Back n the saddle (part xi)

And he rode upon his gaited mule into Gilbert and vehicles and passersby shouted unto him to move that shitty horse for it was impeding traffic. But he would extend his right hand and lift the central most finger and say it’s a goddamn mule you twat. And when Asmodeus arrived upon the Regional Park, he disembarked the mule and gazed upon the empty playgrounds and grass fields. Then he scratched his head and figured himself early to the performance.

Shit, he said aloud. I had plenty of time to stop and piss.

And as his bladder boiled, he looked around and hid behind his mule. Then he took out his cock and released a relentless yellow stream in the grass in broad daylight at a public park. But before he finished, he looked up and saw a man a few meters away holding an iPhone and filming. Asmodeus quickly pinched off the stream and stuffed his pecker back in his pants and he called out to the man.

Sorry, I couldn’t find the bathroom, he explained.

The filming continued. The man said nothing.

Did you hear me, Asmodeus called out. And without a reply, he approached the man and the fella backed up. Don’t come any closer, the man said.

Well shucks, said Asmodeus, I know I shouldn’t be pissin out in the open but no one was around. So from one man to another, do you mind deleting the video?

You can’t tell me what to do, the man said. I have a first amendment right to film.

I’m not arguing with you buddy! I’m just asking you!

Under what authority? In article 1-10, section III, under paragraph 19, in the landmark case Peters Vs US Virgin Islands, you have no legal right to privacy in a public space. So I can film whatever I want out here or anywhere that’s public property. That means I can go into elementary schools, JCPenney changing rooms, women’s bathrooms…

Look here bucko, Asmodeus interrupted, I tried doing this the nice way. Now I know you don’t know who I am or what I’m capable of. But you will soon find out if you don’t…

The man reached for his bear spray and unloaded the canister onto Asmodeus’ face. And as he screamed and wept, he reached for his Smith & Wesson and attempted to aim even though his eyes were welled with tears. He fired a single round into the air and the man cried out in panic.

Danger! Danger! He shouted.

Right then, two bicycled police officers rode up and intervened. One helped Asmodeus to his feet while the other confronted the man. Yet the man was steadfast in his filming. Despite protest from the officer, he held his phone and proclaimed his rights.

This is government tyranny, he barked.

I just want to know what’s going on here, the officer said.

Peters Vs Virgin Territories! PETERS VS VIRGIN TERRITORIES!

Fearing for his life, the officer reached for his 9mm and unloaded the clip into the man’s body. Then, while dead on the ground, the other officer took out his gun and did the same.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Back n the saddle (part x)

The thick of day by the Rio Verde had Asmodeus’ ballsack dripping and reeking of shit and raw sewage. And as he bathed himself in the cool river waters, a postal worker on a saddle horse rode upon him and called out.

You there! the postman said.

And Asmodeus covered himself for he had a little ass dick and was ashamed of it. Then he stepped out from the flowing water with one hand over his cock and shouted. How did you find me, he asked the postman.

I’m with the United States government dumbass, the postman told him. I have mail for you.

Asmodeus nodded and nakedly approached the horse wearing only a black Stetson. He took of the mail. And while covering his weiner, he tore open the parcel and read its contents. And when his eyes swept through the pages, his mind raced and his brow furrowed for he had previously thought this to be impossible. Afterwards, with his jaw agape and his black eyes dumbstruck, he released the parcel from his fingertips and the papers swayed into the dirt. I’ve won tickets to see the Spin Doctors in Gilbert, he said. I’ve waited my whole life for this very day.

Well lucky you.

But I didn’t enter my name in any contest.

Never look a gift horse in the mouth, said the postman. Rolling Stone called the Spin Doctors the most revolutionary band of the 90s. They were nominated for a Grammy for Christ sake. Only a fool would pass this opportunity up.

But the concert is tonight.

But but but, mocked the postman. I swear I’ve never met a man with so many excuses. You should cover that little dick of yours and ride on into Gilbert.

