Through the cold February shadows she slinks toward DAR, her flawless skin goosefleshed by the chill night air. She is dressed for more tropical climes in a lightweight black leather business thong and bolero with a matching briefcase containing her plastic travel Uzi. She is on her way to South America where the love of
her life is being held captive by the ugly, evil, but ultimately easily disposable Juan YadaYada SiSenor. She reaches for the worn stone around her neck, now on a stylish gold chain to more elegantly accessorize her outfit, and her thoughts turn to her grizzled, gnarled, unbearably sexy DryGulch. How long has it been, she sighs. She can only vaguely recall his wonderful odor, that masculine, excitingly musky blend of mule, sweat and moldy clothes.
And now, now, he may be the entree for some giant leeches' dinner, the equivalent of the Monday Night Football halftime show for a bunch of vaqueros ignorantes. Rambi's blood chills at the thought of his dear, dirt-smeared face being sucked off.
Well, it shouldn't be too difficult to teach these hombres not to mess with a real woman. And maybe DryGulch will finally notice her. But first, there is something she must do.
She glides into DAR unnoticed; all is quiet. Unhindered by the darkness, she moves toward the sleeping form of her alter ego, the Bane of Her Existence, and shakes her awake. "I have to leave for a short time. There's a minor situation that needs to be
dealt with."
"Huhhh--wha..." If ever this wimpy, useless creature were left on her own for longer than a post or two, she'd be dead.
"You're pitiful. Get a grip. Wake up. Anyone could have finished you off before you even reached for your weapon."
"Hunnnnnh. What time is it? Has the market opened?"
Rambi looks around, her perfect, patrician nose lifted. "This place is a mess. Do you ever discipline these people?"
The Cross She Has to Bear looks around, disoriented. "What's wrong with it?"
"It's disgusting. There's no order, no coherence, and you're about to lose your PG13 rating."
"Well, you have a jelly doughnut on your foot." The Albatross Around Her Neck snickers.
Disgusted, she leans over and removes the mushy remains from the stiletto heel of her thigh-high boot. It smells fishy. "This is exactly what I'm talking about. There are other threads for this type of behavior."
She Who Must be Endured looks sad. "I just want people to be happy and sweet."
"You are disgusting. No wonder people abuse you. I can't believe I have to leave you in charge while I'm gone."
The One Who Turns the Other Cheek hangs her head and mutters, "I don't like being in charge. I think it's silly. These are supposed to be grown-ups with well-developed social skills and some ability to differentiate between acceptable and inappropriate behavior. They're supposed to be capable of moral sense, aesthetic taste and intellectual judgment plus a certain degree of sophisticated wit.
I assume that, although I realize the ego knows only its own contents, most people here have achieved some self-knowledge, dependent, of course, on social factors and their proficiency at critical reflection."
She had to resist the urge to slap the Witless One silly. How had someone so wretched survived for so long, anyway?
"Just deliver this message from Rambi to the thread---clean it up, or I will."
"Ok, ok-Can I go back to sleep now?" whined the Amazingly Pathetic Wonder. Sweet Diana, Mother Goddess, was there any hope that the thread could survive even her brief absence?
"Yes-I should be back soon. This shouldn't take long. Oh and tell Thomas that anymore of that gootchigootchisexycutie stuff and I'll see him after I take care of Juan YadaYada."
She rose and walked to the door, turning back at the sound of giggling, "What is it?"
"You sat on the doughnut." |
