Saddle the Horses

I don’t know how many dusty trails I’d eaten, but the next one seemed even more dry than the one before. I’d spent the whole day cleaning the camp, while Lola was out scouting ahead, something she insisted on doing, and I for one was not going to talk her out of it.

I didn’t mind being on a horse, really. Other than smelling like that horse when the day was done, not being able to keep my balance on its back, and not having it listen to anything I had to say. In some ways, kind of like being in a relationship. Oh, I wouldn’t mind its company, and it didn’t mind when I retold the odd story or two, not unlike Lola who told me point blank, “keep your tales of your past inside your own head. We can’t use information not having to do with guns, plots against/from the government, or what the enemy knows about us”.

It didn’t matter to me what we talked about. Kind of like what happened last year, while we were considering what and who was against us, and how we would deal with it!

Well, it all started late last summer when we were shoveling the winter snow off the porch once and for all, getting ready for the summer, as it were. Lola said it might be nice for once if we did something other than just work, or wasting our time shooting at those darn irritating, no good, lowdown, ought to be killed outright on sight, or poisoned (if we did that sort of thing, which we didn’t) white rabbits that always seemed to be in and around, under foot, or proudly decorating the table for the evening meal.

I suggested we mosey along to the State Fair in Palmer, but that is when the first troubles started.

“Palmer, Alaska!” she shouted, shaking over her whole body, her bullets falling her and about onto our newly swept porch, being covered by the first flakes of Late-summer snow, making Lola’s hair just a bit more grey along the edges, but I never said that, OK?

“We might as well saddle up the horses and head towards Barrow, if you want to go farther than that, Huh?” I might have said, yes, no, or let’s talk about it over a bottle of vintage Peapod Burgundy, but there is a time and place for talking, and…now how did the rest of that line go?

“There are exhibits, and such” I added quickly, before the guns started firing, or the TNT explosions disturbing the neighbors 5 miles away. “Gun Shows and whatnot”.

Lola just turned to me slowly. I held my Mouse to Eagle position, not letting my tail to move one micron, while she scanned the landscape for the meal of the day. There are restrictions though, I hastened to say. The State fair doesn’t permit Firearms, knives or weapons of any kind, which for the rest of us thinking about visiting this annual event, seemed like a good idea, while people like my Lola roamed the streets and countryside of our vast state!

Somewhere up ahead on the trail, I was imagining how Lola was involved in her Classic Tracking Style, with her nose to the ground, spread eagle, listening to the singing wires of the Telegraph, or tracking the unseen enemy while crawling along through the underbrush, knife in her mouth, ready, willing and waiting to strike at a second’s notice!

That’s why I was better off  (and safer) back at camp, getting ready for dinner, and warming the water for Lola’s hot bath and hoping that in time she would forget what happened during the Shooting Galley Incident, or what the newspapers chose to call it after it happened?

Not having her “babies” with her didn’t make matters any better, when she bellied up to the Shooting Galley and started inspecting the rifles. “This one pulls to the left” and after saying so, pointed it at the vendor, whose bullet-proof vest was unfortunately not covering his head, as it were. “While this one here” showing me and the others lying on the ground “Is obviously defective, endangering the rest of us, God-fearing, Proud of our Flag-waving, and decent citizens of this Great State!” Some of the people on the ground staggered to their feet and put their hands over their hearts in case the Pledge of Allegiance was about to be recited, but it didn’t faze me at all. I lived with the woman, I knew as Lola,you know?

Lola started to take aim, and was doing pretty well, when a row of white rabbits showed up in her sights. There aren’t enough bullets this side of Gunville (located in the Far-Left of Alaska) for Lola to fire at those poor, metal creatures, but she managed to hit every single one of them, and every other plate, prize, various hats worn by the crying patrons, and the cords holding the tent above our very heads, thus plunging the fabric over us, creating a mayhem scenario, super-seeding the worst/best warm film ever made.

I managed to crawl out from under, dragging Lola with me, still cursing and vowing to “show their skinny white butts who was in charge here” and hightailing it for the main entrance. We just threw ourselves into the Willy’s and drove off in a puff of a non-smoke of a Mount Augustine eruption and set our sights for the Kenai Peninsula once again.

I had just finished warming the water for Lola’s bath when she returned with that “Don’t ask” look in her eyes. Not all enemies can be found, nor could they be identified, but that didn’t detract from an outing with my Gal, camouflage clothing and the rest of what went along with it.

