October 19, 2006
Camel Thongs Don’t Cut the Mustard
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“Lookee here Mister Chief Native, I’ll trade you guns and firewater for the land you call “Gusher Canyon”. You know which area I mean, where we put up those oil derricks years ago.”
“Sorry, today is a Sacred Day, ’all praise to Mother Bear‘.”
“Look, screw a bunch of Sacred Days, we’ll throw in fifty aisles worth of jeans. Your daughters will love em, especially the low hippers so’s their little belly buttons can get some air.”
“Not possible, today is sacred day, ‘bless brother antelope.’”
“All right, for Christ sake, you’re killing us. We’ll give you guns, firewater, three Wal Mart’s of enticing jeans, a gross of Estee Bauder nipple and labia piercing Pierce-o-matic Pro Guns, ten tattoo parlors fully equipped and an era’s long subscription to Rap music from both the “Dysfunction Is Me’ and “Misogyny Rocks” labels. And you get bison and camel thongs. Camel thongs from “Allah’s Little Secret” label in every color under the sun. Now do we have a deal?”
“Today is Sacred. All praise our ancestors.”
“Praise your arse. I’ll be back tomorrow. We’re not going away, you know that.”
“Tomorrow is a sacred day.”
“Up your sacred days.”
“Everyday is a sacred day, kneel and bow to the East.”
“Bullshit on your every day is a sacred day horse pucky. You can stick Mother Bear you know where. There’s something you guys want and I’m gonna find out what.”
“Everyday is a sacred day. However.....”
“Yes, yes sacred, totally sacred, but ‘however’ what? You son of a sacred snake, ‘however’ what? What is it you’re considering?”
“Well, remember that line of fissionable material you showed me.... maybe just one more little peek.”
“Tex’, help, we done got us a problem. We’re gonna be here til the cows come home and listen to me for once, jeans and camel thongs are not cuttin’ the mustard.”
"Bubba, shut your trap with the mustard bullshit. These fucks don't have hot dogs. Even I know that."
“Lookee here Mister Chief Native, I’ll trade you guns and firewater for the land you call “Gusher Canyon”. You know which area I mean, where we put up those oil derricks years ago.”
“Sorry, today is a Sacred Day, ’all praise to Mother Bear‘.”
“Look, screw a bunch of Sacred Days, we’ll throw in fifty aisles worth of jeans. Your daughters will love em, especially the low hippers so’s their little belly buttons can get some air.”
“Not possible, today is sacred day, ‘bless brother antelope.’”
“All right, for Christ sake, you’re killing us. We’ll give you guns, firewater, three Wal Mart’s of enticing jeans, a gross of Estee Bauder nipple and labia piercing Pierce-o-matic Pro Guns, ten tattoo parlors fully equipped and an era’s long subscription to Rap music from both the “Dysfunction Is Me’ and “Misogyny Rocks” labels. And you get bison and camel thongs. Camel thongs from “Allah’s Little Secret” label in every color under the sun. Now do we have a deal?”
“Today is Sacred. All praise our ancestors.”
“Praise your arse. I’ll be back tomorrow. We’re not going away, you know that.”
“Tomorrow is a sacred day.”
“Up your sacred days.”
“Everyday is a sacred day, kneel and bow to the East.”
“Bullshit on your every day is a sacred day horse pucky. You can stick Mother Bear you know where. There’s something you guys want and I’m gonna find out what.”
“Everyday is a sacred day. However.....”
“Yes, yes sacred, totally sacred, but ‘however’ what? You son of a sacred snake, ‘however’ what? What is it you’re considering?”
“Well, remember that line of fissionable material you showed me.... maybe just one more little peek.”
“Tex’, help, we done got us a problem. We’re gonna be here til the cows come home and listen to me for once, jeans and camel thongs are not cuttin’ the mustard.”
"Bubba, shut your trap with the mustard bullshit. These fucks don't have hot dogs. Even I know that."
Labels: Creative Writing, Iraq/ foreign policy
