Friday, August 25, 2006

A Consequence of Cruelty

It is a well-known fact that Latigo Flint is the quickest quickdraw that ever lived--a blazing handed gunslinger born hopelessly out of time. You have to look pretty hard to find someone who doesn't know that Latigo Flint can draw his guns so fast that somewhere Doc Holliday's tombstone wiggles a bit in applause. All of this is common knowledge.

What is less clear is why. Why now, a hundred and fifty years after such prodigious skill had its place, would the universes conspire to toss such a man into this wretched time, this digital age of neon and lawyers?

Cruelty. That's the only logical explanation. Pure, unfiltered cruelty--on the part of the universes that is.

And so then I guess I'm a consequence... a Consequence of Cruelty.

And if you think for a second that being a Consequence of Cruelty isn't just about as mysterious and dangerous and also sexy as it gets--well then, you've got a lot to learn about being mysterious and dangerous and also sexy.

Oftentimes the pretty girls at the nightclub will be all: "Ho-hum, why can't I meet an interesting man?"

And then I'll walk in, all squinty-eyed and menacing, and I won't talk to anyone until after I've received my drink. And if there are men there who need to be punched, I'm the one who punches them.

And then all the pretty girls turn to their pretty girlfriends and whisper, "Who's that?" And their pretty girlfriends reply, "Well-spotted my dear--that's Latigo Flint. He's a Consequence of Cruelty you know."

And then the pretty girls moisten their lips and touch their hair and hope I look their way, because consequences of cruelty have always been mysterious and dangerous and also sexy.

And then there's more to the story of course, but it doesn't really matter because it's gonna end like always: with me on cliff, screaming fury to the heavens, on my knees in the pouring rain.



And damn if that isn't mysterious and dangerous and also sexy.

14 Comments:

At 3:33 AM, Blogger 12 Crumble Ave said...

It is too true Latigo, I myself am a Consequence of Cruelty, though my cruelty was of a more specific nature - by specific I mean an alcohol and shotgun fuelled childhood with a sidedish of awkward lonliness and heartbreak that would forever cripple my soul to the wonders of this life.

But damn if it isn't mysterious, dangerous and sexy...

- Mr Winston

 
At 5:05 AM, Blogger Helga von porno said...

This is Flint at his best. Who needs a plot when you can some up life, fate, metaphysics, lonliness, sex, night clubs, lips, hair and punching and finish it off with that glorious on your-knees-in-the-rain-on-a-cliff-top-ending. And what a name! The consequence of cruelty! I want a tea shirt. I might see if I can distribute them to lab chimps, they love a t shirt I've heard.

 
At 11:45 AM, Blogger slarrow said...

This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.

 
At 11:57 AM, Blogger slarrow said...

But is there a chick next to you when you're kneeling screaming in the rain? Or at least a chick in the picture for the previous 24 hours? 'Cos if there's no chick, what's the point of being dead sexy?

 
At 12:07 PM, Blogger Amandarama said...

...if there are men there who need to be punched, I'm the one who punches them...

That sounds like a great perk. Is that only available to those who qualify as Consequences of Cruelty? Also, does that position come with dental?

 
At 3:13 PM, Blogger Sam, Problem-Child-Bride said...

"Why now, a hundred and fifty years after such prodigious skill had its place, would the universes conspire to toss such a man into this wretched time, this digital age of neon and lawyers?"

The answer is right before your eyes, Grasshopper. The universes DID conspire, it was no mere accident of birth out of time. Your clear duty is to shoot at neon and lawyers wherever they may be found.

Our criminal and civil systems of redress will crumble as the lawyers lie bleeding in the gutter, shards of neon tubing 'neath them. You are then chargd to rebuild this country's legal system according to the brutal justice of the Old West, where men were men and women were hopelessly subjugated. We women, of course, will only agree to be subjugated at times of our choosing and if the mood and the music are right. And candles would be lovely too.

Get to work then Mr. Flint. this is what a Consequence of Cruelty is born to do. There's another Connie of Cruelty (an old lady) in Montana working to overthrow the plumbing services industry and replace clean drinking water with real ales of Europe on tap.

