Tuesday, 30 July 2013

A Rootin', Tootin' Toilet Tale

Big Wayne McFlush arrives, saddlesore and thirsty, at the little goldrush town
of Sourwater Ditch. He ties up his horse outside the saloon,
where an assortment of good-time girls greet him.
"Well, howdy," leers Wayne enthusiastically.

Entering this classy watering hole, Big Wayne makes his bowlegged way to the bar.
The bartender pours out whisky while Big Wayne pours out his heart.
"I lost my gun, my horse is dead and I almost lost my head," he wails.

Lola Ebola, a buxom lady who takes her constitutional in the direction of the saloon
every evening for a nightcap, is impressed with Big Wayne's story-telling talent.
She leans closer and gives him a wink and a pinch in the trousers.

Handsome Hank, a bounty hunter who is fearsomely in love with Lola himself, doesn't like this.
Drawing his six-shooter, he yells, "Hands off my woman, you dirty dog!"
The regulars roll their eyes. "Here we go again," they mutter. "Another gunfight.
We'll never afford a municipal water supply at this rate, if Handsome Hank
keeps killing every potential taxpayer."

Big Wayne, who was clearly lying about losing his gun, draws his own weapon in a flash.
"Mama said the pistol is the Devil's right hand," says a raspy-voiced gent in the company
of a beautiful blonde.

Handsome Hank finds his health adversely affected by a hole in the head,
and a lot of customers appear to be feeling a similar malaise.
"They were probably about to drop dead of the typhoid anyway," mutters the doctor.
"They wouldn't be dyin' like flies if they'd sort out the water supply and wash their hands occasionally."
But who listens?

No matter. Big Wayne McFlush rides on to the next town,
and it's soon business as usual in Sourwater Ditch.

Related Reading
Privy Counsel Pin-Up: Clint Eastwood, or, Black-and-White Baths, or, Dirty Men with Guns
A Christmas Mystery: The Mysterious Case of the Curse at Crapper Castle, or, Put a Lid on It, or, No Shit, Sherlock

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