He returned his glance to the fallen papers and the postman swung his horse around and galloped north. Asmodeus stood motionless. He scratched his bare ass, spat, and then saddled up his mule.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Farewell, Captain

It’s been a rough stretch for Trekkies. First we lost Star Trek OG Walter Koenig. And as if that wasn’t enough, the greatest Starfleet captain to have ever lived, Sir Patrick Stewart, passed away on Oct. 28 at age 86. Thankfully both of these men lived long lives and their fans never wavered in showing their appreciation for both their work and, more importantly, for them as people.

Farewell.

But it’s time to settle this debate. We all know Jean Luc Picard was the best Starfleet captain. I’m sorry if you think otherwise. We all know who the SECOND best captain is. It’s Sisko. That’s just the facts. And no disrespect to Bill but Kirk is the third best.

Sure, in the final season of Picard, Captain Shaw never failed to remind Picard and Riker how reckless they were in their careers. Hell, what happened to the Enterprise D alone warranted several court martials. It wouldn’t have been the first time for Picard either. Remember that JAG-off who wouldn’t stop sexually harassing him in Measure of a Man? She wanted his ass in more ways than one. So sure, in many ways Picard was simultaneously the most measured and most reckless captain in Starfleet history.

But goddamnit, Patrick Stewart brought an aura to Star Trek that no other actor could have delivered. Without him, the franchise might not have survived for the next generation.

Back n the saddle (part ix)

And thereupon the old Italian eatery of Tempe, disciples from all four corners of the Phoenix metropolitan area descended and all drank and ate of lasagna and were merry. And I stood upon a chair and lifted a glass and said unto them that one of you sons of bitches will betray me.

Surely not I, cried Chris.

Shut up Chris, said I.

And immediately, Julien stood and said unto the crowd that his bowels rumbleth, for the rigatoni ran through him and he must empty his asshole into the toilet. And he excused himself and departed for the bathroom and I followed him therein. And when I saw him cowering in the stall like a chickenshit, I kicked open the door and lifted him by the lapels and slapped the hell out of him. Then I dragged him out and attempted to drown him in the sink a la Casino Royale but pity fell upon me like a dove and I relinquished him unto the floor. And as he cried and spat blood, I shook my head and choked back my rage.

Why Julien? Why? I pleaded.

Because you’re a walking curse! He called out.

And I said unto him, sure I might lose my temper a lot. And I’ve been belligerently drunk behind a steering wheel one too many times. I also love cocaine and raw dogging prostitutes. And had I of known that the last masseuse who jerked me off was sex trafficked in, I might’ve have turned it down. But this is no time to be rehashing the past Julien. We’re trying to sell some books and scam people out of their money fair and square.

Julien spat. Go back to hell, he said.

I waved him off. How much is he paying you? I asked.

Who?

You know who.

Five thousand gold sovereigns.

Shit. Everyone knows gold is worthless in this economy. What you need is hard US currency. The dollar is stronger than ever under Trump, and I’ve got $15,000 stashed away in an air duct at my hotel. I can have it here in ten minutes.

In exchange for what?

We’ll set a trap for Asmodeus. I’ll even let you keep that piddly satchel of sovereigns he gave you as a down payment.

What are you gonna do to him?

I’m aimin kill him.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Back n the saddle (part viii)

He rode up on him like a fleet footed leopard. It was there at banks of the Verde River where Asmodeus had a bivouac of buffalo skin and mesquite and the air grew cold under a presage and sullen moon. And when Julian came and disembarked his sand colored quarter horse, Asmodeus seized upon him.

Were you trailed?

No said Julien.

Then sit.

And when he sat upon the brownstone, he reached for the sterling silver flask from inside his smock and drank. Asmodeus tended to the waning flame with a coyote roasting on a spit above. He sat his ass on the pebbles of the cove and stared daggers onto Julien with the revived fire flashing in his eyes.

Speak, he said.

They warned me about you, Julien said.

Aye. And who do they say I am.

They say you’re the devil.

And who do you say I am.

If you’re the devil, then Beau Montana must be the ultimate cataclysm.

Asmodeus flashed his yellowed teeth. Then you choose to get in bed with the devil you know? he said.

