent announcement re my Green Army has had a tremendous response all around this great country, but particularly in the Riverina – people are literally qeueing up to join.
And I think there’s an opportunity for us to get a bit of synergy going here KJ. Cos out there in the real world – away from The Rev Kev’s loony world of ideas, it’s pretty messy, especially in the Green Army – in fact soldiers who aren’t prepared to get DOWN AND DIRTY aren’t wanted.
And here’s a little scoop for you KJ….
You now how the hacks have been shouting at me ‘GIVE US SOME DETAILS TONY….’
Well here’s one – every member of the green army will be wearing GREEN BUDGIE SMUGGLERS! They’re on order from China as I write this. Think about it KJ – 15,000 pairs of green budgie smugglers – and they’re gonna need regular washing – so how about it?
(Captain) Six Pack.
PS: You want a VIP to cut the ribbon on opening day, I’m your man.
Dear BRIGADIER Six Pack,
Done! I’ll get straight onto ‘The Irrigator’ with the news that a proposed local superdooper knicker washing facility has secured the proposed tender for the proposed green budgie smugglers for the proposed Green Army being proposed by a man proposing that he’ll be our next PM.
Today is certainly ending better than it started. KJ.
January 18th, 2010 at 5:38 pm
Thoughts of moving back flit across my mind from time to time, but I am disconcerted by the thought that the ‘Northern Exposure’-style life that occupies my imagination will turn out in actuality to be more like ‘Everybody Loves Raymond’.
Dear Roma Street,
To be brutally honest, it NEVER feels much like Juno, Alaska to me in our hometown January (40 degrees and counting).
I remember you once told us that your ‘thoughts of moving back’ were getting stronger with (dare I say?) the passing of years.
Does a partnership in a new superdooper knicker washing facility (cnr Pine and Kuurajong Aves) excite you? KJ.
January 18th, 2010 at 9:16 pm
Standing at the corner of Pine and Kurrajong, smoking that last cigarette outside the Himalayan Kebab and Knicker Washing boutique I considered your problem, KJ.
……My mind was shaking like a coke bottle at the Super Bowl, and this one had me really fizzing.
Listen toots, and listen real hard.
As one of the locals put it to me, sugar: ‘I am confabulated by these condominiums that are turning Lovely Leeton into a nest of Himalayans.’
Broad streets and narrow minds, sweetheart..
You can read Plato or toss a dime in the air, sugar, but it still comes down that you are the sucker, sugar, and nothing but nothing can change that hill of beans. Leeton is a swell place, and Art’s Bar and Grill is swell, too. But can we change it?
No can do, kiddo. In the end, we are all suckers.
I guess I’ll have to play the last track of Mahler just for you, kiddo, and move on to the next gig.
Here’s looking at you, kiddo.
It’s been swell, real swell.
Mister Barlowe,
Sure, you been round…..sure, you met a lotta of broads (and maybe you done a lot more than just MET on occasions) but that don’t give you the right to bust this gal’s dreams.
So when’s a superdooper Knicker Washing Shopfront (cnr Kurrajong Ave and Pine Avenues) become too hot to handle?
Maybe, just maybe Mister Barlowe you ain’t MY sorta customer.
Maybe I don’t wanta deal with your knickers (Special Occasions Drawer Or Not).
I gotta a swell dream and there’s a lotta swell people out there who sometimes wear knickers.
You’re a Big Talker Mister Barlowe. BUT, I tell ya this…
Your big talk ain’t half as fancy as my knickers……here’s lookin’ at ‘em kiddo….
KJ.
January 18th, 2010 at 9:58 pm
KJ,
We hermits have some experience with all this disconcertion, disquietude, aporia, metanoia, and the like…
Indeed, it’s probably fair to say that we wallow (secretly, joyfully) in it all. So, with this wealth of experience to draw on in these matters, and with a view to ramping up support for our sister region from here in the north-east, I have this little snippet for you, the next time mean ol’ Barb let’s loose with her mean ol’ barbs.
I think you should do a little twirl and launch into ‘I Feel Pretty’, which has the very pertinent line ‘…and I pity, any girl who isn’t me today…’ I think that should shut her down quite adequately.
