Written by Bill Tinsley
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Topics: Death, Texas

Tuesday, 6 December 2005

image for Death Rides the Texas Trail
My Friend the Sheriff

Our horses were tired as my trail partner, Tough Ticklish Terry and I crossed the great prarie and entered Crawdad, the little Texas town that had received its terrible reputation as the home of Lyin George. It was a long ride from northern pioneer town of Port Angeles Washington after having been placed on the no-ride-the-stage-coach list. In fact if it had not been for the many friends along the way we would have never made it. Lyin George with the help of his notorious gang have convinced the western settlers that we are desperados, men that don't fit the standard consciousness, that is believing that he is an honorable Christian hombre.

Our welcome to Crawdad was no better than our journey. Lyin George's henchmen were everywhere. We went into the Vicente Fox Gambling hall for a drink and some information. The place was full of Mexicans, few could speak English and were obviously outlaws from across the border. The bar tender, Hootin' Hana, told us that the wetbacks felt right at home under the protection of Lyin George. Ticklish Terry who is stickler for standard consciousness and political correctness told her to be careful, wetbacks is a word that grabs the attention of the thought police and she better be careful. Hootin' Hana gave him a dangerous smile and said, "I'll ignore this." and Terry shut up. I began asking questions about Lyin George's spread and was answered with a loud silence. I turned around and their stood Rummy Dumsfield and behind him stood a company of wicked looking Army Rangers with lock and loaded M16s pointed at me. It took a moment for me to collect my thoughts before I said, "Don't you ever fight your own battles?" He gave me that tight smile and said, "Your on dangerous ground stranger."

My thoughts went to the six gun on my hip and wondered if I had a chance. Ticklish Terry sensed this and put his arm on my shoulder and said, "Don't even think about it." I quickly agreed and said to Rummy, "Where can a man get a shave and a bath in this here town?" This eased tensions a bit and he replied, "You be out of this town my noon or suffer the consequences. With that he turned and marched out with his troops.

"Wow! that was close," said Ticklish. "When we leavin?" "I ain't going no place. No cowardly scum like Rummy Dumsfield is going to run me out of town." Hootin' Hana said, "Good for you. Do you want to pay for your grave on boothill now?" "Later" I said as I turned on my heel, my spurs jingling as went out the swingin' doors. The street was now deserted with the exception of a small boy passing by. "Hey son," I called, "Where is everybody?" "Are you stupid stranger, Lyin George is coming to town to gun you down. No one in Crawdad wants to be around when that happens." With that he too disappeared. I felt alone. Ticklish Terry stayed in the bar listening to Hootin' Hana, tell about her green dream. That is where her enemies turn green from the magic dust scattered by her fairy friends.

Alone I walked down the street to the Sheriff's office. It was a small hole in the wall containing a battered desk, an old wood stove and hanging on the wall was a large picture of a smiling Lyin George. A door across the small room was open. Beyond it I could see a gigantic jail with thousands of cells. "Howdy Sheriff," "Howdy stranger, I'm Sheriff Tricky Dicky Zany, what can I do for you?" The sheriff appeared to be a kind old man which give me some hope. "My life has been threatened and I will be killed if I'm not out of town my noon." "Who would do such a thing?" he asked. "A fellow I met in the bar, Rummy Dumsfield." "You can't be serious. Rummy is a kind old grandfather that wouldn't hurt a flea, that is unless you are someone he didn't like or a terrorist?" he said looking at me closer. "Listen I am not a terrorist, but there are some around these parts." I said. "What makes you think that?" he asked
"Well, I began, some whitemen dressed up like indians knocked down the world trade center and the Murray building in Oklahoma. "Are you out of your mind?" cried Tricky Dicky. "Those were all done by the indians. The whitemen around Texas are peace loving. Who do you think you are?" I shuddered a bit and knew I was in over my head, but I'd gone too far to turn back. "Peace loving," I shouted. "It was your so called peace lovers who, without pretending to be indians burnt out those peaceful Davidian settlers up near Waco." As he heard my last accusation he no longer hid behind the grandfather mask. He pulled his gun, took mine and ordered me into a jail cell. "You'll stay there until the hanging Judge Candy Mice gets here. "But she is not a judge," I protested. More than a judge she is, what she says is law. Then I was left alone The cell was cold and bare and I wondered about my fate. Then I heard the lady judge enter the office. She and Tricky Dicky were talking. He first told her all I had said. Then she said, "How can this be? We spend ten billion dollars a year in the think tanks like the Rand Corporation and the Stanford Institute to control the thinking of these fools. We control all big media and have successfully fooled most of the American citizens into a standard consciousness. How can people like this escape our thought police? I must take this up with Lyin George" Then I heard the door slam as she left.

"Where did you get all this false information?" asked Tricky Dicky as he stood outside the bars of my cell. "It is the truth It is all over the Internet along with the proof of corruption in our government." I replied. Tricky Dicky stomping up and down on the floor and said, "It is all lies," "What proof do you have that it is not true? I countered. "Because Lyin George says so." he said with a finallity that chilled my blood. With that he again left me alone. By now it was getting dark and I could hear the coyotes barking and the far off howl of a wolf. I figured Ticklish Terry was still being enthralled with Hootin' Hana's tales of vampires and witches or he was hynotizing her with his pastoral scenes when the door opened and Ticlish was roughly pushed into the cell next to mine. "What are you doing here?" I asked. Terry gave me a sad look and I could tell he was not tickled being there, "I'm charged with being a terrorist because I'm your friend." There was little I could say and soon the hangin judge returned. Without a trial and no fanfare she condemned us, by Lyin' George's excutive order, to die on the gallows as terrorists.

The sun was shining bright on the morning of our execution. We could hear the banging of the hammer as the last nail was driven into the scaffold. I looked out and watched the sand bags dropped as they tested the trap doors on which we would stand. We were taken out together. The sun hurt our eyes after the darkness of the jail cells. Our feet shuffled, no longer do we need hurry. The crowd watched in fascination as we were placed on the fatal trap doors. I looked out on the spectators wondering how can so many be deceived into believing Lyin George when he justified the attacks on little sovereign nations like Afghanistan and Iraq and when he tells them globalization is good for them while they visit the food banks for their next meal. Our hang person Jolly Jean asked if we had any last requests. Ticklish and I said we would like to go fishing. With that the black hoods were placed on our heads and I wondered if it was Ticklish Terry's standard consciousness that got me into this mess. As the wicked trap doors sprung open and I plunged down I woke up. It took a few minutes for the dream to drift from my consciousness. Then I offered a prayer of thankgiving that it was only a dream. However, it raised a big question in my mind, should I continue to speak the truth about the corruption in the American government or continue and perhaps receive a simular fate as was my dream.

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The story above is a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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