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Tue 24 Jan, 2006 09:39 pm
yeppers it was the first of the month and time to do my laundry so I arose early that morning, got a fire going in the stove, put on a large kettle of water and got the 20 gallon can out of the shed, put it in the bed of the pickup. Took off my jeans, overshirt and longjohns and put on my bib overalls. By that time the water on the stove was hot so I poured it into the can in the truck, tossed in the laundry and borax, put a lid on the can and drove off from my crib in Lone Wolf headed into town (Patagonia). 22 miles of washed out gravel road, suds overflowing. A little after 11 I pulled into town and parked in front of Hymie's Bar and Deli. I pulled my Stetson down low over my eyes and walked in. It was dark. I ordered a sassparilla (on ice) and looked down the bar only to see Gustav at the other end, one foot on the floor and the other stuck in the spitoon. He took a Colt 44 fron his belt and slammed it against his face knocking out a gold tooth which he laid on the bar as he yelled "barkeep, gimmie 3 fingers of redeye and keep'm coming until I used up all the gold in this here tooth." Just past the end of the bar where Gus was drinking sat Little'K, black lace stockings and a frilly can-can skirt. She was at a table sipping a black russian. She had very average boobs bound up in some sort of corset with ribbon. A fair amount of cleavage. Gus slowly turned in my direction saying "I know you stranger?" I said "well yeah, Gus, I'm the Dys and it's laundry day." Gus slugged down the red-eye and spit towards the spitoon, hitting his boot. Turned back to me and said "there ain't room enough for the both of us in this life-cycle so I suggest you get out of dodge while the getting is good." "this ain't dodge Gus" I says back and he spits again this time hitting his other boot. Meanwhile Little'K crosses her legs. Along about then in comes JLNobody looking for a lowfat cornbeef on rye but settles for a La Choy chop suey. He takes a gander at the Dys then towards Gustav, a long glance at Little'k's average cleavage and starts backing out slowly. By then I had finished my sassparilla, walked out to my truck, poured off the soapy water and added the rinse water for the trip back home. Popped open a can of beans and tore open a bag of marshmallows for dinner knowing that laundry **** was done for another month.
Yet, little did he know, the cook, CrazyDiamond, had slipped an Ex-Lax in his 'sassparilla' and he would soon be feeling the urge to use the sh!tter reeeal bad.
And little did I know, the horrid, toxic smell would carry, knocking me out as I chuckled at my joke, and continuing on, wiping out half the population of Pantagonia (so about 5 or 6 people).
Hmmm.. Did you hang your clothes to dry them when you got home or didja just pop the hood and toss 'em onto the hot engine block? I did the engine block thing for a while but one of my socks got caught up in the A/C compressor and the mechanic told me to knock it off or he'd soak me for another $900 in repairs again.
fishin' wrote:Hmmm.. Did you hang your clothes to dry them when you got home or didja just pop the hood and toss 'em onto the hot engine block? I did the engine block thing for a while but one of my socks got caught up in the A/C compressor and the mechanic told me to knock it off or he'd soak me for another $900 in repairs again.
This is Wolf Hole Az, there is no drying. it's dry when you put it on.
I was kinda expecting more excitement or something...Did you forget part of the story, or is it some kind of deep, existential thing that I don't get? Will it possibly be told in serial form?
Also, all the cleavage references-- have you been lurking on the "Why Men Fond of Breasts" thread? Just curious...
I have had just about enough of this. <stamps foot>
There I was, filling in for Jacques at the Wine Cellar, when in walked Gus. I thought I had made it clear to him that he was not welcome when I threw him out the last time. But there he was, drunk as a skunk, brandishing a revolver like he was some sort of aging bit player from The Godfather. I thought it best not to alarm him. One can never tell if a drunk has remembered to load the bullets. I was greatly relieved when Lil'K arrived, knowing that she has more experience than I when it comes to handling drunken capybara farmers. She was wearing her usual jeans with a lovely ribbon-trimmed silk camisole that matched her eyes. It showed just a hint of cleavage...very modest, sexy without being trashy, I thought. I've always liked the way she dresses. I brought her a Campari and soda and asked her what I should do about Gus. She laughed as she assured me he was harmless, then retired to her favorite spot on the sofa by the fireplace to listen to her iPod. The drunken farmer paid no attention to her and continued to harass me. I was just starting to dial Jacques' number on my cell phone when the door opened again. In walked an old, dust-covered cowboy who looked like he'd just spent the weekend in the drunk tank. He reeked of cheap whisky and greasy, leftover chicken-fried steak. But he did have a nice hat. He approached Gus at the bar and the two of them began arguing. The cowboy was delirious. I don't know what he had been doing, but by the looks of him, he couldn't have afforded any good drugs. He began shouting at everyone, insisting that this was a saloon in some backwater town in Arizona, that Lil'K was a can-can dancer, and the glass of fine merlot in front of him was "sassparilla." He took a punch at Gus, knocking out one of his gold teeth. Gus became enraged. He was beginning to foam at the mouth when JLNobody came in the door, sized up the scene, and backed out slowly before breaking into a run down the sidewalk. I could hardly blame him. Things were getting out of hand. I pressed the emergency button underneath the bar, alerting the police. They arrived within minutes and escorted both the drunken farmer and the mile-high cowboy to the drunk tank where they both belonged.
I do hope they don't come back soon.
What an exciting day - I wonder what will happen, when you take your annual bath!
Walter Hinteler wrote:What an exciting day - I wonder what will happen, when you take your annual bath!
I think you're misinformed, Walter.
It is a well known fact that Eva bathes at least once week.
So, am I to assume Gustav and I are the only users of 20 mule team borax on laundry day?
Sumpin's missing between tossing the clothes into the can, and the return. At some point, I assume, the clothes were returned to the body?
dyslexia wrote:So, am I to assume Gustav and I are the only users of 20 mule team borax on laundry day?
Yes, I have to do it on my own:
Reasoned, besides others, that I didn't want that saint here anymore
[
BBB
Dys forgot to mention he uses a muscial washboard. Amuses him while his duds are getting suds.
http://www.redhillgeneralstore.com/orhw2072.htm
BBB
Lord Ellpus wrote:Walter Hinteler wrote:What an exciting day - I wonder what will happen, when you take your annual bath!
I think you're misinformed, Walter.
It is a well known fact that Eva bathes at least once week.
Twice when I'm in Arizona.
Eva
Eva wrote:Lord Ellpus wrote:Walter Hinteler wrote:What an exciting day - I wonder what will happen, when you take your annual bath!
I think you're misinformed, Walter.
It is a well known fact that Eva bathes at least once week.
Twice when I'm in Arizona.
So that's how you keep your beautiful long red hair so shiny.
BBB
Spilled some cereal? need to do laundry again?
Fools rush in, and all that.
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