If not, just call in the NE regional chapter of the KJ Hermit Disconcertion Redress SWAT Squad, and we’ll see what we can do.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ye7PIyIcCro
Dear Mister Hence The Hermit,
Why thank you! Silly me, I had NO idea hermits could be men of action. I thought they were trying to get away from it.
By the way, I guess…..I guess Hermits wear knickers (but I’ll be guided on that one as well).
*There’s this new superdooper knicker washing facility opening (cnr Kurrajong and Pine Aves, Leeton) and I’d like to – in a tough marketplace – make it Hermit Friendly.
‘I feel (gee the years can be cruel) pretty, oh so, so, so (gee the years can be cruel) PRETTY…..’ KJ.
January 19th, 2010 at 7:46 am
Dear KJ,
So, the Rev Kev’s ratings are down.
And you know what?
I say: So what?
Cos I have a dream KJ and it’s been triggered by your dream of a beautiful laundrette in downtown Leeton.
I know a green shoot when I see one and I love it when a girl gets hold of The Rev Kev’s pump primin’ stimulatin’ package and puts it to good use.
In recognition of your good work The Rev Kev’s going to do you a favour.
I’ve rejigged my national tour to take in Leeton this Australia Day so I can personally open your knicker washing Facility.
Your initiative is very much part of the Great Australian Dream.
In fact my media people are telling me it’ll be a beautiful media moment if you and I sing Susan Boyle’s Dream The Dream in front of a national TV audience with a line of washing machines behind us – going full tilt with hundreds of pairs of knickers visible through those little windows whirling around and around.
As you know KJ, I don’t normally get emotional – but I’m writing this with tears in my eyes.
God Bless Australia,
The Rev Kev.
PS: I’ve received an email from Penny Wong suggesting that your enterprise could benefit from Government seed money if you install a sewage water recycling device in your washing machines. Great news, eh?
Dear Mister The Rev Kev,
You know what? You’re really somethun…….
As you know I got knockers but I just love a guy who ain’t threatened by a gal’s big super dooper knicker washing facility (cnr Kurrajong and Pine Ave) dreams.
There ain’t nothin’ I’d like better than for you to fly in and cut what’s gonna be a big frilly ribbon with side bows….
Swell! KJ.
January 19th, 2010 at 8:58 am
KJ,
I was so disconcerted when I looked in the mirror and found my eyebrows did NOT match my Pakinstani Cricket Team hair colour I headed back to the hairdressers.
A few tips and I now look like a brown and white zebra. And VERY disconcerted when I was told the cost.
Dear Megsy,
Geese, I wish you sought my advice BEFORE heading to the salon……
I hear those words: ‘A few tips’ and I go cold……..
Women of a certain age should never, EVER go for what used to be heavily promoted as the FROSTING option.
I bet your Froster said something like this: ‘ Did you see that triffic Hyena doco on telly? Amazing! They’ve got bits of blonde, ash, brown, dark brown, Blanchette yellow……you name it and they look great. You try tellin’ the age of an hyena. IMPOSSIBLE!’
So…..now you’re starting the New Year lookin’ like an hyena on heat…..
I can offer NO advice that isn’t going to set you back at least the cost of a seven day twin share Pacific break.
*If you start scavenging in your kitchen bin, immediately ring the SES.
KJ.
January 19th, 2010 at 12:57 pm
Has anyone noticed……?
I think our visiting Royal, William, is going bald.
I was watching him in New Zealand from the back and saw a bare patch.
Did anyone else notice same?
Good lookin’, isn’t he?
Dear Royal Watcher,
Welcome!
I didn’t notice a bald patch but then again mine wasn’t a rear view……
Good lookin’?
Welllllll……..NO. Looks like the son of a rice farmer circa 1981 who went to Geelong Grammar and came back to Leeton with some new fangle-dangled ideas eg: wear UV cream when harvesting. KJ.
January 19th, 2010 at 2:07 pm
So the world gets topsy-turvy….
So a knicker cleansing venture turns out to not be worth a hill of beans.
……So that dame with The Legs that Launch a Thousand Hips turns out not to be worth ten cents a dance. So prawns are no longer on the menu. So the turn table has turned up its toes and I cannot play my friend Gustav.
