It's Never Too Early for Anguish
Trust Latigo Flint on this one, Squinty-eyed Gunslingers can always sense when we're being watched in our sleep. We're much like wild animals in this respect. (But we're only like the sleek and sexy and dangerous wild animals - not the slow, ugly, stupid animals. Like a frickin' manatee can sense when it's being watched in its sleep anyway.)
This morning even before my steel gray eyelids snapped open, my blazing hands had already instinctively slapped thigh, shucked iron, and were in the process of obliterating the fish tank on the far wall. A sharp head snap sent pillow (a pair of shear stockings filled with empty Pabst Blue Ribbon cans) flying backwards, in case an assailant was charging from behind. Legs scissored then flung blanket into air for distractive cover. Two tuck rolls. Exploratory shot through window. Toe clench on bowie knife handle, kick ball change and knife whips into bathroom, slicing through shower curtain. Three preemptive rounds fired in direction of closet, two into recently vacated bed and two shots fired directly overhead for no particular reason.
Time elapsed: 1 point 9 seconds. It was probably quite a sight to behold. But if it impressed Kid Relish, my relatively trusty sidekick who was lounging in the doorway, he didn't show it.
"Mornin' Latty."
"Mornin' Kid."
Kid Relish glanced at the gasping goldfish. "I don't think L'Amour is gonna make it."
"What the hell do you want Kid?" I was grumpy at having forgotten to put a few slugs through the open doorway, an almost unforgivable lapse for a squinty-eyed gunslinger.
"I did a Google search on the words slapped thigh this morning Latty."
"A what sort of search?"
"You're at the top Latty. Number one and two out of about one hundred and eight thousand."
"Is that a good thing?"
"Depends on who you ask."
I mulled this over for a moment. "Hey Kid, what about shucked iron?" The Kid shook his head, "I got down to somewhere like two hundred and still hadn't seen you." I couldn't believe what I was hearing. "What the hell is up with that Kid?" He shrugged, "Sorry Latty but apparently oysters out of their shell are referred to as shucked, and oysters just happen to an excellent source of calcium, niacin and," he paused dramatically, "and iron."
"Well that's a goddamn suck!" I was a little depressed now. Kid looked at the floor near my shattered closet door and grinned wickedly. "You know you just shot a hole in your autographed picture of Clint right?"
Part of me could hear Kid Relish laugh as he walked away down the hall. Then I fell to the glass-splattered floor, all sound and light faded, and the bad grief time began.
posted by Latigo Flint @ 9:42 PM
14 comments
14 Comments:
You ever get holster burn, wearin' your irons under your jammies?
Ever thought about writing screenplays for westerns? That scene there put me in mind of Desperado or some other such flick.
dang bang it, Latigo!
How could you forget to shot a few shots through the doorway? I hope you have a mighty fine explanation ready, 'cause this ain't something I'm willing to easily forgive!
I would tell you to shoot Kiddo in the thigh next time, but that would be utterly too obvious.
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Ah, but you must merely search for "shucked iron" in quotation marks, young Latigo. Within the parameters of such a search, you are both the first and the solitary response.
What a touching metaphor for your life.
Latigo Flint: "Alone at the Top"
Ah, Latigo, clearly the Kid mangled his search request to include oysters in an effort to trip you up. You should have remembered it was the first of April before you got so upset about the oysters. Then, of course, you should have claimed your gun was empty, aimed at his calf, pulled the trigger, and yelled, "April Fool's!" as he lay screaming and bleeding in the doorway.
One good prank deserves another, after all. And this is Kid Relish.
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Matteus has a point.
In a variation of what Dirty Harry said before foiling the bank robbers:
"Who puts relish on google search anyways?"
Latigo, mi compadre, it sounds like you might have a touch of SSGD - Sonambulistic Scott Glenn Disorder, wherein the afflicted, while sleeping, cannot distinguish between the harmless rustle of leaves in the wind and the sound of desperados on the roof of the shack you're sleeping in. A friend of mine had SSGD and had to shoot his cat in the middle of the night before he finally got help.
Wow, remember to reminnd you never to wake you from an afternoon slumber. If you ever hire a maid, I hope she'll wear Kevlar.
Out of curiosity, have you ever had to use these mad skills? Or are they for....just in case?
My hips are basically one big callus Old Hoss. (And who said anything about jammies? S-E.G's sleep in the raw!)
Thank you kindly for saying so Ari. Though it may not quite be 100% accurate, you're welcome to picture me looking like a young Antonio any time you like.
Rasmus, the month is only four days old but I don't give a dern - you win Latigo Flint's Comment of the Month Award for your spectacular use of Squinty-Eyed Gunslinger vernacular. And I hope you can someday forgive my error.
Do you suppose your woman has any idea how much I love you DMor?
Matteus, you have just lifted my spirits up so high that I'm given to suspect you have recently invented some sort of spirit lifting device. Thank you sir.
Slarrow, it is true the Kid knows significantly about the internets than I. I wouldn't put what you describe past him at all. However, when Kid agreed to be my relatively trusty sidekick, he made me sign a 'no shooting him' agreement. This is quite standard I'm told.
Hello Ryan of Ryan's Blog. I think it's unlikely. What happened was, my relatively trusty sidekick pointed to the Blogger Recently Updated Blogs List and yours sat atop the list. Kid said to me: "I'm going to type 'Rumor has it you're Ryan... and this is your blog.' on Ryan's Blog." I couldn't think of any real good reason not to let him.
Thanks for trying to cheer me up Steve... I can't believe I shot Clint right in the chest and autograph.
Your friend's a tricky fella Velvet. I've used that very trick to dispatch many a girlfriend's cat. "Oh God honey, what have I done... Okay, you're right, I need help. The SSGD isn't going to go away on it's own, I recognize that now."
Hey LBB, remember the maid named Inez from Wes Anderson's fine documentary film, Bottle Rocket. If I had a maid as sweet and wonderful as Inez, I'd tie my arms to my waist to avoid shooting her.
Cad my old friend, I see you haven't forgotten how to ask an innocent sounding set-up question that lets me display my astonishing talents without looking like a show off. We aren't at a party at the local sorority but you've got $20 and a six-pack coming nonetheless.
The one below slapped thigh is this:
Interracial Bitchfight - White Dominatrix vs. Black Stripper
... As he slapped my thigh and made it shake, he moved closer to me. Then he
said, “Sometimes it gets lonely here.” It was about that time that the doorbell ...
You are in good company, my friend. I will play the role of Black Stripper if you will be White Domi.
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