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How The Tombstone Was One
Chapter one
Pluck the Kid entered the saloon half naked, two ten shooters in hand.
"where the duck is Roscoe?!" he whispered. his throat hurt because the last whore he was with tasted funny.
the bartender, Squabbles Abraham Jr. stopped wiping out the pissy mug with his poopy rag.
"... and who the dick be you? We don't take kindly two strangers carrying too pistols.. with their nuts hanging out.. asking questions about guys who are upstairs, and looking angry. round here. boy. I mean bitch." he grimaced in a lovely deep voice.
the saloon was called the Wet Hole. it was a watering thing with tables and a bar in it frequented by the most heinous, debauchery peddling, flim flamin, gun crazy, rootinest, tootinest varmits this side of your mother.
currently there were ten of em all cheating each other at solitaire and they were all packing sawed off shotguns. and they all stood up.
Pluck smirked.
"Shoulda answered my question, because -"
"I did. I answered you que-"
"Shut it barkeep ass motherfucker. you stupid motherfucker. You all made a mistake. Cause there's -"
The tallest and smelliest goon stepped forward.
"What are you talking about, we're all just going to the bathroom and-"
Plucks first 20 bullets got fanned out his guns and into two of the goons most lower groins. they screamed and died from some reason.
"I said shit the muck up!! Goddamit.... There's only seven or eight of you... and there's.... there's... hold on a sec."
Everyone shuffled nervously for twelve minutes and some of the men who had to use the bathroom pissed themselves.
Zero Loyale burst into the saloon carrying an oversized axe covered in virgin horse blood, not the axe his body.
"Two of us!!" He shouted before leaping ten feet across the room and slicing off the head of a very handsome thug rather sloppily but on purpose cuz he liked hurting people. a lot. he had a crooked boner. it wasn't usually crooked.
The bartender started becoming perturbed as another one of his dusty customers was gunned down so hard his chest fell into his ass.
Pluck reloaded in less than 2 seconds and emptied twenty more hot pieces of lead, some of the them were cold but they still went into the spine of the one dude who already had back problems. noice.
the barkeep slammed down the mug and hopped on the bar.
"hey! stop that!" he screeched so loud all the bottles of bourbon and fermented body parts exploded.
Zero tripped over a couple of dismembered kneecaps and headtops before raising his heavy axe into the air and chopping the entire bar Twain.
Twain.
Roscoe appeared at the top of the steps. he stood eight feet tall and weighed about 53 stone. his breathe smelled well horrid though. He wiped the toilet water off his face with a rigged handkerchief he stole from some dude he saw performing self masterbation under a rickity but freshly painted archway.
"Did someone say me name?! cuz that's bad news. For them."
chapter two
Tidbits steered the 40 horse wagon while Piper rode shotgun on top. They were traveling at a decent 600 miles per hour but time was of the essence.
"use the whips to physically hurt the horses or I'll shoot three of em for being lazy Tidbits! we are in a rush!" Piper said.
Tidbits offered a grunt before cracking his razor sharp whips against the horses sexy and muscular backs.
Bridewell stuck his head from the cabin.
Bridewell screamed "I think I'm starting to miss prison again. are we there yet or not?!
© All Rights Reserved
Pluck the Kid entered the saloon half naked, two ten shooters in hand.
"where the duck is Roscoe?!" he whispered. his throat hurt because the last whore he was with tasted funny.
the bartender, Squabbles Abraham Jr. stopped wiping out the pissy mug with his poopy rag.
"... and who the dick be you? We don't take kindly two strangers carrying too pistols.. with their nuts hanging out.. asking questions about guys who are upstairs, and looking angry. round here. boy. I mean bitch." he grimaced in a lovely deep voice.
the saloon was called the Wet Hole. it was a watering thing with tables and a bar in it frequented by the most heinous, debauchery peddling, flim flamin, gun crazy, rootinest, tootinest varmits this side of your mother.
currently there were ten of em all cheating each other at solitaire and they were all packing sawed off shotguns. and they all stood up.
Pluck smirked.
"Shoulda answered my question, because -"
"I did. I answered you que-"
"Shut it barkeep ass motherfucker. you stupid motherfucker. You all made a mistake. Cause there's -"
The tallest and smelliest goon stepped forward.
"What are you talking about, we're all just going to the bathroom and-"
Plucks first 20 bullets got fanned out his guns and into two of the goons most lower groins. they screamed and died from some reason.
"I said shit the muck up!! Goddamit.... There's only seven or eight of you... and there's.... there's... hold on a sec."
Everyone shuffled nervously for twelve minutes and some of the men who had to use the bathroom pissed themselves.
Zero Loyale burst into the saloon carrying an oversized axe covered in virgin horse blood, not the axe his body.
"Two of us!!" He shouted before leaping ten feet across the room and slicing off the head of a very handsome thug rather sloppily but on purpose cuz he liked hurting people. a lot. he had a crooked boner. it wasn't usually crooked.
The bartender started becoming perturbed as another one of his dusty customers was gunned down so hard his chest fell into his ass.
Pluck reloaded in less than 2 seconds and emptied twenty more hot pieces of lead, some of the them were cold but they still went into the spine of the one dude who already had back problems. noice.
the barkeep slammed down the mug and hopped on the bar.
"hey! stop that!" he screeched so loud all the bottles of bourbon and fermented body parts exploded.
Zero tripped over a couple of dismembered kneecaps and headtops before raising his heavy axe into the air and chopping the entire bar Twain.
Twain.
Roscoe appeared at the top of the steps. he stood eight feet tall and weighed about 53 stone. his breathe smelled well horrid though. He wiped the toilet water off his face with a rigged handkerchief he stole from some dude he saw performing self masterbation under a rickity but freshly painted archway.
"Did someone say me name?! cuz that's bad news. For them."
chapter two
Tidbits steered the 40 horse wagon while Piper rode shotgun on top. They were traveling at a decent 600 miles per hour but time was of the essence.
"use the whips to physically hurt the horses or I'll shoot three of em for being lazy Tidbits! we are in a rush!" Piper said.
Tidbits offered a grunt before cracking his razor sharp whips against the horses sexy and muscular backs.
Bridewell stuck his head from the cabin.
Bridewell screamed "I think I'm starting to miss prison again. are we there yet or not?!
© All Rights Reserved
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