It’s all part of the game, toots. You have to know when to fold and blow, sugar.
A tank full of gas, a new quart of rye, a Leeton kebab in hand, and an oyster’s your world, kiddo.
Like I just said, toots, it’s time to hit the macadam….
I might drop in on Mr Big at Griffith on the matter of a few Gs that baby in the hoosegow owes me…..
Do some piscatorial research involving an aquarium and a biretta.
‘You’re cheap, Barlowe, real cheap,’ he said at our last meet.
‘Sure,’ I said, ‘Ten cents a dance. You think you are dealing with Marlow without an e? Buster you’re in debt to Barlowe PI with an E and it’s time you started coughing, and I mean coughing up the moolah, the dineros, the readies, or you might develop a heavy cold that could seriously endanger your health….’
Mister Barlowe,
There ya go again….talkin’ real big. I ain’t never seen no big car, no big cheque book…..I ain’t seen nothin’ big at all ‘cept a stoopid ego walkin’ up Pine Avenue in a cheap suit.
You may be interested Mister Barlowe: there’s only one train to Griffith and it runs Sundays.
KJ.
January 19th, 2010 at 2:54 pm
KJ sugar,
It’s Barlowe with a B for baby, not Marlowe with an Em from Shamus Town, toots.
And, sure, I’m cheap at any price. Ten cents a dance or a case of greenbacks. I deliver, sweetheart.
Right now I’ve got a Luger pointing at me, and its muzzle looks like the entrance to the Harbour Tunnel.
Got to blow.
January 19th, 2010 at 3:53 pm
Now that Leeton has become the Crime Capital, can we expect that Dashiell Hammett will drop by? We have to call a shovel a SPADE, Sam.
I kid you not, kiddo. As Chandler himself wrote:
[Hammett] took murder out of the Venetian vase and dropped it into the alley… [He] gave murder back to the kind of people who do it for a reason, not just to provide a corpse; and with means at hand, not with hand wrought dueling pistols, curare, and tropical fish……
— Raymond Chandler, in The Simple Art of Murder
January 19th, 2010 at 11:41 pm
Dear Miss KJ,
I understand you are considering opening a knicker washing facility in downtown Leeton.
Please be advised that Didlum & Grinder, Att. at Law & Facilitator, represent the firm that has the knicker washing facility concession in that area.
This concession was granted way back in 1970, by local LMA Al (fancy tie) Grassby – on the advice of some very good friends of his from a town not all that far from your proposed establishment. (And I don’t mean the road that goes through Yanco – the other direction)
My client has worked for many years – sweating (you know how hot it can get on Xmas day!) over the twin tub, getting fingers caught in the wringer, washing other peoples knickers.
My client has been developing the knicker washing facility industry in Leeton for the past 10 years and now when it looks as though it’s all about to pay off, you come back from the big smoke to cash in.
My client is a little concerned that you may not know the situation.
He is prepared to consider a sort of ‘partnership’- you can run the business as you wish,….. he will call in every Friday afternoon at 3.15pm (sharp – as my client has to pick up the kids from school) to receive his share – let’s say 20%. (Please wrap in brown paper – kids…you know.)
Pine Ave and Kurrajong – wonderful – you mean the building with the large glass windows – the insurance premiums must cost a bomb.
My client will be in contact.
PS: On a different issue, my client has noticed your animosity towards this Mr Barlowe. He wants to know if you want his mate Tony to sort him out. Price negotiable but you get a travel discount as Tony won’t have to travel. Just make sure he’s on that train.
Dear Sir,
Thank you for appraising me of the situation re the current arrangements for the provision of professional knicker washing facilities in Leeton.
I am aware that the late Mr Grassby was instrumental in setting up the current ‘one size fits all’, ONE owner-operated knicker washing system which I believe has been detrimental to the industry’s Riverina growth prospects.
How this system came into being when knicker washing has always been historically compared (in competitive terms) with Tow Trucking, I do not (nor seek) to know.
Sir, let it be clear though.
I am NOT interested in a partnership arrangement of any kind for my new super dooper knicker washing facility, cnr Pine and Kurrajong Aves.
