Smokey Mountain Breakdown

I was really wanting to work on flash, but a news story threw me into short story mode. I'd had this story brewing about a hidden clan of blue people in Appalachia, and then Brazil(stupidly in my opinion) released those pictures of the previously uncontacted tribes in the Amazon Basin. So, my Hidden Holler blue people story started coming out and I had to grab ahold of the laptop and hold on. I'm not sure it's literary, but it's really fun.

Anyway, I'm concerned about the release of those photos. They showed the tribesmen shooting arrows at the airplane taking the pictures. What must they think? At any rate, I'm sure somewhere there are spiritually greedy missionaries drooling to go "help" the poor souls. Brazil says it wants to protect these four tribes that are threatened by bringing the attention of the world to their plight.

Is the Brazilian government on crack?

If they honestly wanted to help these people they would have set up preserves and kept them secret. Because now some determined idiot is going to want to go there, give them smallpox and religion.

Wild humans should be kept wild, I say.

Sorry. Would you care for some Porn and Donuts? You've come here and I haven't offered you a thing. What must you think.

Kellie was officially unemployed, as was Lucius. She quit her job at a whitewater rafting company after a guide was arrested for selling hydros to an undercover TBI agent. Kellie saw it as a business decision, but she gave up her free housing when she quit. Her real talents lay elsewhere.

Kellie found Tenncare patients with pain medication scripts, and then she connected them with dealers. She took a cut from the top of the sale, sometimes in drugs and sometimes in cash. She thought of herself as a sort of social service worker, since these people needed the money to get by. She certainly needed the money, and she wanted the drugs.

They fired Lucius a few months ago from Miss Lucy’s Wild West Rodeo Show and Dinner Theater. It was a sweet gig while it lasted. The show featured a chicken dinner served without cutlery. For twenty-five bucks a head, you ate your broasted chicken with your bare hands while costumed rodeo riders galloped around the arena chasing cattle, pigs and goats in front of you. It was an elegant evening filled with food and livestock.

Lucius had a bottle of oxycontins in his western shirt pocket that night. His job included hitching the horses to the wagon that carried students from Pee Wee’s Modeling and Beauty School. He checked the traces and handed the reins to the driver each night before the wagon entered the arena.

His bottle of oxycontins fell out and rolled under the little girls’ seats before he could leap clear of the wagon. Lucius dived to retrieve them. That was how he ended up in a fast moving horse-drawn wagon with a chubby twelve-year old beauty queen perched, crotch first, on his face.

Seven hundred fifty guests witnessed the incident that earned Lucius his pink slip. There was a scandal.

I think the guineas were the last straw for the tiny Jack Russell terrier.

He lives on the verge of the property and up to this past week or so has stayed on his own turf. But he ventured down onto the property a few days ago, prompting the cockers to run willy-nilly to chase him back. My guys never leave here, but they are finding it harder since Monsieur JR insists upon taunting them from his high-up there place.

I call him Monsieur JR because he reminds me very much of the taunting French guard in Scene 8 of Monty Python's The Holy Grail. Shadow and Max don't quite know what to make of him. Their exchanges go something like this:

JACK RUSSELL:

You don't frighten us, English pig-dogs! Go and boil your bottom, sons of a silly person. I blow my nose at you, so-called Arthur King, you and all your silly English k-nnnnniggets. Thpppppt! Thppt! Thppt!

MAX:

What a strange person.

SHADOW:

Now look here, my good man--

JACK RUSSELL:

I don't wanna talk to you no more, you empty headed animal food trough wiper! I fart in your general direction! Your mother was a hamster and your father smelt of elderberries!

MAX:

Is there someone else up there we could talk to?

JACK RUSSELL:

No. Now, go away, or I shall taunt you a second time-a!

[sniff]

I just hope he doesn't have a cow up there to catapult, because I'm not really up for building a wooden rabbit right now.

Ni!

I've decided to serialize Porn and Donuts here on the blog. It's not finished yet and I sort of need some reason to pick it back up. It's very long and unlikely to be published because of its novella length. And--if anyone wants to publish it--I'll only be doing it in installments here. And it still needs work. It's at 7500 words and still going at this point. I've got a feeling it's too long for most places to consider. Maybe in an anthology down the road. It will be here every Saturday. You will have to look for it on Saturdays, because it will be tucked at the end of a journal posting like this one so to fool the sploggers. It's an oddball sort of romantic comedy so it fits well in the space I wanted to do love stories. I'll be getting to those during the week quite soon--flashes.





The traffic zinged by like skeeters on crack. Lucius felt pavement, all grit and tar under him and rubbed his cheek against his pillow. The remaining teeth in his mouth felt like they wore little sweaters and when he smacked his tongue on the roof of his mouth, it stuck to the dryness. The sunlight burned through Lucius’ eyelashes and he blinked to clear the sand sticking them together. It took a few tries and he reached a dirty finger up to dig in the corners of his eyes. He sat up on the verge of the interstate at an exit ramp. His crotch itched, so he scratched it.

Lying on the ground beside him was his pillow, The Lola Delight Inflatable Pleasure Doll with five convenient orifices. He still did not understand why there were five. Three seemed plenty to him. Lola regarded Lucius with her surprised gaze and gaping oval mouth. Lucius thought he detected recrimination in her eyes, so he punched her in the belly. Her eyes bugged out at him.

“Shut up, bitch.”

He grabbed Lola around her middle and struggled to his feet. Walking up the exit ramp towards the Citgo, scuffing his feet along in the gravel, he knew what he needed. A Big Gulp and two Mrs. Freshley’s Pink Snowball cakes would ease the sweating and shaking. He offered his middle finger in salute to the hooting truckers who stared down at him and his doll. Soon he would be in a plastic booth with Kellie and all would be right in his world again.