Alright then! Stand aside all as I, Particle, poster of few posts, contributor of threads long since dead, jump on this here bandwagon to Kill the evil thread.
And I shall do it in the way of my grandfathers.
"So me and Zeke, we decides it would be a good idea to go into the latex prospectin’ trade. Now I had me a good mule, called her Betsy. She were a fine mule. Took me all the way from Philly to Oswago, back in Ought One. That was the year Zeke and I went into the latex prospectin trade. We left home with Betsy and a passle of latex detectors for the deserts of Canadia, ‘cause Zeke had heard that that’s where the best latex motherlodes could be found…I. myself was somewhat skepical, seeing as the latex rush had done died out back in Eighty-eight. So after about six months of wandering the jungles of the Dakotas, We finally hits the Canadia border. But ol’ Betsy would n’t cross it! She backs away from it like it were a rattler! So I grabs one of my latex minin’ shovles and gives her a swat to the hindquarters! Well she rears up and kicks ol’ Zeke with one of her front hooves like a boxer punchin a bag. Zeke goes down cursin’ and a swearin’, flat on his behind…Betsy wheels around and does the same to me and takes off runnin like the Devil hisself was a-chasin’ her. Took me and Zeke three weeks of searchin to find her. Only reason we went lookin’ after all that was 'cause she had all our gear strapped to her…
That ought to kill it…if not there’s more where THAT came from…
So Zeke and me, we finaly tracks down Betsy…Turns out she’d been following us the whole time! Anyways, Zeke gets the idear that if we gets Betsy drunk, she might go ahead and cross that pesky borderline into Canadia. So he digs out a fifth of Ol’ Sweatsock he keeps in his pack, and procedes to pour it all into the oats in her feedbag…Well Betsy don’t take too kindly to this at first, but before ya know it, the fumes sorta overcome her and she sets to munchin away at them liqured up oats like a poor uncle to an all-you-can-eat buffet. Soon she’s a swayin and a staggarin around brayin like she’s a tryin to sing. Then, she lets out one long whinny, crosses her eyes, (no mean feat, considerin her eyes was always a little crossed to begin with.) and falls over passed out like a Frat boy on Sunday. Now there we are, on the Canadia border with a passed out pack mule, which wasn’t ekzactly the purpose of this little exersize. So I turns to Zeke and I says “Well now what’r we gonna do NOW, genius?” He looks me in the eye and says, “I guess we start pullin!” So we grabs ahold of the rope, and starts to drag 'ol Betsy across the border…
So me and Zeke gets ol’ Betsy dragged across the borderline into Canadia. We dragged her as far as we could, till we ‘bout passed out our selves from exaustion. And we commensed a waitin’ till Betsy slept it off…Let me tell ya somethin’. There ain’t nothin’ ornryer than a hung-over mule, cep’t of course for my ol’ buddy Clem. Ol Clem and I served in the Big War, back in Ninty-four. Me and Clem were in the Infantry, fightin them scoundrals what started the War. Ol Clem, he was a hot head ifn ever I saw one… I once saw him take down five of the enemy wearin nuthin but his boxers and armed with only a can opener. (Never did figgure out what he was doin in his boxers with a can opener in the middle of a battle, but that was ol’ Clem fer ya.) Then there was that time during the Battle of the Dip, that Clem lead a squad of boys, right off the boat, never seen a days battle in their lives, right thru to the enemies HQ… Got every single one of them killt, but damn, what a charge…I saw him take down fifteen enemy troops, AFTER they’d done blowed his head clean off! He sure was an ornery cuss…
Alright, Talkingsquirrell. We tried to welcome you into the order of thread killers, but you became a traitor. You know what that means, right? That means that you must be tortured. Badly. Particle, take Squirrel out back and tell her stories. Then we’ll have Tymp inflict some medievil styl torture on her. First, though, let me just tie you up…
<gasp>
STRUUTER!! SHAMA!! LOOK OUT!! IT’S COMING RIGHT BEHIND YOU!! RUN!!!
<Grabs Tymp’s sword, dives headlong into the mouth of the beast>
Wait…that might not be the best idea…
<makes pitiful attempt to grab uvula, begins falling down thread’s throat>
AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!! FIGHT ON!!