*You may be interested to know that I’ve just secured the knicker washing tender (2010) for the Senior Riverina Netball League.
*I’ll handle Mister Barlowe…’Of all the super dooper knicker washin’ facilities in this goddam town, he had to walk into this one….’
KJ.
January 20th, 2010 at 8:22 am
Slipping out of my general’s uniform and donning mufti for the journey I must say I was grateful for the artillery colonel’s lift back to Gundagai….
En route I spotted a large creature on the roadside waving its feelers.
Sure enough, it was the leader of the rebellion.
His many legs were frayed and he looked tired.
Obvious case of dehydration and salt loss, Hop in and have some this. I gave him a bottle of gatorade.
@####&&&&& he said.
Which I decoded as:
Can I stay with you for a while?
))**&&^%$ I said, meaning:
Sure old man, welcome to the club.
He gave me what I assume to be a prawny smile.
$$$$%##$@ eeeeeeeeeeeeeek.
Thank you.
*I think the Chief Monk will like Lord Prawn.
January 20th, 2010 at 11:47 am
Hi KJ,
I’ve been talking to the cops in Leeton – and apparently there’s been an outbreak of knicker thievin’ off local washing lines. It’s getting serious but the local plod have a pretty good idea who the culprit is:
‘A sick bastard – what sorta bloke goes around wearing ladies panties? But he’s cunning with it – and we gotta try and catch him red handed…’
The Duty Sergeant is appealing to locals NOT TO HAVE A GO.
‘This fella’s dangerous – and we don’t want no would be knicker heroes – however well intentioned!’
In a funny sort of way though the bad news is good news for you. As local Leeton folk no longer dare hang their underwear out to dry, your knicker washin’ facility can’t open quickly enough to provide a secure drying space.
I’m sure you’ve thought about security – but if you haven’t give us a ring – on the silent line.
The Man in Grey
PS: I can feel a law n’ order editorial coming on from the Editor of The Irrigator.
Dear Mister The Man In Grey,
Oh boy oh boy, things are moving quickly……..if this ain’t Knicker Chaos Theory in action I ain’t Leeton Businesswoman Of The Year (2010).
Funny…..me and a couple of local amateur historians were sitting around recently discussing all that ‘remember when?’ caper.
Someone said: ‘Remember when Snowdroppers were a real problem back in the sixties?’
I got their name. I got their number. KJ.
January 20th, 2010 at 1:01 pm
Back in Al Gundagai Monasterie the Lord Prawn has received a tremendous welcome from The Chief Monk and the Spinning Darvishes.
We spin fra yo, wiv de lubbin, the Monk told the Crustacean Casualty of Conflict.
I translated the Monk’s welcome:
@#44__)+((((@@#%%^&
Yo is oure Geste . Yo ain’t ugly, you’re jest different. The world is tough on those that are differerent.
January 20th, 2010 at 1:04 pm
Carnt help wondering what sort of a man wants to dress up in Ladies Knickers.
Years ago I heard a rumour at The Club that Edgar Hoover – longtime FBI boss – used to slip on ladies lingerie late at night while perusing JFK’s files.
A long way from Leeton, I know, but these things have a way of coming round – like knickers in a machine in your beautiful launderette.
The Old Carnt.
Dear The Old Carnt,
I read that Edgar Hoover turned up for meetings during the Cuban Missile Crisis in size 22 Cottontails. Anything frilly, inappropriate. Could be mistaken for frivolity. KJ.
January 20th, 2010 at 6:29 pm
I note your response to my clients reasonable offer. They will contact you / yours to discuss further.
My client asks if Bindi was ever replaced?
Now the holiday season is over and family members have returned to their usual abode, and sometimes mothers are by themselves, he is a little concerned that a bindi type monster may also be in residence.
Local inquiries indicate that it was never safe for male visitors when Bindi was around. He may have been small, but he was ferocious. My client takes his Oh&S responsibilities for his men seriously!
As future partners, my client requests you not spend your (our) resources on your new contract with the Riverina Netball League. My client has had that contract for a number of years but it never amounted to much. It appears they don’t wear knickers.
