Bob
with the Cancer, a charred renegade cowboy scout was puffing and lolloping
along on his half-assed, half-blind donkey when he passed two unlikely lads
cavorting on the skirted hem of a daisy prairie.
One
of the unlikely lads, Pete with a rooster, cried, ‘yo!’
‘Yo,’
repeated his crushed-almond-eyed friend.
Cancer
Bob creaked around his saddle to face them: ‘what in the name of sweet Jesus
are you two female faggots wanting from me?’
‘Yo
yo,’ shouted Rooster Pete and his nutty fiend.
Now
the donkey agitated around to bring Cancer Bob nuzzle-up-close to the yoyo
pair.
‘I’ll
say it only once: why are you rattle-snakes repeating your death rattle claim
on my running-out-time?’
‘Yoyo,
sir. It’s all the craze in the East. Spare us a dime and we’ll furnish you with
our presentation.’
‘What
do you think, Dong?’ Cancer Bob asked of his donkey. ‘Shall we give them a dime
for their troubles or shall we blast their dim-witted asses back up to Kingdom
come?’
Donkey
Dong looked heavenward and brayed very loud.
‘Sorry
boys, I have my answer,’ said Cancer Bob with a rotten kind of smile. Then out
came his pistols and squeeze went the triggers. Bullets flew and the two
unfortunate, unlikely lads fell backwards onto the skirted hem of the
prairie.
As
the rooster cooked on a fire and Donkey Dong hoofed up granules of desert to
make two shallow graves, Cancer Bob lay on his back doing an expert cat’s cradle
with the yoyo. ‘Those talent less fuckers will be pushing up daisies soon
enough,’ he said.
‘And
so will you, Bob,’ replied Donkey Dong.
‘Guess
I will at that,’ said Cancer Bob allowing a crooked smile to pass across his
lips as he offered his donkey dong a drag on his nicotine.
