I am the Lonesome Cowboy, having just lost all my friends. They must have fallen out of my pocket, or vanished with my dreams when I awoke. Or my life is the dream and I am not the Lonesome One.
I am the Lonesome Cowboy, and I am wearing a diaper today, because it reminds me of a time when someone cared about me.
I am the Lonesome Cowboy, drifting though endless days, forever seeking a place to rest, or at least to take a leak in peace.
I am the Lonesome Cowboy. You may have forgotten me, you probably did — I am the dim shadow on the wall that you never notice as you walk past, yet I see you, all of you, and remain here, content within the space of my nothingness, ever alone.
I am the Lonesome Cowboy. My heater is on low, set to one and only one. The world is quiet.
I am the Lonesome Cowboy, whistling through my teeth, and when I do the cold night wind comes racing, racing right up to nuzzle me and ask for more of my body heat, which is when I curl up and wait for dawn, always so very far away. So very far.
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Me? Recently got my batteries buffed.
My love, Echinoia Eeeps, is training a fleet of rats to do her shoplifting for her now that her three-armed sister Whizzle is retiring. She figures that a couple hundred rats are enough to carry off the required major appliances without attracting undue notice. And she does go through quite a few appliances, seeing as how the Eeeps family compound is no longer served by any electric utility with a policy on human sacrifice and has to rely on lightning strikes whenever it's time for power laundry or vacuuming. It is endlessly entertaining to watch someone run a blender there. Well, I think so.
My love, Echinoia Eeeps, is giving me instructions on how to be a better person, a person of good and refined taste. Which, this week at least, involves several sessions of repeated dunking in chocolate. Rich, dark chocolate. As part of my graduation ceremony, I am to receive a dollop of whipped cream, followed by a maraschino cherry dropped onto the very tippy-top, most pointiest part of my head. Just before the licking begins.
Was going to pay my love, Echinoia Eeeps, a surprise visit at the family compound, but remembered only just in time that this is laundry month, and an unexpected visitor would at best incite an awkward disturbance. Not to mention negotiating safe ingress past the registered wart hog herd.
Am thinking of spending Easter with my love, Echinoia Eeeps and her family, conveniently all also named Eeeps. There is G. Edward Eeeps, Cinderella Maybelle Eeeps, Mucilage Eeeps, Putron Eeeps, Weezil Eeeps, Willow Forceps Eeeps, Tuna Melody Eeeps, Forgettable Louise Eeeps, and so on. They usually like to slaughter farm animals and spray the blood on passing cars before running naked through the forest, after which they typically have a family picnic down by the lake in the park. You wouldn't believe what sorts of things they can do to a fried chicken.
Ah...I have been invited to share Easter celebrations with the Eeeps family at their secret compound back in the woods. My love, Echinoia Eeeps, has told me that it's a three-day affair, just like the original, and I happen to be exactly the right height to fit on their cross. Doesn't sound particularly strenuous and could be a decent way to get into the family's good graces, so I may give it some thought.
My love, Echinoia Eeeps, is never bothered by flies, unlike some of us. One gets too close, and she'll snap it right up and swallow it before you can even blink once in fright. The flies mostly keep their distance now, and go for easier targets. Like me, for example. I'm usually covered in the little buggers. (Can't use her trick though — don't like the taste. But she does keep asking me to inch closer so she can suck them off my face. One of the secrets of our compatibility, I fear.)
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Me? Don't know why, I keep watching the sky.
Met my sister's new friend yesterday. "Gazebo the Magnificent". He lives in the park. Has his own roof. Seats 20.
It'll be June again soon and my sister has painted herself blue. (She's never been an overly happy person.)
I can blame pretty much all my problems on my sister. She already thinks I'm a dick, so what the hey, you know?
My sister says she wants to be an alligator when she grows up. She's 60 now and already has the teeth and skin for it, but needs to cut way back on the barking if she's going to sound convincing.
Once my sister ate the cookie it was gone forever. Yet another of life's small but poignant lessons.
I passed a shop. They had a sale on. Used tattoos — six for a quarter. I bought a bag full for my sister, Butch. She'll know what to do with them.
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Me? Still a happily undifferentiated mass of cells.
Got my captain's license today. But arrived a bit late. I was hoping to become Captain Aardvark but had to settle for Captain Querulous. Want to make something of it?
I don't think that Captain Toadsucker should be allowed to join. Anything.
Captain Dribble — messy eater, but decent at basketball.
Captain Proper Tire Inflation is too boring even for me.
Captain Arthritis used to be Captain Gimpy but is now just another old guy.
Captain Oddball has one unique.
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Me? Don't think I agree, with anything, so no need to taste me then, is there?
For your safety, the correct image is not being shown this week.
So, a guy just walked in. This is unusual. Hardly anyone around here has legs, other than some of the spiders.
A guy started talking to me. Says we met once. Doesn't resemble the guy I see in the mirror most days, so I have no way to check.
Big trucks have big tires. I'm not a big guy so I'm not required to have a big peepee, but I kinda do. In case you need to know. But I never talk about it, except with friends. Want to be my friend?
For a guy less than six feet tall I have an uncommonly rich fantasy life. Some of it may include you.
Starting tomorrow, bright and early, I'm going to make something of myself. Like a cuckoo clock. I already have the coo, and some feathers, and I know a guy who sells beaks wholesale. The rest shouldn't be too hard then.
That crazy guy who lives down the street came by to say that he's still crazy. I offered him a sandwich. When he got tired of talking to it he burned his pants. Probably did him good.
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Me? Still gnawing at the ropes.
Uncle Mithras came for a visit. He ain't lookin too good no more, seen how he died sumpin like 2500 years back n all. Miracle that he can even limp around and curse any more.
Never cared much for Jesus. Seemed pretty much a sissy. Changed his name even, as if Joshua wan't good enough any more, had to go all fancy with that Greek version, then stole Mithras' life story and pretended he knew shit an stuff. Not my kind.
Zeus — now that's more my sort of god, though he still didn't wear pants. WTF with those guys?
What kind of god drowns everybody because he fucked up? Sounds like a guy I used to work for. But not long.
Jesus came to me in a dream. Wanted money — collecting for a private jet so's to go out flying around and converting some a them heathens. Like, trick-or-treat, dude. Aren't you kind of old for this? Don't you have your own wings even?
Went bowling for like the first time in half a century. Saw the "Shuffle Demon Disciples" there on Bowling for Jesus night. Buncha really old guys who all got drunk afterward and tried walking across the swimming pool at the Motel 5½. The trick is you gotta take your shoes off, guys. But what do they know? They're all dead anyway.
Woke up to find myself in Jerusalem during Roman times. Decent weather there, I'll say that, but there was some guy makin a fuss, yelling and so on, who they finally hauled away and disposed of. Anyhow, I did get a decent lunch, then was suddenly sucked back to my own century and immediately ran into some more guys waving their arms and ranting about heavenly goings-on, and grubbing for dollars, and cleaning out the temples to suit their prissy tastes. You'd imagine that they would have their act together by now. Don't know why I put up with this.
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Me? Refusing to pray for drugs.
