Monday, October 02, 2006

Granger Lamperton's Last Stand

The entire town turned out on Sunday to watch Granger Lamperton go insane. He'd lashed himself to a raft made of cactus and sloshed around in the town square fountain, weeping and calling her name.

"What's all this then Granger?" The marshal asked in his best authoritative voice.

"Oh, hello Marshal." Granger tried to sit up and wave at him but the cactus raft tipped over and Granger bonked his head on an iron spigot.

The town nurse stepped forward to help but shots and oaths rang out underwater and the doctor held her back. On his own, Granger righted his raft and continued paddling around the fountain, glaring at the iron spigot every time he drifted past.

"What's the matter Granger?" The Marshal asked more gently this time.

Everyone knew what the matter was. For three weeks they'd had front row seats for the tragedy that was poor Granger's love for a traveling performer named Elizabeth Night. But they all recognized the marshal's wisdom in trying to get Granger to talk about it.

"Talk to me Granger." The marshal's voice was kind. "Tell me what troubles you."

"Oh Marshal." Granger sighed. "It's nothing but love and stuff I guess." Granger kicked his raft another lap around the fountain. The water began to turn crimson.
"You see, the rats are behind my eyes again Marshal and Elizabeth has hidden the cheese."

"My goodness Granger..." The marshal struggled to find the right comforting words.

"Wrong Marshal, it isn't good--it's very, very bad." Granger beached his raft on the stone ledge at the center of the fountain. He fixed the marshal with a corpse-like stare, his eyes as empty as bottle caps.
"She came to town with the circus." Granger moaned. "And ripped out my heart with a glittering hand. She left town with the circus and forgot to give it back."

"Oh Granger." The marshal whispered, with the compassion every good marshal feels for the dying town drunk, drowning in sorrow after lashing himself to a cactus raft in the town square fountain.
"Please let me cut you from your cactus raft."

Granger gave the marshal a tiny grin that turned sad even as it began.

"You can cut me from my cactus raft when I'm stiff and cold." Granger said. "But not before unless for some reason you don't want to grow old." And the pistol in his hand was a warning.

It took Granger six hours to bleed to death. The somber townspeople wished they had brought a lunch.

He spoke just once more before he died, the marshal was the only one who heard.

"The rats are behind my eyes again Marshal and Elizabeth has hidden the cheese."

"Find your peace Granger." The marshal sobbed and cut him from his cactus raft.

The End


At 6:23 AM, Anonymous ATD said...

Awww... poor drunkard. I'll bet you anything that Elizabeth Night was the circus's bearded lady.

On the other hand, I just saw an 60 Minutes report on this sick, depraved video about homeless folks who are paid in food, drugs, and pocket change to abuse themselves; and the thought of a drunk bleeding to death in a fountain really gets me down.


At 9:30 AM, Blogger Sam, Problem-Child-Bride said...

The angels are weeping at that tale of your's Latigo. And what's more, down in Hell there are a few moist eyes too.

At 12:43 PM, Blogger Lightning Bug's Butt said...

Elizabeth Night. Wasn't she dating Macho Man Savage for a while?

I can see why Granger had a stiffy for HER.

At 6:22 PM, Blogger Ari said...

Damn circus wenches. Probly stole his wallet too.

At 12:13 AM, Blogger Sam, Problem-Child-Bride said...

I saw that horrific 60 minutes thing too atd, and the odious wee git who made Bumfights or whatever the hell it's called; made a million and a half from it; and then tried to defend it in the face of homeless people having died as a result of morons emulating it. His argument - I can't help if morons watch my videos - holds no water as the entire target-audience for his tripe are morons by definition.

Having said that, why not unionize The Insane and make sure they get proper compensation and some often much needed dental coverage for their work? Let them organize and agitate for air-conditioned trailers on set or bottled Malvern in cooling facial-misters. Ours is a capitalist society after all - let them have their slice of the pie.

I'd be their secretary.

At 6:47 AM, Anonymous ATD said...

Hells yeah, sam, problem-child-bride! We should make ourselves a posse of screaming, drunken, bottle-waving lunatic vagabonds and streetwalkers! If only the homeless would ORGANIZE... my God, EVERYONE would fear an army of THEM marching down the street towards City Hall! ULTIMATE POWER!!


At 12:34 AM, Blogger Latigo Flint said...

Thanks ATD. Cheery times. I'm gonna drink myself to death now if you don't mind.

Thank you Sam. When the angels weep we inflate a raft. When the demons laugh our raft goes flat.
(That's a mysterious and meaningful poem that I just wrote just now.)

No LBB, you're thinking of Blaze.
(Or wait, was she an American Gladiator?)

Prolly Ari, prolly. Can't never trust a circus wench. That's what daddy always said anyway.


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