Also, my client is concerned that you may associate him with the recent rash of snowdropping. There is no existing proof. (At least not since his wife found a pair of frillies in his pocket). You, and your associates on this computer thingo, should be careful about traducing my client’s reputation. His connections in the before mentioned town just wouldn’t understand.
Like I said before – my client has been ‘building’ the business for some time, but he often mixes business with pleasure.
Dear Sir,
So ya think ya know all ‘about Bindi (Bindi-Boo-Major), the Riverina’s most foul-tempered family pet. Well, ya do – and ya don’t.
Everyone in Leeton THOUGHT we were doin’ it hard with Bindi. NOT true. Hec spent hundreds of hours training him as a gentleman caller attack dog.
Has he been replaced? No….and yes…..
I gotta a specially trained knicker washing facility guard dog. Snifter’s a pitbull-dingo cross and he’s nifty to say the least – he can tell the difference between a Cottontail six-pack and a hi-cut frilly two-pack six city blocks away.
I’ve been told the folks at Didlum & Grinder ain’t bad at conveyancing – know what ya good at and stick to it, eh..?
Watch my arms. NO DEAL!
KJ.
January 21st, 2010 at 8:12 am
The letter was bloodstained and smelled of gunpowder…..
It was postmarked Tierra del Mille Muertes, Mexico – the Valley of a Thousand Murders.
The writer was none other than my old cowboy friend, Pecos Bill Gonzales, a gaucho who came to Bletchley in the old days to give shooting instructions, shot up the joint after drinking the bar dry and cooking tortillas on the Chief’s Desk.
The Chief decided he was not Officer Material.
The letter smelled strongly of tequila and mescalin and other hallucinogens:
Senor el Ginge,
Smoke this letter after readin’, senor, and yo will fly higher than a vulture over the mesa. Vera! Yo soe un hombre sincero!I am a sincere man, my friend.
I have trouble here (actually he wrote ‘xere’).
Yo’all come down here, si ? Right soon to help in La Vendetta.
Arribe!
Yo sidekick,
Pecos Felipe Juan Pablo Alfonso de Todos los Santos de Borbón y Grecia Bill Gonzales
*Guess, I’ll have to go. This is not Farewell to Arms, but Hello Compadres I See You Got the Guns.
January 21st, 2010 at 8:22 am
I worried bout Lord Ginge, yesirreebobtruedat. He gone leaving dat Lord Prawnie in our domesticale at Al Gundagai.
We looking after Prawnie, Tigger, Kev de Kanga, Fingo, and de Five Super Puppies.
Lord Ginge gone.
I find in his room old guitar (Gibbsonne) string and empty pakages from El Rancho Cowboy Suits, Saddles and Guns ‘R’ Us.
Also receipt from MexAir and video from Air Crash Investigations.
Dis old VHSSS….
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cMer297X_LI
I WORRIED BOUT LORD GINGE.
January 21st, 2010 at 5:03 pm
South of the border, down Mexico way….
The long, winding trail from Acapulco to the mountains was hotter than a chilli taco.
My six gun chafed my thigh and sweat ringed my brow under my sombrero.
Suddenly a shot rang out, and then came the voice of a bandero: ‘I’m calling you out, gringo Gingero. You must say prayers to the Virgin. You die soon, senor.’
I knew that voice. It was that of the Half Speedy Gonzales, a cousin of the man I had come to meet, Pecos Bill. The thought came to me: Why do Mexicano bandidos never shave?
The sun blazed down on my eyes.
I could not draw a bead on the bandit.
A bullet ricocheted from a rock.
The voice came again.
‘Mebbe we not kill you right away, but stake you out, gringo Gingero, as breakfast for the ants. Aieeeeee!’
Got him. Right plumb between the eyes.
His body plummeted from the mesa, and lay limp upon the trail to the Valley of a Thousand Deaths – Tierra del Mille Muertes.
This was going to be a long, long trail a-winding for this old cowpoke. I dug my spurts into the cayuse and headed north.
After dark it would be easier, and I could follow the Lone Star.
The air would be soft and cool, the dark illuminated by campfires, and the air filled with the sounds of guitars and singing, while gay senoritas danced with pineapples and bananas on their heads like Carmen Miranda.
