Well, oldscratch and rasa showed up unexpectedly last night. They’re safe and sound and (mostly) none the worse for the wear.
It seems that oldscratch, while mostly content with Bubba’s affections, felt him lacking in the girth department. Bubba was definitely long enough, but oldscratch just didn’t feel that he would be satisfied in the long-term. So, he made a daring escape in the middle of the afternoon while Bubba was recovering from post-coital depression by turning sideways and sliding his scrawny ass between the bars of the cell. The only issue that slightly inconvenieced him during his escape was that the plugs in his ears hung up on the bars. He struggled for a moment, but then was able to pop them out one at a time and quickly make his escape. It was certainly a good thing that after being well-used by Bubba, he was still able to calmly walk out of the cell and out into the street with only a slight limp and a tiny pang of disappointment and remorse for what might have been.
He found rasa’s car with the keys in the ignition (This was Utah, you know. No one steals in God’s Country) and drove off slowly out of town. Down the empty and lonely Utahian road he sped, out into the great foggy expanse of God’s Country. Some 82 and 3/16ths miles from the town limits, he saw a crusty old gentlman walking down the shoulder of the road being followed by 17 wives and one young bride-to-be. The women ranged from ‘oh my god, is that pile of ancient skin actually breathing!’ to the young and nubile rasa. For indeed, it was rasa at the end of the line, the bride-to-be of Red the Morman.
As oldscratch whizzed by in rasa’s car, he felt the slightest pang of guilt for not stopping to see if she wanted to go to California instead of becoming known as **Rasa the Turnip Peeler, 18th Wife of Red the Morman. ** But alas, he was still deep in thought, wondering whether he was making the right decision in leaving Bubba. The dull ache of love in his heart and posterier throbbing gently as the miles ticked on.
At 82 and 9/16ths miles from the town limits, oldscratch pulled off to the side of the road to rest and take a sip of his Red Bull. It had finally reached the proper temperature (piss-warm) after being tightly squeezed between his legs for the past 82 and 9/16ths miles. Ahhhh…delicious, he thought as some strange dude with 18 women wandered past.
At that particular moment, rasa passed the vehicle. There was so much dirt from the land of God’s Country covering it that it didn’t look at all like the black VW she had started her journey on. It looked more like a tan Chevy Chevette than her own beloved vehicle.
More significantly (to this story at least), she caught a whiff of piss-warm Red Bull. Suddenly, it dawned on her. Life. In Utah. With Mormons (not that there’s anything wrong with people being Mormon). And…NO CAFFEINE!!!
Her heart started racing…a panic attack began to set it. She now had to make a truly excruciating decision. Life with oldscratch and caffeine (ahh, caffeine, coffee, soda’s, some liquid mocha syrup only available in Rhode Island that you mix with milk like Hershey’s syrup…Drinks of the Gods, all of them). Or, Life with Red the Mormon in Utah, God’s Country. After all Red was good 
and good to her. It’s peaceful in Utah. She’d be quite happy servicing Red on an 18 day rotation. Peeling Turnips the rest of the time. It would be a happy but simple life.
With a heavy heart, Rasa turned to Red, gazed longly into his eyes, and told him that drugs (i.e. caffeine and nicotine) were more important to her than fabulous sex every 18 days and the peeling of turnips. With a kiss on Red’s cheek, she fairly bounded to the car, leaped in, and snatched the Red Bull from oldscratch’s outstretched hand. Downing the Red Bull in a single gulp, she said, “Drive on, baby!”
Yes, it was true. oldscratch and rasa were re-united once more…
Camera pans back to Red the Mormon standing at the head of his column of wives watching the dust from rasa’s car settle to the pavement. He turns to his women and says, “Number 12, you’re up tonight. Number 3, back to turnip peeling.” The sun settles down low over the mountains of God’s Country as Red the Morman and his wives continue to trudge the remaining 2 12/57ths miles to their homestead…
Welcome back oldscratch! Welcome to California,rasa!
And all this time she thought she was oldscratch’s one and only…what is she gonna do when she finds out about Bubba?