Lola just sank down into the steaming water, and allowed me to scrub her back with our genuine imitation, non-synthetic Luffa Sponge, while enjoying a glass of Peapod Burgundy. We each had our own pleasures in this life, running alongside the ones, we shared together. I let Lola do what she loved best, as long as it didn’t involve more hostage situations, or prison-break incidents. She, on the other hand, allowed me to pamper her as much as possible, letting me love her as much as she felt, she deserved. We had the best of both worlds, though I did draw the line with us sharing our bed with the odd 30-30 Winchester, even though it was her favorite!

“I just love when those guns go off” she said, with a smile in her eyes, while sinking lower into the water, allowing the steam to soften the stars above me, basking in their warming mists….


The Day. The Very Day that Torn T.

“Come on Lola, sit down next to me and enjoy a bowl of sun-powered, popped popcorn, all salted and ready for your waiting lips!”

I sat on the ingeniously-modified sofa and electricity-generating machine, waiting for the next episode of Jack, Miss Cary Beau, and Lola, the Dance Hall Woman came once again onto the Silver Screen, where Jack would probably say

“There once was a time, when you preferred my company to that 2-bit, Dime Store Western filled with enough clichés to sink a battleship from the Civil War, Old Ironsides!”

I wrote down what she said on my special “What Lola is yelling about today” pad of paper, hoping to use some of her many thoughts, the next time I

The very day that Torn T. Ribbons rode into that one-horse town, Miss Lola observed him from the hotel room, where the last dusty cowboy had just taken his leave, while she enjoyed a non-smoke of one of her Mt. Redoubts, and wondered what he would be like in bed. Or on the floor, or up against the wall, or like that one time, hanging out of the window, but his widow never did forgive me for that time, did she?

“Come on Lola. You’ll never be able to follow the plot, unless you see it from the start!”

-I’m really building up a good muscle tone, I thought to myself. Might come in handy someday? You never know?-

Miss Cary Beau had just finished brushing her perfect set of white teeth, then having splashed a bit of her perfume, “Hopeful and Willing”, but not too much, perhaps something that will be lingering on his skin all day, when he is getting all sweaty and panting after his blacksmithing, thinking about where he had gotten that scent on him, tracing his way back, like his fingers on my breas-

“!Lola! You are missing the best part, right here and now!”

Dagnabbit! Now, I’ll have to get off my iron horse and find her. I could try to use the method, “using her special scent to track her with”. Something that resembled a mixture of “Gun Oil and Kick-Me, Kiss Me perfume, for those that are in charge”, but I’d need to get down on my hands and knees in order to pick up the scent.

I half-imagined myself to be Mr Torn T. Ribbons searching that one-horse town for the woman, he loved. I felt for my gun belt, because I knew I’d have to be packing, when I found her in the arms of the Vicar, who

“Lola! The popcorn is getting soft, and you know how depressing it is when that happens?”

Still no answer. I decided to look around and see just where she might be jumping out of some cupboard, just like Kato used to do in the Pink Panther Movies.

Finally, I found her just sitting quietly by the window, a non-smoke in her hand, enjoying a cup of hot cocoa.

“Did you enjoy the trip to Moose Snout?” she asked me, though I knew for certain that chapter of this blog was over and done with.

“How do you know for certain, that this isn’t just another Temporal Loop?” she asked coyly, while allowing her tongue to find every last drop of sweetness in and around her lips, then swallowing the rest leaving a satisfied smile upon her pretty face.

True, how true her words were, are, could be, but maybe not all the same.

I just sat next to her and watched as the day attempted to throw shadows on the Cabbage-Cannabis Patch out back, when she said, “Isn’t this a lot better than that Fantasy Land Western, you’ve been wasting OUR time on? Well, isn’t it?”

At that one moment, at that one second and  a few afterwards, I agreed with her, and we ended up using the rest of the day in our “Quality Time Mode” until the day stretched our arms tired, and shut our eyelids closed, falling gently asleep in each other’s arms.

I knew that I always could, under pretense of selling our cabbages in Homer, pop on by “The Bent Antler Bar” and ask my other buddies what happened to Mr Ribbons on today’s episode.

I really owed it to Lola and Miss Beau to find that out, for all of our peace of minds…..

Women Only Want One Thing

“Why did you have to bring my mother into this discussion?” I always wondered why at the most important moment in a man’s life, the woman who was close enough to touch, and then some, was saying things like “What would your mother say, if she saw you right now?!”

“Quite honestly Lola, I wouldn’t want to have to answer my mother at this point in time while you are lying there, and I…well I am in the midst of doing something that, well, thoughts of my mother wouldn’t exactly, well.. Ah Lola now you’ve gone and ruined that moment when the Kind Puppeteer named Pepe was just about to bestow upon you his

“Why would you call yourself Pepe?” a question that might have been my mother talking, but I had the suspicion that Lola was

“Did he have a pencil-thin mustache while speaking with a Spanish Accent?”