Perhaps I would join the ladies with the tutti fruiti hats for a tico-tico dance and a draught from a wineskin. Ay,ay,ay.
I checked out my six gun. Five bullets left, and a bandido’s name written on each slug. Boot hill for bandidos. That’s my motto.
January 21st, 2010 at 5:29 pm
Chick-A-Boom, Chick-A-Boom, Chick-A-Boom ,Chick-A-Boom, Chick…
Dancing barefoot and raising dust around the campfire were Rosita, Dorita and Chiquita.
What’s your name, El Strangero?
You can call me Fernando – just don’t call me late for the polenta and beans.
The senoritas giggled, ceased their dancing and sat in a circle making hats from bananas, chilis and pineapples.
It was a pleasant respite under the stars….
A cowboy, however, has to be very careful if he does not want to be dry gulched……
January 21st, 2010 at 7:23 pm
It looked like wedding bells were soon to ring south of the border….
A Mexican matron was briefing a senorita before her wedding to the bandido, El Guapo.
Matron: Do you know anything about foreplay?
Senorita: No.
Matron: Good. Neither does El Guapo.
There was a picture of the groom surrounded by desert flowers.
Why, I thought again, do none of the bandidos ever shave?
Or do the senoritas appreciate a bit of bristle?
January 22nd, 2010 at 6:20 am
The sounds of BOOOOOOOOM Chick-A-Boom rolled across the desert plain as I headed northward…
I took a swig of my last water and squinted through the sun and dust.
I sure would have like to spend more time with those senoritas.
But a cowboy has to do what a cowboy has to do.
When a gaucho comanchero calls you have to come.
An arrow sped past me.
I realised then that I was in Injun country.
The gauchos are part Indian, and many of the old ways have not disappeared…
Zip!!!!
Another arrow.
Suddenly I was surrounded by Injuns.
I kept my drawing arm well away from my holster.
You got me, I said.
How?
And How you get here, White Man Who Dances with White She Devil Senoritas?
On my piebald cayuse.
Go in peace, then, white man. We like your taste. Horse is Fashion Statement.
January 22nd, 2010 at 11:44 am
Vaya Con Dios……
Like Gene Autry, I am drifting along with the tumbling tumbleweed………
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MMBMkm184pU&feature=related
As a singing cowboy I know there are three things: singing, thinking and feeling…..
When I sing to Pinto, my painted pony, on the trail, it starts me thinking. Is there a rattler near my boot, is there a rifle behind that rock?
When it comes to gunslinging, there’s no feeling at all. We just know that only one of us is going to come away smelling like roses.
Draw! Lightning fast. The hand whips out, the finger pulls. Bang! The man in black hits the white dust while old men and senoritas cower in the church or taverna. He’s headed for Boot Hill.
That’s the way it is, pardner, and the way it will always be on the Range……..
January 22nd, 2010 at 6:24 pm
I strode into La Cantina….
They were all drinking tequila and red eye.
What’ll it be, senor strangero?
Your best pantry juice ain’t good enough for El Gingero. Gimme a tequila, fast-like, unless you want a wooden overcoat.
Certo, senor. Pronto, senor Strangero.
Make it snappy then, pilgrim.
Say, would you happen to know an old comanchero, Pecos Bill?
Of course, Senor Strangero.
El Gingero is the moniker, pilgrim. El Gingero. Now whee’s that Pecos Bill?
Senor Gozales, Pecos Bll is in a ranchero, a hideout in mountains. Go there to the Valley of Mille Muertes, the place of a Thousand Deaths and ask for the senor.
How come they call him Pecos?
Pecos is the only place, senor, where he ain’t killed nobody yet.
January 23rd, 2010 at 6:43 am
It was high noon.
The sun beat down like hot honey on the strip of bare earth the town called a street.
At its end was El Guapo, who did not look like the bridegroom of the year.
His pants were shiny and greasy, and his black hat was frayed. His nails were dirty, and teeth yellowed as they formed a nasty grin and he kicked a man in a wheelchair.
No criplos here, he snarled.
His fired a shot that cracked the bell of San Eustachia’s church, and the good sisters ran screaming from the building.