 
At 10:19 PM, Blogger Sam, Problem-Child-Bride said...

I can put you in touch with Connie, if you like. I think you two might have lots to talk about. Things the rest of us might not understand. Like shouldering the lonely burden of massive societal upheavals. And how to get stains out of buckskin.

 
At 8:09 AM, Anonymous The Macek Collective said...

Sadly, even I am at half-mast. Confusing dreams to follow....

 
At 7:20 PM, Anonymous Mr. Scoop said...

"...because it's gonna end like always: with me on cliff, screaming fury to the heavens, on my knees in the pouring rain."

Count yourself lucky, my friend, because the last guy who ended that way turned into Lou Ferrigno. And after a few seasons, he dies, leaving Lou to sign boxes of energy drink mix at the San Diego ComicCon for nickels.

And then he went back to his rotten hotel room, trying to find a position to lie on on his lump hotel bed that didn't irritate his backne, leaking tears and wondering why he wasn't Governor of California.

Speaking of which, you should thank Christ that you live in California and not Massachusetts. Because our Governor's a Mormon, so he hates coffee, cigarettes and liquor. You wouldn't fit in here... and frankly, neither do I.

Which is why I've taken to spitting on my neighbors from my apartment window under cover of darkness and telling them I'm Lyle Alzado. And then they either figure I'm deranged on steroids and walk by quickly, or that I'm a member of the Living Dead, and walk by quickly. Win-win.

I'm not answering any more Goddamned questions without my lawyer here.

 
At 11:43 AM, Blogger Noir Muse said...

Fistfights are dead sexy. ::swoon::
I'm all twisted up inside, Mr. Flint and surrounded only by my soft, pale office comrades. This is a cruel situation you've put me in. I'm off to the ladies room to...um, moisten my lips...alone.

 
At 7:29 PM, Blogger Ari said...

Right now I'm drinkin beer and a Dwight song just came on and I'm thinking how sublime ("somewhere Doc Holliday's tombstone wiggles a bit in applause") you are. I raise one to ya, now and ever, consequences or not.

 
At 10:57 PM, Blogger Latigo Flint said...

We're all consequences of cruelty Mr. Winston, we're all consequences of cruelty.
(Damn but if with the right director and marketing campaign, that line couldn't win some aging actress her very first Academy Award. I believe this very strongly.)

I shall never be at my best Helga Von Porno--not so long as you remain not by my side.
(Did that make you want to hop a jet for Los Angeles and promptly sleep with me upon your arrival? Wait, what am I saying? Of course it did. I'm irresistible. I cannot be resisted.)

No Slarrow. There was no chick. Screaming fury to heavens from the top of a cliff on your knees in the pouring rain is something that must be done alone. That's just the way it is.

It really should come with dental Amandarama, but sadly does not. I have four left--they're mostly in the back. I have, over the years, punched a great many men who deserved it. Unfortunately, sometimes I'm the one who deserves it. You never really know who Jesus is gonna side with until the first skull hits the floor.

Hey Sam, don't tell me what to do!
(Candles huh? Where's my grocery list?)

Those are just the casualties of consequences of cruelty Macek... otherwise straight men suddenly overcome with the uneasy stirrings of thoughts they'd rather deny. You're among friends here--no one's going to judge.

Mr. Scoop!!! It's you!!! Do you know that I adore you?
Moving on though--Lyle Alzado is dead. The cancer consumed him--chewed him up and spit out nothing but a neckerchief. (Silver and black of course.)
Lose-lose when the cancer consumes, as they say. By the way, can I have your wife if you die?

Oh Noir Muse... that should be against the law--you typing that sort of thing to me. I don't think there's enough cold water in Los Angeles County for the number of showers I need to take now.

Don't leave me hangin' Ari--which Dwight Yoakam song was it?
(I wager I can sing it all the way through, regardless of which one it was.)

 
At 6:36 AM, Blogger slarrow said...

"You never really know who Jesus is gonna side with until the first skull hits the floor."

Damn, that's good.

 
At 9:35 PM, Blogger Ari said...

It was Guitars, Cadillacs.

 

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