Monday, March 21, 2005

Paul Flepworth's Lonely Battle

An electronic mail arrived today, addressed to Latigo Flint:

Dear Latigo Flint,

My name is Paul Flepworth and I am an alpaca rancher in Northern Montana. I read about you on the computers. You are a person that I wish lived near the bar that is near my ranch. That would be mighty fine, to drink beers alongside you. We would finish our first beers at almost the same time----to you I'd say "Have another?" It would be a question and it would mean about having another beer. To me you'd say, "On such a night, with such company, I reckon it'd be a damn shame not to." Or something like that. This would be an old in-joke, no longer funny but as warm and familiar as a trusted stove. That would be mighty fine indeed.

Latigo, that goddamn mastodon is back. It tramples much as it pleases and to trample things pleases it much.

Latigo, have you seen the fine documentary film from 1995 titled: Last of the Dogmen, about that Native American tribe that lived in the wilderness of Northern Montana all the way to now, and that 'Nam sergeant, Barns, found them but he didn't tell anyone and I don't remember why?

This has happened to me near my alpaca ranch except that it's a goddamn mastodon. My Grandpappy told us stories about a mysterious mastodon but that's all we thought they was---stories. And this thinking was with me all these 50 some years until yesterday when that goddamn mastodon ran out of the woods and trampled most of my alpacas.

Latigo, I'm going now to kill that goddamn mastodon. That goddamn mastodon may in fact kill me. One or the other of us---by which I'm meaning me or that goddamn mastodon is going to be dead soon.

I wish I could have had that quiet beer of old, comfortable friendship with you Latigo Flint. I have waited to send this until the very minute that I will be walking out the door to try to kill that goddamn mastodon. This is so you will not travel here and help---which I know you would, being such hero. But it is my lonely battle---by which I mean me trying to kill that goddamn mastodon is a lonely battle that must only be fought by me.

I reckon I'll be seeing you one of these days at the big saloon in the sky. I'll be the one raising my beer as you stride in. I'll have a walking stick propped against the bar next to me. This walking stick won't be a stick at all---it'll be the tusk of that goddamn mastodon.

Your Pard'ner always,

Paul Flepworth

Words fail Latigo Flint. It's getting a little tough to see the screen right now if you know what I mean. I'll tell you this much - I'd gladly trade all the beer in Boston for just four bottles in a Northern Montana bar with Paul Flepworth. So Paul, wherever you are, and I hope to god it's not impaled on the end of mastodon tusk... "on such a night, with such company, I reckon it'd be a damn shame not to... Pard'ner."


At 9:53 AM, Blogger Bottle Rocket Fire Alarm said...

I hereby declare my admiration for Paul Flepworth and my support for his perilous plight.

Godspeed, sir.

At 10:08 AM, Blogger Teaspoon said...

I second BRFA's sentiment and raise my own glass to you Paul and to you LF for inspiring such bravery.

At 11:48 AM, Blogger amandapants said...

Shit, hombre! You have GOT to go to Montana! If not for Paul, think of the next alpaca rancher that will suffer at the tusks of the wild beast. Plus, I saw on the T.V. that alpaca farming's a pretty lucrative venture.
I will be right over to help you pack your things.

At 11:49 AM, Blogger Ghost Dog said...

Here's to Paul. May his hand be swift, his aim be true, and may he prevail against that goddamn mastodon.

At 12:17 PM, Blogger Blog ho said...

Paul Flepworth. Gay? Oh, yes.

At 2:43 PM, Blogger Cad Grublygold said...

I’ll bet there’s big money to be had in Mastodon farming. Paul may want to consider that now that all his alpacas have been stomped

At 6:00 AM, Blogger Mister Jinxy said...

You mean there's only ONE Mastadon and it's Montana?

Hey-zeus Christo! Then what the Hell is that hairy abomination in my neighbor's yard that's eatin' all of my damn gardenias?

At 3:34 PM, Blogger Ghost Dog said...

That might be Sasquatch's dog. We'd heard he'd gone missing.

At 11:32 PM, Blogger Latigo Flint said...

Steve, as Paul Flepworth's last contact I thank you for him, warmly.

Yes TSP, here's to Paul. In good faith I shall not take any credit for his incredible courage - that there Paul is a real man.

I am pained Amandapants but must stay where I am. Plus if I know Paul at all, he may not survive, but you better believe he's taking that goddamn mastodon with him.

Damn will I drink to that Ghost Dog... Goddamn mastodon!

I know little of his life Ho, but you're probably right - some of his days probably were quite merry, and filled with cheer.

Always thinking of the gold that can be grubbled huh Cad? Paul has a higher purpose now - killing that goddamn mastodon.

In other news Jinxy, for the third straight day, Kathy Bates has failed to show up to the Charlotte's Web voice-over recording studio. Co-stars Steve Buscemi (Templeton) and André 3000 (Elwyn) are understandably quite concerned.

Gorgog? Gorgog's gone missing? That's a damn shame.


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