I would imagine that most fellows named Pepe, spoke with a Spanish Accent, but that might just be me, that thinks that way?

“Well yes. Yes he did” which I told her, while she was putting her clothes back on knowing that Pepe wouldn’t be coming around to her way of thinking until she

“But who is this Pepe?” I asked, though I knew the answer would be less than truthful, which increased the mystery and pathos of this blog. Women might be on the edge of their seats, eating their chocolates nervously while sipping their drinks, wondering what Lola was going to do next? Would she run away with the brush salesman from Anchorage or would she be rubbing coconut oil on the muscular young man from Anchor Point, wanting to lie on his surfboard waiting for his dark pleasures to take what they wanted in the light of the summer night?

“Pepe is merely a metaphor for that part of Lola’s life that she wanted to retain. Her present existence was lacking in certain basic intellectual and sexual needs that forced her to create Pepe, a swarthy foreigner with his pencil-thin mustache, having a body that wanted to rock and roll her the whole night through. Lola’s needs were

My mother just would say, “Son. Women Only Want One Thing”, and then she would stop as if Monkeys were going to fly out of my butt, or something?

“Oh Mom, are you saying that women really don’t want love and respect?” It was a leading question, I admit it, but I felt that we were trapped in some sort of parallel reality, where she was trying to tell me that all of the other pieces of advice about women, were

Lola replied instead, “Where is this Pepe fellow anyway?”said while looking in the mirror, at this most inopportune moment, when she was wondering about her basic intellectual and sexual needs, and wondered if this Pepe fellow was able to lift her to a higher level of consciousness?

I needed a breath of fresh air and told her so, “Lola. I need a breath of fresh air”, and with that I considered going outside, but since I was in the middle of

“-but you have been in the middle of me before, haven’t you?” she said it as if it were a common occurrence, with me and her, but now with her and Pepe, I thought, I felt that I needed to tell her about how I felt, and part of that was being a third wheel in this

“Lola” I said getting her attention while she was still brushing her hair in the middle of how we were

“I feel the need to tell you, how you and Pepe makes me feel and”

“If I read you right,” she said checking out the last 3-4 paragraphs before answering, “you are feeling like a third wheel in this 3-part fantasy argument, while you are catching your breath, and getting yours stamina back, before we

I was confused. Were we still in the process of, or was she thinking of Pepe, while brushing her hair, while we, but then my mother would just say,

“Women Only Want One Thing”

“-and it would be nice to have a new hair brush for those moments, when I don’t really know if you are coming or



My Bulging Muscles

I was standing off to one side of the Sweet Shop shooting the breeze with Miss Cary Beau, when the Preacher walked into her shop.

“Good day Vicar, what brings you to the right side of the tracks?” I asked him politely, because I know he fancied trying to turn Miss Lola from the Saloon to the side of righteousness, even though the rest of the town, including Miss Lola herself, knew her to be a lost cause with that kind of thinking.

“God is here for everyone, not just those tortured souls over there” he said, while pointing across the tracks using his right elbow, what any self-respecting, well-raised man would have done, having been told by his mother, not to point with your finger-“It just ain’t polite”, she’d tell him.

He had a bad habit of wanting to place a bible in the top drawer of every business in town, half-expecting the unwary patrons to to while away the moments, lost in God’s rapture, while tasting the finest of Miss Cary Beau’s Sweets. “Stick out your tongue, Jack” Miss Beau suddenly said to me, while I was lost in my own thoughts on the other side of the tracks. “Isn’t that the sweetest thing that you’ve ever tasted in your life?” A question asked while I rolled her lollipop around in my mouth, my tongue darting and jabbing as if, as if

“Why yes it is indeed, Miss Beau” I said while tipping my hat, and presenting her with my warm and endearing smile.

“Ah Shucks, Jack. I said you could call me by my first name. Come now. give it a try, “Cary come here. Are you coming Cary?? See how easy I can be, when you let me?” and then she smiled with that sweet and innocent smile, which only made me excuse myself and get back to work at the Blacksmith Shop across the tracks.

I hadn’t planned on overstaying my welcome, but there were just a few items in this one-horse town that needed a second look. I knew, I’d have to sample the goods before I bought them, but that was part of the pleasure of the matter, wasn’t it?

I was about to swing my hammer onto the horseshoe, when I felt a hand testing my resolve and my fortitude. “Well Howdy Stranger, Come her often, do you?”

I knew the moment, I smelled the latest perfume, Caribou Whispers, imported all the way from Paris Idaho, that the woman on the other end of that scent was none other than Miss Lola – The Dance Hall Queen. Miss Lola was always coming to visit me telling of this or that, usually with some song and dance story about how she needed to see me, she just had to come and feel my

“I must say, your muscles are bulging a bit more than last time” Miss Lola said, while she felt around as if it were an address, with her name on it.

