The Strump Fed Brawlers
American Western lore and its replicative sights and odors is Latigo Flint's main area of expertise, but when you have a true story to tell about East End London's Strump Fed Brawlers, it would practically be a crime against humanity to withhold it.
The Strump Fed Brawlers are a jolly assemblage of hard-drinking British lads, whose greatest joy in life is to charge around cobblestoned street corners and overturn apple carts. Afterwards they always right the cart, restack the apples and pay for any damages. They are a remarkably polite lot of fellows once they get apple cart related mayhem out of their systems.
The Strump Fed Brawlers have appeared in a number of magazines and periodicals. Whenever anyone needs a photo of unruly ruffians overturning apple carts they contact The Strump Fed Brawlers. It's a win/win. The photojournalist gets her cover photo and the Strumpers make a few quid just for doing something they would have been doing anyway.
British girls know that when they marry a Strump Fed Brawler they instantly gain many dozen brothers-in-law. British girls are fine with this; they know there are plenty worse things in this world than having sixty or so, gentle-hearted lunatics in the family.
But it is not always the case with girls from across the pond.
One time a smashing young Strump Fed Brawler by the name of Rowland Lashington Gripsnarl, happened to woo and wed a Rhode Island beauty queen named Tiffany. When Rowland's brother Strumpers staged an impromptu apple cart overturning in the middle of the wedding reception dance floor, Tiffany was furious. She blew her stack... she scuppered her crockery... she twisted her frothy bits...
"This marriage is annulled unless those filthy Strump Fed Brawlers leave this instant!!!"
Hundreds of horrified faces turned her way, including that of her father, who had moments ago been linked arm in arm with his new son-in-law, happily stomping apples into the carpet. (And it was from HIS cash deposit that the cleaning bill would deduct.)
"Honey please..." Tiffany's father threw open his arms imploringly. "Don't be rash. Stomp an apple or two with your new husband and me. I think there is much about life that can be learned from these Strump Fed Brawlers."
Tiffany stared at them through grim eyes. "The Strump Fed Brawlers leave now!!! And I mean NOW!!!"
The Strump Fed Brawlers wordlessly shuffled out of the reception hall. Rowland Lashington Gripsnarl scribbled his signature on a cocktail napkin and tossed it at Tiffany's feet.
"Forge it Love, no one checks annulment papers too careful anyway."
Tiffany's father stood forlorn in the center of an emptying hall. Then he nodded several times to himself and started backing toward the exit.
"Honey, I think I'm a Strump Fed Brawler now too, so your decision would also apply to me."
The Strump Fed Brawlers and their new inductee strode resolutely into the Rhode Island dusk.
If you liked this true story you'll probably enjoy this one as well: The Knights of the Order of a Most Romantic Death.
(If you didn't like this story, chances are you're a miserable bastard and your neighbors wish you would move or die... and they aren't particular which.)
posted by Latigo Flint @ 5:12 PM
12 comments
12 Comments:
Why on earth would anyone need a photo of someone upsetting an apple cart? Doesn't London have any other news?
Then who the hell is it going 'round knocking over potato carts?!
Interesting. The dad kind of reminds me of "Jean" from Ionesco's "Rhinoceros". Except less warty.
I think dusk happens pretty quick in Rhode Island because the state is so small. So I wouldn't necessarily blame that on the Strump Brawlers.
Hmmmm....I'd say this one's more "Kubla Khan" than "Jabberwocky," but I can see the similarities.
dug it. brave man. *snap snap*
That snooty girl. She should've known that a rowdy husband would sire rowdy, hearty children. No doubt she went on to marry an ineffectual wisp of a man with a weak immune system, and their children suffered lifelong runny noses.
We do something similar in Canada with rowdy hockey players turning over slamon carts. It gets less media coverage because the hockey players are less organized.
Latigo Flint is not only a quickdraw beyond compare, he is also a master storyteller.
But then again, they so often go hand in hand.
You're asking me Greg? Surely there's a more reliable information source. Hell, I'm liable to tell you that a giant, rabid sturgeon just ate London! (Or something.)
It's a mystery Ghost Dog--a mystery a mystery!
I've only seen one play in my life Amandarama... it was called Footprints Across the Heart and it was about a lonely Bigfoot hunter. It didn't have anyone named 'Jean' in it.
I'll tell them you said so Old Hoss. They'll probably raise a pint in your honor. (They were likely going to raise it regardless but you don't have to know that... oh crap, but now you do, what have I done?!!!)
Hello MJ. "Chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail" has always seemed vaguely masturbatoric to me. I try, but can't seem to interpret it any other way.
Thank you da'link Ho. *kiss kiss*
How Steve, how? Your one paragraph has yet again bettered mine eighteen. (Or however long this one was.) You have a gift, no doubt, but then so do I... it's nothing but hydrophobia and despair from me for the next fortnight goldangit!!!
But pray it always remains as such Trevor. Affable disorganization is one of the chief reasons we Americans like you all so much.
Do you know, Paula, how much that makes my day? I pound on this stained board, I lose all perspective, I fear the drift cliché... You have a great night, okay? That's what I hope, and that right there is some kind of sincerity.
Uh huh. And She blew her stack... she scuppered her crockery... she twisted her frothy bits... isn't???
I never read an LF story I didn't like. But my neighbors still hate me just the same.
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