Where oh where is my mouse?

By now she was into Weepland with a vengeance.

I had the answer.

Just a typical Iranian, you’d say?

I never ain’t seen one before, Mr Barlowe.

Seen one you seen em all, toots.

Well, I made him a bed in a nice little cot I have for guests.

Sure, sugar, separate tables.

He seemed kind of cute, you know?

Cute is as cute does, honey. What about Mr Mouse?

Mo was in his little pen in the room, having fun on his treadmill…

And?

When I got up in the morning Mo was gone and so was the Persian.

I took Miss Lonelyhearts to the door. The red neon over Art’s Bar and Grill was flashing like an angry woman.

I pointed to the sky.

See that moving light in the sky, just over the water tower?

Is it a plane, Mr Barlowe?

No, sister, it’s Mr Mo – and I cannot guarantee he’s coming back.

I get so lonesome I could kind of burst inside, Mr Barlowe.

You’ll just have to Let a Smile Be Your Umbrella, kiddo….

The Lonesome Dame.

So lonesome she’s kind of bustin’ inside.

Further, that all-wired Iranian has stolen her mouse. You get a man and he steals your mouse.

Not one of those that run the computer, but one of those furry cheese-eaters.

Time for a denoument for the Dame.

A case of Tears Before Bedtime, if you get my drift, kiddo…..

He sez I should resign as Marshal cos four of my posse died from nicotine poisonin’ while expectoratin’ in defence of the town.

I tole the sheriff, no ways Jose. I ain’t quittin. Nosirreebob.

My Expectoratin’ Program works!

I am not goin’ nowheres.

I defend the defenders whether they discharge, drool, expectorate, hawk, hiss, sibilate, sizz, slobber, spatter, spew, splutter, spritz, sputter, throw out……

I am the Marshal of this here town what got shot up.

My condolences to the widders of the four men who fell in its defence.

But I make no apologies, nosirreebob.

Yessirreebob.

Tobacco chawers versus the Boyce Gang.

I gotta tell you I raised a posse from Art’s Bar and Grill and The Last Chance that were mean critters with their baccy.

The authoritahs had forced both proprietahs to put up No Smokin signs and prohibit the consumption of any kinds of cheroots.

Art immedately installed a Brass Spittoon.

The locals from the Town What Got Shot Up never shifted from their seats to hit the ‘toon with their juice.

PTOOOOOOOOOOOON! Right on the mark.

One patron, Mick the Juice, could hit a blowfly at twenty paces.

The gang were no match.

Soon they were a-runnin and a-hollerin all the ways down Pine Avenue, clutching their tobacco-juice wounded eyes.

PTOOOOOOOOOOOON! There goes another outlaw.

PTOOOOOOOOOOOON! PTOOOOOOOOOOOON! PTOOOOOOOOOOOON!

Even Six Pack Tex was high-tailin it, carryin his six irons and his Ironing Table.

PTOOOOOOOOOOOON!

I’m tellin you, pardners, it was a slaughter.

Finally it was only Barney and me.

Pow! Another shot whistled overhead.

I crouched down behind a waterless Irigation Area water barrel.

Pow!

I’m a-callin you out, Marshal!

How many bullets you got left, Barney?

I don’t need Mathematics to kill yer, Marshal.

I got plenty…

I rose from behind the barrel, my eyes squintin against the sun.

Three twos make SIX, Barney. Yer plumb outta slugs.

PTOOOOOOOOOOOON!

Right on target.

Barney mounted and high-tailed it right out of Leeton, the Town What Got Shot Up.

Ask your Grandma. It really happened.

He shot up all of Canberry,
Took off with his mates
To raid the Town of Leeton….
Left it all shot up.

His popeyes and his popgun,
What a son of a gun!

Barney had no sister, no wife, no son, no daughter,
Bringin’ terror with his gun,
To the Irrigation Area (Without Water).

Zeke, from Art’s Bar and Grill, was kind of nervy.

Who’s come to town?

Barnaby Boyce’s Gang and Six Pack Tex – the ones who shot up the town!

Notice anything special bout him?

He was laughin’ and shootin’ all the ways down Pine Avenue. He shot up the town again.

Settle down cowboy…..

Sure, Marshal. He urinated on the Henry Lawson Memorial….

Guess I’ll have to mosey out and do somethin’ bout this.

Give me another shot of mesquite, Mister Barman. It’s a swell drop.

Sure, Marshal, sure…

To be continued….

Yesireebob. Barnaby Boyce Gang and Six Pack Tex (who I note is marauding through this site) done themselves real proud.

What’ll it be, stranger?

Your best pantry juice ain’t none too good fer Marshal G.I.N German, all the ways from G-Ranch, El Gundagai. I’ll have a shot of your best mesquite juice.

Sure. We got it growing everywhere now. They brought it from Ardlethan…

Tastes like a nutty molasses.

Yessir!

Mesquite?

Yes, pardner. It’s not just in Zane Grey. Screwtape mesquite has a long tap root that goes through the salt down to the water table. Nothin’ fazes it no how, just like a tax collector. It’s a favourite Injune food.

Injuns? No Injuns round here….

No, but you got the Boyce Brothers. And the town is all shot up……

Yessir!

To be continued…

I got so many notches on my guns the handles are almost plum whittled aways.

To be continued….

You’ll have noticed under my ACTION MAN- BATTLELINES LEADERSHIP – I’m taking the Libs to the Left – campaigning on WORKERS RIGHTS, HEALTH AND SAFETY, EXPLOITATION OF INSULATORS IN ROOF SPACES – I know through your blog you’re close to the street….so, if you hear any examples of injustice to workers, let me know IMMEDIATELY!

The Rev Kev, aka The Bosses’ friend, has to be stopped.

Next Monday, I’m calling a National Strike.

IT’LL BE AN INDEFINITE!

THE WORKERS UNITED WILL NEVER BE DEFEATED.

Tony Six Pack.

Amazing Tony Six Pack,

* The word around here is that Barnaby Google is about to announce a nationwide ban on doing sums. I’d go knocking on his door if I were you. KJ.

It was High Noon, and time that Leeton took a Last Stand.

So far the cards and dice had fallen on the side of the bad men in black hats.

Time fer a change in the Badlands, pardners.

To be continued.