“Them there are not my arm muscles, Miss Lola, and I’m certain you know that as well as I do!”

“Just checking” she said with that melt-in-your-mouth smile. “Just checking!”

Miss Lola liked the way I swung my heavy iron against her heated surface. “Ow Jack that was hard, so hard, but you know that’s the way, I like it to be!” Miss Lola grabbed him by the

“Are you going to weed those cabbages, or did you think about riding that electrical generator all day long, just to see what that Tramp is going to do to that Cowboy?!”

I just couldn’t think of missing the latest episode of that famous threesome, Jack, Cary, and Miss Lola. I knew my legs would be plum tired after having to make enough electricity to see the end of this week’s plot, but then we do need to have our separate interests within the confines of our relationship, don’t we?

“I don’t care for that kind of thinking” said Lola after my thoughts ended on that subject. “when you thoughts included, “confines of our relationship” it sounded as if you felt trapped, or something?””

“Honestly Lola. That was the farthest thing from my mind. Don’t worry though, those weeds are the cabbages are already dead, and buried. Mark my words!”

“You’ve been seeing way too many Westerns for your own good!”

-and with that she left me to my peddling, and the thought about when Jack and Miss Lola would be doing the Fairbanks Fandango together……..

Hope the old legs can keep me going until then!

which is what she said, but I didn’t believe

“but then I said”

“Who are you talking to this time?” asked Lola. She had been brushing her hair, but always seemed to stop around 144.

Why not just one hundred times? I’d ask her from time to time. Is there a particular reason for-

-a knock on the front door interrupted me and my thoughts.

A man stood on the front step, looking a bit nervous, so I tried to put him at ease and could have said, “What’s on your mind stranger?”, but I said, “Shoot”. That meant that he was to speak his mind, what he wanted to say, but not to fear repercussions.

He had the look of a frightened White Rabbit, but still managed to ask, “Does Lola live here?”

to which I replied, “Does a gun have bullets?” which made him open the collar on his shirt, with his eyes darting from side to side, while he scanned the scenery for quick exit possibilities, just in case.

“but then I said”

“Who are you talking to this time?” asked Lola. She had just been cleaning her guns, but always seemed to stop when there came a knock on the front door.

I dropped what I had been doing, and shot a quick look at Lola to see if she was as hot today, as she was yesterday, but the look in her eye told me to keep my illicit thoughts to myself. “Today might just be the turning point in our relationship” she said, though it worried me when she spoke like that. Today my past might just come knocking on the front door, while you are taking liberties with your wanton stare, and I in my innocent stage, am wondering why I ever said yes to shacking up with you? You’ll remind me about the time I came into your Tattoo Parlor, but I couldn’t make up my mind between a white rabbit or a killer whale?”

A sudden knock on the front door interrupted me in my pristine thoughts, but Lola just kept on whistling wistfully, while she loaded her 30-30 Winchester, just in case!

A swarthy foreign-looking fellow with a pencil-thin mustache was eyeing the names on the mailbox as I opened the door, but just a thin crack, and no more.”What is it?” I might have said, or “Has Pepe sent you?” could also be an option, but when he said, “Is Lola at home? She’s promised me something and now it is time to pay up!”

“Who are you talking to this time?” asked Lola, who was looking at my stopwatch in case we were in the middle of a new Temporal Loop? Her hair lay about her perfectly formed breasts, which were speaking their own language to me. Her eyes were filled with Spanish Passion, or Cayenne Pepper, which in some ways, but not others entirely, were two sides of the same leaf!

We had just smoked a number and were about to do our daily Sunbathing, Au Natural on the sunroof, watching the Volcanoes across the Cook Inlet smoke a number at the same time. I reached over and grabbed a hold of something, I’d been hankering for all day long, when

A sudden sound of our paisley decorated doorbell with the caribou flourishes, was telling us in no uncertain terms and purposes that it was time to inhale again, or this high might just turn into a low. And that was a bummer! in my book anyway.

Lola stretched her legs under the table until her feet found something to occupy her time with, while I was struggling to light my organically grown, no animals hurt in the filming of this movie, nor would we ever eat yellow fin tuna so all dolphins could talk to others, while we were making sweet love.

The doorbell continued to ring, but Lola said, “Take me yo Sex God, I am all yours”, which is what she said, but I didn’t believe a word of it.

but the fellow, whoever he was, got tired of waiting for us to open the door, and went on his way, but would return to explain why he was the focal point for the turning point in our relationship.

-but Lola just said, “Mother never wanted me to brush my hair more than 144 times, or I might lose control” batting her eyelashes and smiling enough to fill the whole room.