In the Jingle Jangle Morning

Hey, Latigo Flint doesn’t like reruns any more than you do. But since this one deals with a shadowy menace that has yet to be rectified, it’s really more of a public service and not the product of a lazy mind.

From the archives -- 8/29/05:

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In the Jingle Jangle Morning

Okay, this is important: That sewer grate over yonder on Glenoaks Boulevard routinely eats spurs. It has a great hunger for spurs. If you walk near that sewer grate with spurs on, it will grab your spurs and eat them... and painfully twist knees in the process.

It was imperative that my good neighbors be made aware of this shadowy menace.

An attractive young woman turned the corner.

"Pardon me Ma'am," I touched the brim of my hat and stepped in front of her. "Do you ever wear spurs?"

"What?!!!"

"Spurs Ma'am, you know: cowboy steel, gut hooks, pony-git-alongs."

"Pony-whats???"

"Flank-ticklers Ma'am. Buzz saws, heel nuggets, jingle jangle mornings. They come Texas Style, California Style and Vaquero Style. Inlayed or plain. With or without silver conchos, chap guards or a curved shank. I'm talkin' 'bout spurs Ma'am, and whether or not you wear them... so do you?"

The poor gal seemed about to cry she was so confused. I would have cleared it right up by showing her my own, except that wretched sewer grate had recently eaten them. I lifted her chin until her bewildered eyes met mine.

"A cowboy Ma'am: Get the picture in your mind. Now he's wearing boots, of course, and attached to the heels are round, twirly metal things... Spurs! Do you understand?"

She nodded.

"So, do you ever wear them?!"

She took a long moment to process everything that had happened to her in the last thirty seconds. Then a grumpy set crept across her face.
"Spurs? Like cowboy boot, metal twirly things, spurs? And you stopped me to find out if I ever wear them?"

I smiled broadly. "Yes, yes, now you've got it."

"WHY THE FUCK WOULD I EVER WEAR SPURS?!!!"

The girl had lungs. My serape practically blew straight back behind me. I looked like Linus in a hurricane.

Her question was rhetorical. I didn't answer it.
"Well if you ever do Ma'am, be sure you don't walk near that particular grate--it eats spurs you know... and painfully twists knees in the process."

While I was looking over my shoulder, pointing at the sewer grate, she was filling each fist with a can of mace. When I turned back around, she emptied them both in my face and left me to slobber and writhe in the gutter like a strych-laced dog.

Never one to disappoint, that's exactly what I did. At some point the sewer grate started laughing at me so I head-butted it to death.

Then some more stuff probably happened, I'm not really sure though. The sun went down and up a few times. My senses had been stripped. My hands couldn't feel to grip.



Then I think a hobo peed on me.