Consarn it, where was I… Oh yeah…So Betsy wakes up, And I figgure her head musta been poundin somethin awful. She looks slowly over to Zeke, and bites him on the ass. Well he sets to hollerin, which just makes Betsy even angrier than she was. Well it takes about half the day to get everything all calmed down, and to get ‘ol Zekes rear all bandaged… I grabbed another bottle of Ol’ Sweatsock outta Zeke’s bag and gave a little to Betsy, which seemed to positively affect her disposition, and used the rest to clean Zeke’s wounds.(and let me tell you, that was the LAST time I ever provided him THAT service!) The rest of the day we spent gathering all our latex minin equipment that got scattered while Betsy was chasin Zeke around the camp. Betsy never was the same after that, ended her days in a mule rehab program. Zeke never forgave himself fer introducing her to the evils of hard liquor. Hard liquor…I knew a guy back when I was just a young pup, called himself Whisky Frank…He could drink a pint of the worst rot-gut whisky in a swallow, and spit fire. He was quite the ladies man, if you went fer the kind of “ladies” that were attracted to the likes of him. He was maried for a time to the pug ugliest nasty specimen of womanhood that the gods put on this sorry planet. Story he told was that, after a particularly long bender, even for HIS standards, he woke up broke, sore, and married to her. I only met her once, while Frank and I were whoopin it up at the local waterin hole, the Rusty Bucket. She had tracked him down lookin fer some back alimony she claimed he owed her. So there we are, sittin at the bar, with all sorts of commotion around us as you would find in an establishment like the Rusty Bucket, Frank knockin back sour mash like it were spring water, and me drinkin a beer, when this hush falls over the crowd. At first I thought I’d gone deaf, untill I heard A sound which can best be described as a thousand fingernails dragged across a fifty foot long chalkboard. “FRRRRRAAAAANNNNK!” Well Ol’ Frank doesn’t even turn around, but the color drops outta his face like a bungee jumper with a slip knot…
…So I turns around to find out what the hell could make such a god-awful sound. What I sees in the doorway can only be described as a “female” Ernest Borgnine with Jack Elams’ eyes. And a mustache… At first I thought it was one of those guys from the Drag bar down the street, but Frank slumps in his seat, looks at me and says, "That’d be my Ex…“Yer Ex what?” I says back at him. She comes lumberin up to the both of us and shoves me aside. She commences to chew Frank from one side down to the other, screamin’ about what a low-life, drunken, skin-flint, good fer nuthin he is. (I am leavin out the worst of it on account of there might be children listenin’.) Well, I fer one wasn’t about to just sit there and watch while this ogre trashed my good friend so badly, so I left with the rest of the folks, abandoning that bar like fleas off a fresh killed carcass. I caught up with Frank about a week later, and asked him how it went. He told me that the bartender,(I think his name was Jeff…or was it Jim…No it was Jake.) anyhow the bartender was mighty P-O’d that she had run off all his paying customers. He pulls a shotgun out from behind the bar and says, "Listen mister, I don’t know who you are, but ya best be gettin outta here before I sends ya out on a strecher. Well I guess Frank’s Ex didn’t take to kindly to bein’ called Mister…Frank told me that the folks at the hospital emergancy room had never seen a man with a shotgun shoved so high up THERE before…
zzzzzzzzz…zzzzzzzzzzzzwhat! Huh? So anyway…Where was I…Oh yeah…So me, Zeke, and a now alcoholic Betsy make our way to the deserts of Canadia ta find us some of that pure Canadian latex, like yer pappy always talks about. Figured me and Zeke were gonna strike it big. This was back in the old days, mind ya. Not like now where ya can find all the latex you want down to the corner store. Back when a man with a barrel of latex could live like a king. Back when a full seven course meal cost a nickle, and that INCLUDED dessert. Not like now where ya need a bank loan fer a cup of coffee. Ya know, the Good Ol’ Days, when a man was a MAN and a woman was a WOMAN, (unless you count Frank’s Ex into that equation, I was never real sure one way or the other 'bout her.) Back when a new car cost a sawbuck, and mules were plentiful. Times were hard back then, but consarn it, so were the PEOPLE! Not like you soft little panty-waists today. Back when the leaders of this country wern’t elected for their looks, Unlike the pretty boys in office now! Back before that dad-blasted Tee-Vee, when all we had to stare at with our families was a BLANK WALL! You young-uns got it easy now with yer micro-wave ovens, yer Tee-Vee, yer Roch AND Roll music. Back in MY day we didn’t get BOTH rock AND roll! We had to choose! Back then, We didn’t have Video-games. When we wanted to blow stuff up, we just blew it up! Back when the only people to see aleeuns were guys on farms that never left home much and everyone thought they’d slipped their noodles. Now I understand they’r runnin the Damn country! Dag-nabit, now I’m all worked up! I’ll never get to sleep tonight after all this excitement!..zzzzzzzzzzzz snark Zzzzzzzzzzzzzz
zzzzzzzzzzz .Whuzzat! What! Oh. So anyways, Ol Zeke, Betsy and me we wandered the Canadian deserts fer weeks, But not once, NOT ONCE I say, did we ever get so much as a ping off the latex detectors…Weren’t too long before our rations began to run out. Zeke had run outa Ol’ Sweatsock about a week into the desert, and Betsy started goin into the D.T.s’ She was shakin and a frothin at the mouth like a rabid cat, jumpin at the sight of every lone blade of desert grass we happened upon like it were some sorta snake. By the second week into it, I was startin to see snakes in the grass too, but the ones I was seein were travelin’ with me. I began to suspect Ol’ Zeke was hidin water on me. I dunno if it were because he always seemed to look refreshed, or if it were how dad-blasted CLEAN his hair always was, but I knew somethin was up. Finally I couldn’t take it any more so I asks him outright if he’s holdin out water. Well he looks all shocked-like and asks why I would think that. I tells him my suspisions, about his hair lookin all clean all the time, and how HIS lips weren’t all crackley and bleedin like mine were. He looks at his feet fer a spell then goes to his bag…He reaches under his other shirt, and shows me his contraband. Turns out he was carryin about ten sticks of chapped lip remedy, and three bottles of fancy spray-on hair conditioner. Well I fer one was knocked fer a loop at the sheer bizarreness of this. I asks him WHY would he load hisself down with such things on a latex prospectin trip. He says to me, “Well a man’s gotta feel good about hisself!” ‘Bout a day and a half later we finaly found our way outta that godfersaken desert. Zeke and I parted company fer a spell after that, but whenever I saw him from then on, I would call him "Ol’ Lip Gloss."…
Don’t think I don’t see your little plan, struuter. I’m over here fighting off this damned thread, thinking I’m protecting you, and you’re sneaking off to a completely DIFFERENT thread to have fantasies with xizor. Fine.
Jester, watch out for that reverse peristalsis. Tymp, if you don’t want your sword grabbed like that, quit displaying it all over creation.
You all should know, this is what happens when a guy breaks his arm at the beginning of July, and ends up sitting at home for six weeks, because they can’t find anything for him to do at work that doesn’t break the weight restrictions his doctor placed on lifting…Oh and all of the above should be read with a Grandpa Simpson type voice…