I reckon so. Montana has lost all touch with reality. He’ll literally piss down your back and tell you it’s raining. He shove his soft penis into the bottom of a candy bowl and tell you to find the gummy worm. He’ll cry at all hours of the night wondering why he didn’t invest earlier in Ethereum. He must be stopped.

Then you will deliver him unto me and end this walking curse?

I suppose. But I gotta know what’s in it for me.

Asmodeus nodded. He stood and wandered unto his tent and brought forth a worn leather satchel. This is one hundred gold sovereigns, he told Julien. Consider it a down payment. You’ll receive the rest upon delivery of Beau Montana.

Julien extended his hand to take of the satchel and Asmodeus seized his arm. He placed upon it a desert scorpion whereupon Julien’s skin turned a pallid white.

Relax, Asmodeus told him. The creature can sense your fear. The fear of what one hides in their heart that which will be brought to light. What do you, dear Julien, have to hide?

He collapsed to his knees and wept. Nothing, he begged.

The creature creeped up his arm and wandered over the side and fell upon the dirt. Asmodeus relinquished his grip and helped the beset man to his feet. Then deliver him unto Tempe, he told Julien. And from there we will rid the earth of this wretched force.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Back n the saddle (part vii)

And they came. And they kept coming until they could come no more. It was a glorious afternoon of nonstop coming. And I stood upon the rock of Sedona and I lit my cigarette and I exhaled clouds of smoke as I gazed upon the soaring eagle above. The masses sat below me, awaiting my word. But more importantly, they waited in line to purchase my book Stories No One Should Read. And after all books were purchased and every copy signed, I said unto the crowd that some seed falls on dry land. Other seed falls upon fertile soil. And some seed is just bad because you’re firing blanks.

And the crowd was astonished. Some scratched their heads. Then I said unto them, use contraceptives cuz you don’t know what seed might fall into what soil. Know what I mean?

And as they mulled these words, they shook their heads and wandered off. Then Julian took me aside and said unto me that the people don’t understand what the hell I’m saying. I shrugged and puffed more smoke, for it was apparent I had been strung out for four days minus one. And immediately, a crack rang out from the ridge above. The bullet kicked up red dirt at my feet and all ran for cover. I raised my hands and shouted. Foolish one, I cried out. I am on PCP goddamnit! I’m unstoppable, you hear me! Unstoppable!

Then the laugh echoed down the mountain as Asmodeusu taunted me. I revealed my .357. Show yourself pussy, I ordered unto him. And he rode down the mountainside upon a white horse. His black cloak swayed unto the wind. I placed another cigarette to my lips and my eyes glared bolts of lightning upon him. Then his horse trotted before me. He climbed off his mustang and flashed his grimy teeth.

Beau Montana, he softly spoke with his serpent tongue.

You don’t have the guts to shoot me, I said to him.

Perhaps not, he said. But I ain’t aimin to kill ya. Then he spat upon the red rock and the brown spittle steamed under the noon sun.

I inhaled from the cigarette. Then I blew the spent carcinogens unto his face. Fuck you, I said. You’ll need an army to take me back to the netherworld.

His sudden guffaw could have cracked open heaven and earth. Birds of the sky trembled and all the creeping things of the desert burrowed into their caves. Yet I was steadfast. For I knew his wrath and evil. And it wasn’t shit.

Have it your way Beau Montana, said he. But know this. These mountains have eyes.

Yeah? Well I have eyes for your mom. Tell her I said hi.

And with his tail between his legs, Asmodeus climbed back upon the white horse and slowly trodded away into the canyon. And as I watched him, I couldn’t stop yellin shit. I hope you don’t have to piss, I called out. These mountains might see that tiny pecker of yours!

TO BE CONTINUED…

Back n the saddle (part vi)

My fingers trailed through the red dirt of Sedona. And the Earth spoke. It said do not piss unto the wind. The time is now. Shit in thine chamber or remove thyself from thine toilet. And after hearing the wisdom of the earth, I spake unto my followers, saying I am drunk and as high as the moon. Bring unto me Takis and Red Bull for my tongue is dry and my stomach empty. Mescaline and booze make an unusual combo. Then I laid back in the dirt for sleep had come over me. And as I watched the stars dance against the night sky, a boot struck my side. In those days, a certain apostle Julian approached and ordered me unto my feet. For the sun had come up and all the gathering had to wake.