Peering through the batwing doors of the tavern, the thought came to me again: Why do Mexican bandidos never shave? Are they hoping to make it to Hollywood?
El Guapo spurred his horse to overtake the Mother Superior.
Mother, do you teach los ninos, the children, about foreplay?
No, senor, we are good Catholics here.
Good. I do not believe in foreplay.
El Guapo showed his yellow teeth again, twirling his six shooter.
Are there any strangeros here?
Sir, one strangero, the hombre who calls himself El Gingero.
THEN I AM ARE CALLING OUT THIS SON OF A PIG!
El Guapo took a swill from his brandy flask:
EL GINGERO. I AM A-CALLIN’ YOU OUT. YOU SON OF A PUTANA.
I checked my six shooter.
Five bullets.
One of them had El Guapo’s name on it.
He did not stand a chance.
I shot him through the right eye without leaving the tavern.
No need for the ‘quick draw’ here.
El Guapo’s next appointment: Boot Hill.
January 23rd, 2010 at 9:27 am
There was hardly a tree on the whole caboodle dash comma no wonder they called it the Valley of a Thousand Deaths full stop One thing they had, comma however comma was tombstones full stop This was Boot Hill Big Time comma pardners full stop And it was here, comma, with the blood of El Guapo on my hands comma that I had agreed to meet my old compadre comma Pecos Bill Gonzales comma the most feared man South of the Border full stop I had mosied here along a long and a dash winding trail comma which seemed to never end comma but what comma exactly comma was I to discover question mark
*Ed’s note: Don’t know whether El Gingero is sendin’ telegrams, is plum sun stroked, is takin’ too much tequila or has gone all postmodern on us. Fullstop.
January 23rd, 2010 at 5:43 pm
There’s zero, senors, like Death, La Morta, to make un hombre reflect on his life….
La Morta Vincit Omnes, amigos- Death Conquers All, even El Guapo, Terror South of the Border.
Me have plenty questionnes, senors. What is my full name? Where did I go to school, amigos? Before I became a Bad Hombre did I want to be a priest, a holy father in that little stone chapel surrounded by cactus?
Why do I not shave? Why does everybody in my gang not shave?
There are no answers, only questionnes, amigo, in la vita.
I know one thing, comancheros, that I know nothing about myself. I am only padding. Padding, senors! PADDING.
If there is a rewrite, amigos, I might get a chance to shoot the strangero, El Gingero, in the back, dry-gulching him in the best tradizione of Mexico.
Otherwise, senors and senoritas, I will always be…PADDING….
I could have been given a tequila, but I would only be filling. Par examplero, what was the name of my bride who did not need foreplay? No importanto, si? Per que?
No one should be padding…….
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JxzJAF1BxP4
January 24th, 2010 at 8:51 am
I was following the Lone Star when the air was filled with sound like the wind slapping against a wigwam….
The drums are speaking. Not in Spanish either, pardner.
There are twenty Injun types of lingo in Mexico.
Sure, at times you would think you were plumb in the middle of a Spanish hacienda, hombre, thanks to Hernan Cortes who came to America in 1518, but there are more than 150 Injun dialects south of the border.
But the Injun languages live on, cowboy.
The Injuns have moved with the times and have the Internet, but they still pass on messages by drum and fire smoke, and by message stick.
What are the drums saying?
A Bletchley Cowboy course has enabled me to understand Injun and translate the drum message:
I WORRIED BOUT LORD GINGE. YO SEND HIM BACK OR WE SPIN OVER AND GET HIM BACK, YESIRREEBOBTRUEDAT. YOURS TROOLY CHIEF MONK.
January 24th, 2010 at 9:06 am
Having been in a Duel in the Sun that sent El Guapo to the Happy Hunting Ground, then buried up to my neck in sand and then escaping to find my faithful Pinto grazing I decided to high tail it out of here.
Consarn it, I had enough of the Valley of a Thousand Deaths and its mean critters….
I sent a message to Pecos Bill through an Injun guide, Buffalo Kid Who Dances with Sun, telling him of his cousin’s encounter with a lead lunch.
Back came the reply: I loved him, not as a bandido, but as a MAN.
So long, pardner, been good to know you…..
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zPaSCw487aE
THE END.