Tuesday, August 02, 2005

Range Wars

Those dishes are not allowed to fall. Latigo Flint forbids it. Yes, perhaps Latigo Flint over-stacked his dish rack. Latigo Flint recognizes that this teetering mound of ceramic doom is of his own design, but Latigo Flint doesn't give a damn. That's his kitchen they're living in--so his rules. Those dishes had just better call upon all their frictional powers and hold themselves up until they're dry.

Latigo Flint doesn't own one of those automatic dishwashers. This is probably because Latigo Flint's apartment is only slightly larger than an office cubicle. Being the quickest quickdraw in the world doesn't pay what it used to.

If Latigo Flint had been born 150 years ago, he'd be out in the fresh air defending small ranchers locked in hopeless range wars against evil cattle barons. And occasionally defending evil cattle barons locked in hopeless range wars against incredibly evil cattle empires. And every once in a while defending incredibly evil cattle empires against coordinated attacks from Canadian and Mexican armies.

Defending cattle was a noble and lucrative career 150 years ago. You received a percentage once the fighting was over. A hired gunslinger could take lead with a grin and a wink all day long, but should a stray bullet happen to drop a passing heifer, he'd be weeping like a baby 'till sun up.

None of this matters now though. Latigo Flint wasn't born 150 years ago, Latigo Flint is a digital child.

"Creak all you want you wretched dishes, but don't forget--if any of you even think about falling, I'm going to tear every single one of your diamond meat-houses down!"

Every dish in the world believes it owns a meat-house somewhere made entirely of diamonds. It's what allows them to endure the drudgery of being a dish. They all have very vivid pictures of what their diamond meat-house looks like. They calculate daily what it must be worth now on the open market.

Threatening to tear its diamond meat-house down is the worst thing you can say to a dish. They have no choice but to believe you capable of it. Dishes know you go many places they don't. What if their diamond meat-house happens to be right outside the front door and you could tear it down anytime you felt like? They can't take that chance; they're compelled to obey.

(My dishes dried without falling. As I put them away I felt a little bad about scaring them so severely, but you know I didn't let it show. Dishes are deceptively cunning and manipulative. If they sense any weakness in you, they won't hesitate to exploit it.)


At 6:36 AM, Blogger Bottle Rocket Fire Alarm said...

How does the laundry respond to fear? The vaccuum?

It's a career just keeping household appliances in line. They're difficult to herd and prone to stampede. This modern life. Sheesh.

At 8:06 AM, Blogger slarrow said...

Dishes are deceptively cunning and manipulative. If they sense any weakness in you, they won't hesitate to exploit it.

How true. Much like Starbuck's girls, wouldn't you say? (Or do I mean women in general? I forget.

Honey? Honey?)

At 8:12 AM, Blogger Blog ho said...

i somehow imagined you with just one plate...blue with speckles of white and never clean.

At 8:13 AM, Blogger OldHorsetailSnake said...

"Diamond meat houses"?? I'm not sure, but I think you made that up.

But you are right about dishes. Never turn your back on leaded glass.

At 10:00 AM, Anonymous SpyScribe said...

"Dishes are deceptively cunning and manipulative. If they sense any weakness in you, they won't hesitate to exploit it."

I hear they're like potted plants that way.

At 11:08 AM, Blogger blake.mcstravick said...

I would like to try whatever drug it seems you are so heavily buried in, Latigo

At 2:49 PM, Blogger Ghost Dog said...

I always thought a Squinty-Eyed Gunslinger's life didn't have room for dishes, leastaways not enough of 'em to require a rack.

At 5:21 PM, Blogger amandapants said...

Ikea's dish racks are teeny.

At 9:30 PM, Blogger Amandarama said...

You know what I use to scare my plates into drying in the stack I told them to assume? Grout.

They can stay or they can be made to stay. That's all I'm saying. Much like my dates.

At 10:26 PM, Blogger MJ said...

Now why on Earth would a dish keep a diamond meat house? Would it plan to retire there one day, filled to its brim with gold steak nuggets and silver breast cutlets, or does it consider it a property investment?

At 11:41 PM, Blogger Trevor Record said...

Of course! No wonder my dishes are always breaking on me, I tell them I've already destroyed their diamond meathouses. After that, they have nothing left to live for.

At 1:14 AM, Blogger Latigo Flint said...

You understand what I'm saying Steve. This brings me joy.

Oh Slarrow, that wretched Starbucks barista... would that she weren't so cute!

Mercy yes Ho, I know the hearty campwear of which you speak. It is not a plate I own, but rather a cup, a large one. It holds two and a half beers. I'm sorry to disappoint, it's not the only dish I own.

Now how could I make something like that up Old Hoss? Who in their right mind would invent something like a diamond meat house. Oh they're real I tells you, and dishes believe in them!

And so you alone know the genesis of this tale SpyScribe. (You're absolutely right by the way.)

Easy enough to be had Blake McStravick - it is the repercussive effect of a nightly consumption of approximately 36 Coors Long Necks.

It's a horrible mess, Ghost Dog, this birth of mine 150 years too late. I compromise myself daily and regret every one.

Dern straight Amandapants... goddamn Swedes and their tiny, thimble-like cups.

Your comment works on so many levels Amandarama.

Frankly MJ, I have no idea. Someone ought to commission a scientific study. Or beat it out of them. One or the other. (Are you really 6'3"?)

Ah yes, my dear Trevor Record, that would certainly be a severe misstep as you have already discovered.

At 12:42 PM, Blogger Lightning Bug's Butt said...

They're nothing compared to the kitchen appliances. Tricky, conniving bastards!

At 3:34 PM, Blogger MJ said...

Latigo: Yes. So next time you're walking around LA and see a devastatingly beautiful woman of freakish though goddess-like stature and divine proportions, curly hair waving in the wind, DON'T SHOOT! It's just me. But pat your holster and give me a squinty-eyed wink so I know it's you ;-)


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