I rose unto mine feet and struck the apostle on the face. Then I admonished him. How dare thee said I. But the apostle pleaded, saying that we had overslept and hikers were calling the police. Goddamn I yelled. This is the last time I’m doing that peyote shit.

Julian continued. Moreover my lord, said he, Asmodeus has been sent to kill you.

Fuck him, said I. I ain’t afraid of him.

But the Mormons are deploying him, sir.

So the Mormons want me dead? Is it a day that ends in y?

But we must move southwards. To continue spreading your word and out of their sight.

I hate to tell you buddy but they got Mormons in Tucson too.

Then we shall move forth to Prescott.

You mean Prescit?

But it’s spelled Prescott.

You don’t go to Kentucky and pronounce Louisville Louisville do you?

How the hell else is it supposed to be pronounced?

Lou-ah-vull.

That’s fuckin stupid.

Yeah well, they got Mormons everywhere pal. So what other plan do you have?

Julian shut his trap and I gazed along earthly towers of Sedona. Then a gust of rain swept through and cast a brilliant rainbow across the valley. The answer was apparent.

We bring them here, said I.

Sir?

We bring the readers to Sedona.

But gas is like $9 a gallon up here.

I smiled gaily and rested my hand upon his shoulder. Oh my dumbass Julian, said I, if it’s $9 for them, it’s $9 for us too.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Back n the saddle (part v, I think)

Murmurs of sinners spread unto the desert darkness like the cries of wolves. They summoned unto their gaols and catacombs and said among themselves “a Man comes from the east. His words pierce like fine blades and his eyes cast like thunderbolts from Sheol.” And others said he worked miracles by turning alcohol into piss and that his cock is the size of a serpent. “I heard it’s below average!” cried another.

And lo, the staff of the elder clanked stridently against the sandstone. All were silent. And the elder stood and raised his arms and begged his countrymen “whom amongst us can stop this Beau Montana?”

As stillness loomed over the assembly, one stood as a minatory phantom. He was shrouded in black cloak and carried a Colt 1877 around his waist. When he unhooded his face, men averted their eyes for fear of looking upon Belial himself. “I am Asmodeus,” he said. “I’ve seen Beau Montana. Our paths have crossed many times. He speaks with the tongue of a charlatan and his eyes are as shallow as the meres of Hanmer. If you wish to rid yourself of this vermin, you must come to me.”

The mouth of the elder sat agape and his brow furrowed together into a towering peak. The old man exhaled and pleaded with the phantasm. “Forgive me,” he said, “but if you know this Man, why haven’t you killed him?”

The phantom called Asmodeus cackled like a rabid lobo and he casted his direful smile upon the crowd. “Beau Montana is a wily one,” he said. “One simply cannot kill him. He must capture him. And return him to the uncharted and inscrutable lands.”

“This is poppycock!” a man cried out. “What you speak of is the power of god! We are Mormons for christsake! We don’t fuck with that shit!”

Asmodeus’ eyes reddened and the wrath of a thousand hounds of hades echoed through the cavern. The man convulsed and spittle poured from his lips and the guttural sounds of death pierced men’s ears like a ghostly bellow. Flames erupted from his feet and the shrieking grew as fire consumed his body until his cries were ripped apart and carried away into some unknown doom. Blood spouted from his head and quenched the flame and there was nothing more than smoldering ash and bone.

“Alright,” said Asmodeus. “Any other questions?”

TO BE CONTINUED…

Back n the saddle (Part IV)

And the throng of masses came upon the hill, and they said amongst themselves “who is this Man who proclaimeth the Word?”. And as I heard the hearts of these unbelievers, I wept. Then immediately a revenant descended upon them like a ghoulish hound and laid upon their hearts the sounds of perdition and there was much weeping and gnashing of teeth. Together they cried out “Hell hath beckoned us! A savior is required!” And when I heard these cries, I walked out among them and blessed them. And when they saw me, all fell and prostrated themselves.

