Teardrop Fiction

Things that don't fit anywhere else...

Postby Tumbleweed_Tex » Wed Jun 30, 2010 7:38 am

Almost every day, someone says...you look just like Sam Elliot.

Rarely does someone say...wow, Sam Elliot looks just like you.

And absolutley never does anyone even consider that I might actually be Sam Elliot.

I guess it really doesn't matter, because no matter who I am, I've always had a thing for Katherine Ross, and one of us married her.

:duh
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Postby Tumbleweed_Tex » Wed Jun 30, 2010 8:02 am

DEMONS AND TWO-LEGGED PONIES

Every aspiring cowboy has a trusty steed.

Mine was not a thoroughbred stallion, she was a mustang pony. Put together lovingly from discarded parts salvaged from the county dump, the only thing symmetrical about the entire contraption was the fact that the tires and wheels were the same size. Devoid of front or rear fenders, and completely lacking any sort of kickstand, I was the only cowboy in town who laid his steed on her side under the hitching post. And as a result of often hasty dismounts, the handle bars were never quite straight, and the front wheel had an ever-so-slight warped wobble. Still, I loved that pony. I called her Belle.

Fido was old man Merryweather's big red demon-dog...who not only hated little cowboys, but despised bicycle ponies to boot...especially those ponies rigged with a playing card rattling against the spokes for the primary purpose of pissing him off.

Fido lived at the top of The Hill...the longest, steepest incline in three counties. For a miniature cowboy who had yet to fill out enough to keep his jeans up without a belt, riding Belle up The Hill was impossible. Better to walk her up, get as close to the Merryweather place as possible before being spotted, then whirl Belle around, do a galloping mount just like Roy Rogers, and ride the brake on the long descent, leaving Fido to eat the dusty trail.

And so it was that we find our hero, young Mini-Tex, dismounted…cautiously creeping to the very summit of the mountain... ever vigilant, eyes focused on yon horizon. Suddenly, bursting from the dark shadows under the porch, comes the demon outlaw...teeth bared, ears flattened in pursuit.

The young cowboy hastily spins his trusty mount, heads her downhill, takes a few running steps, places his foot in the stirrup, and smoothly swings himself into the saddle. Together as one, they gather speed quickly, and a fleeting glance over his shoulder confirms the villain is steadily losing ground, and is no longer a threat. Galloping...faster and faster towards the safety of the prairie.

Life teaches lessons on a variety of subjects, and that day, life’s topic of discussion was a cross between mechanical engineering and physics. Namely, bicycle brakes are rendered useless when the drive chain comes off the sprockets during the mount...and gravity causes an ever-increasing velocity upon all objects, including miniature cowboys and two-legged Mustang ponies.

At about 35 miles per hour, I thought I could handle her...at 47, I wasn't so sure. At 56, the front wheel began to wobble and vibrate. At 63, the handlebars became impossible to hold. Somewhere between 67 and 71, Belle and I left the highway and took to the ditch, marveling that the tender young ragweeds, barely knee-high, felt like rifle bullets against my shins.

I remember seeing the old tire, but I honestly don't remember hitting it. I remember looking down at the ground from a really cool vantage point I had never before experienced. I remember the smell of the thick branches of the cedar tree, but I don't remember the details of how I ended up back on the ground. And I vividly remember the face of the demon-dog above mine, and how, unable to move, I succumbed to the violent, slobbering tongue-bath, his wagging tail pounding mercilessly against my bruised legs.

A week later, I had to put Belle down...both of her legs were broken. A quiet, heartfelt goodbye...a single bullet...and a tearful tumble back onto the scrapheap.

Fido and I hung out together a lot after that...after all...every famous cowboy has a dog.

Tex
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Postby Cliffmeister2000 » Wed Jun 30, 2010 8:15 am

Best one yet! (probably because it is fresh in my mind). :thumbsup:
God Bless

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Postby steve smoot » Wed Jun 30, 2010 11:05 am

Yea, I think we have all been there...loved that story...you should publish these... :thumbsup:
I am not a complete idiot, some parts are missing...
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Postby Ratkity » Wed Jun 30, 2010 11:42 am

*Sits down on the floor at rap attention*

Pluuuuuueze Uncle Tex, tell us another one!

*blinks big brown eyes and smiles pretty*


Hugs,
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Tumbleweed Tex

Postby queeniejeanne » Wed Jun 30, 2010 12:01 pm

OH MY! Such summer time fun and entertainment could never have happened before this pencil pushing cowboy came into all of our lives.
Do we sit enthralled at his feet in our written world? Yes, comes the answer....Yes, we want more......
HEY a tiny trailer. Whatever it takes.
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Postby Tumbleweed_Tex » Wed Jun 30, 2010 2:04 pm

I hope everyone realizes...you are more than welcome to post YOUR stories, tall tales, even poetry in here.

In fact...I DARE YOU. :o :o :o
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Postby Tumbleweed_Tex » Wed Jun 30, 2010 2:06 pm

FAME

When I entered first grade, I remember how excited I was. No more hiding from Granny-Tex under the house, no more jail food, and no more parole hearings with municipal judges shaking their fingers in my face. School…the ultimate sanctuary…I mean…how could a cowboy possibly get into any trouble at school? Nope…I had already decided, I was gonna be famous instead.