Then I said unto them “bring me your foolish in spirit, for they and their monies shall go separate ways. And bring me thy lame in tongue, so that no man may challenge the word thy god, spoken by me. And bring me thy most voluptuous of women, for they and thine badonkadonks shall help spread the Word”

And when they heard these words there was much rejoicing and jubilation. And then they bowed and brought before me a donkey, saying, “a wild ass for our Lord.” And I sat upon the ass and the multitude carried me to downtown Tempe whereupon I stumbled into the pupils of the University. And when they saw the throng of followers, they spat, saying “more fucking Mormons?”

And lo, I climbed off the ass and stood upon a full beer keg and said unto them “behold, my word. Stories No One Should Read. $12.99. Step forth thee and purchase. For your copies shall be signed by I, Beau Montana.”

And the pupils laughed, saying “before us is another false teacher. For Beau Montana is a myth. A fallacious god. He cannot exist nowhere but on the internet.”

“Wanna bet, asshole?” I said unto him.

The pupil threw down his monies and spat. “Prove it,” he said.

I looked down upon the keg and back to the angry masses. Then I said unto them “In this keg, drink of the piss water that you call beer.” And they did so. And there was much rejoicing, for the pupils cried out “behold! Cheap beer no longer tastes like sweat from an asscrack! For now this tastes like a crisp IPA from a fine local brewery!”

“You’re goddamn welcome, you ungrateful shits.”

And as the revelry trailed away, Joe came unto me and asked, “did you really turn cheap beer into IPA?”

“No,” I said unto him. “I turned cheap beer into actual piss.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

Back n the saddle (part iii)

Hell unleashed its wrath onto the Sonoran desert. My legs ached. My tongue dried. A passing Canadian with a Camelback extended his hiking stick at my feet as he sought to make me stumble. “Where’s your water?” he asked of me. “You shouldn’t be in this heat without water.”

“That was foolish of you,” I told him. “What is this heat compared to the fires of Antares? If you have walked among the demons of Tartarus, you shall not fear the scorching deserts of the earth. Now be gone with you, you filthy northerner!”

And with that command, the Canadian withered like a fig leaf. I took his camelback and hiking sticks and then proceeded to the western most regions of the metropolis where I found my friend Footloose Joe toiling away with a caravan of books. I approached cautiously. Guardedly. My shadow cast upon him like a wraith in broad daylight. He drew his weapon. It was a Smith & Wesson 5.7. With no harm intended, I raised my hands in a gesture of peace.

“It is I,” I said.

Joe’s eyes narrowed. He reholstered his weapon and wiped the sweat from his brow. “I’ve been expecting you,” he said.

“Aye. I know.”

“Come. Sit.”

He led me into the air conditioned caravan and handed me a Gatorade. I sat in the spacious booth in the back corner and he laid a stack of books on the table with my name on it. Stories No One Should Read by Beau Montana. My eyes glanced at the cover and then back to Joe. “Will they come?” I ask.

“Aye. They always come.”

The sun drifted behind the mountains and casted a dull orange meridian across the horizon. And as the desert valley cooled, the denizens of this strange land journeyed to this caravan upon a hill and gazed upon its magnificent collection. A few eyes crossed my path. They saw me sitting alone. Arms stretched across the corner booth. When they approached, they lifted my book and studied it.

“What is your book about?” one asked.

I pulled out a Marlboro and a zippo. “Tell me,” I said as I lit the zippo. “What’s the one thing missing in your life?”

“Sir?”

“Do you wake up everyday in a cool puddle of your own piss? Do you wander out to the night sky and beg god for mercy because you jacked off to Rue McClanahan? Not that there’s anything wrong with that by the way. But there’s something missing within you. I see it in your eyes. You feel forsaken. Unloved. Like the world has passed you by and now you’re a 52 year old Reddit moderator and registered sex offender. It’s written all over your face. You’re searching for answers from a black abyss but there’s no response. That is until now. The answer is in your hands. All you have to do is open and read.”

Tears welled up in the man’s eyes and his hands trembled. His voice cracked. “How much is your book?” he asked.

“$12.99. But for you, I’ll sell it for $17.”

TO BE CONTINUED….