By Friday of the first week, we had the lunch routine down pat. The bell would sound at 11:30 sharp, and we would all line up beside the windows in preparation for “the walkâ€
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Postby queeniejeanne » Wed Jun 30, 2010 3:23 pm

Many thanks for the offer to write stories along side you Tex, but alas your talents would only do to make mine laughable at best! (not intended either).
Queenie
HEY a tiny trailer. Whatever it takes.
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Postby Miriam C. » Wed Jun 30, 2010 3:35 pm

:lol: You are too young to be Sam Elliot and there is only one, as all lil cowgirls know :) but your stories are really special!

There are some children's books to be written. I can tell you flat out any teacher reading these to young students would surely smile or laugh the rest of the day.......
“Forgiveness means giving up all hope for a better past.â€
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Postby Tumbleweed_Tex » Wed Jun 30, 2010 3:41 pm

queeniejeanne wrote:Many thanks for the offer to write stories along side you Tex, but alas your talents would only do to make mine laughable at best! (not intended either).
Queenie


While I may be accused of borderline name callin' here, what you're saying just ain’t true. First, this isn’t a contest. Second, I’ve seen your posts, and you are…well-armed in the fluency department. And third, you now have no excuse, Ma’am, other than the…um…chicken factor.

Thus, I repeat my dare…and if you like, I’ll have everyone else in here dare you too…

You best get busy writin’, huh?

:) :) :)
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Postby Tumbleweed_Tex » Wed Jun 30, 2010 4:57 pm

Since I’m leaving for a holiday camping trip at first light, and won’t be back until Tuesday…here’s one for the weekend…

AFTERGLOW

Helping maintain a busy campground might not seem like an overwhelming chore to some folks, but when you consider that the Lucky Dozen has over a hundred spots, all with full hookups, plus the fact that it’s almost always three quarters full, you’ll understand that something is always wearing out, or someone is always breakin’ somethin’.

When Renee offered to trade me a semi-permanent spot beside the office for a little cowboyish repairism, I had no idea how busy I would be. Campground livin’ is supposed to be relaxin’…but between cleaning windows, mowin’ grass, emptyin’ trash cans, shooshin’ revelers, and chasin’ off vandalizers, the only reprieve seems to come when it rains.

So last night, just as the rain began to come down in earnest, I had just got good and comfortable when a single gust of wind popped a smallish branch out of the big oak outside the office. I heard it scrape down the roof of the building, but there was a significant pause before it settled to the ground, and I knew it had caught and hung on something on it's way down.

A half hour later, I almost jumped through the vent fan when someone suddenly began beating on my little door. Parting the curtain, I saw it was Renee...and she was soaked to the skin. Not only is she cute, but for a woman in her mid-forties…well…lets just say she still handles the rain really well.

(Guys, she’s got the finest set of...dimples and...um...where was I?)

Oh yeah...she began yelling something about the phone being dead.

And so, we find our hero perched on the next-to-top rung of a twenty-foot aluminum extension ladder, driving rain running down his collar, a big flashlight in one hand and a screwdriver in the other, industriously attempting to remove the little plastic cover which reads...Telephone Company Connection – DO NOT REMOVE.

Before long, the broken wire, which feeds the box from the nearby pole, is held securely between his teeth. (gimme a break folks...a cowboy only has two hands...)

Telephone wires are very, very small. The red one looked fine, but the green one had broken off at the screw-head in the box...the box with the cover...the cover which reads...oh never mind.

Task at hand...peel about a half-inch of plastic insulation from the end of the little green wire. Think of knife in pocket. Slip screwdriver in back pocket, which frees up one hand. Try for a full minute to get knife out of right front pocket with left hand. Shake water off nose. Have fantastically brilliant idea...slip green wire between teeth, gauge the proper length with the tongue, bite carefully, pull wire...piece of cake…instant wire-stripper.

At 9:17 pm last night, somewhere out there in the world, an innocent finger pushed all the right buttons, in the right order, and had the campground phone been working properly, 24 volts of DC current would have caused it's ringer to do what telephone ringers normally do. But alas, the phone wasn’t working, because I had one of the freakin’ wires in my mouth.

I didn't answer on the first ring...I was admiring the pretty, multi-colored 3D stars bursting inside my head. Nor did I answer on the second ring...I was too busy learning to fly through the rainy night. The third ring was cut short by my abrupt landing, which apparently served to only temporarily loosen the wire from between my locked teeth.

(Did you know that most callers give up by the fifth ring?)

Today is not a good day. A swollen tongue is no fun, and I have a really impressive headache, courtesy of that big rock beside the walkway. My best flashlight is broken...and I refuse to discuss the details of the puncture wound from the screwdriver...it's kinda personal. I suppose I need to call the phone company sometime today, and have them send someone out to fix that broken wire.

Scratch that...I just remembered...the stupid phone doesn't work.

Tex

Ya'll have a happy and safe holiday...
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Postby godskid » Wed Jun 30, 2010 6:16 pm

OOOUuuuucch!

We could call the phone company for ya .....
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Postby Cliffmeister2000 » Wed Jun 30, 2010 6:33 pm

Tex, have a great time! It's next weekend for me! Off to IRGIII! (or is it IRG3?)
God Bless

Cliff

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Postby swissarmygirl » Thu Jul 01, 2010 10:47 am

Tumbleweed_Tex wrote:I didn't answer on the first ring...I was admiring the pretty, multi-colored 3D stars bursting inside my head. Nor did I answer on the second ring...I was too busy learning to fly through the rainy night. The third ring was cut short by my abrupt landing, which apparently served to only temporarily loosen the wire from between my locked teeth.

(Did you know that most callers give up by the fifth ring?)


:lol: :rofl:
Tex, your stories are a hoot!!!
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