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Dashing Through The Snow

Posted on November 27, 2015 at 9:25 AM Comments comments (0)

Chapter 2 – Children, Go Where I Send Thee

 


There are times in life when, as a woman, you just know you have to take control of the situation. This was one of those times. If Dash saw the name of the place we were going, I would never hear the end of it. There was no way around it; I simply had to hold the reins and ignore whatever he said. It would be a challenge.


“You have the tickets?”


“Yes, Dash.” Of course I had the tickets. You never give anything important to Dash, unless you want it lost or wrecked.


“How long do we have to wait for our plane?”


I wanted to correct him – planes – but there would be time for that later. “We board in half an hour. Sit down and be quiet.”


I had a good feeling about this trip. We had gotten out of Cuba and into Canada with virtually no issues. We had to endure no questioning, no cavity searches, no nothing. It was sort of strange, and considering the hunky customs guy, a bit disappointing, not that I didn’t try to get his attention.


“We’re flying across the continent the day before Thanksgiving? Are you insane?”


It was at least the hundredth time he had bitched about the date, as if I could have done something to change it.


“Yes, we are flying the day before Thanksgiving. Deal with it. They don’t celebrate Thanksgiving in Cuba or Canada, so quit your bitching.” I didn’t have the heart to point out that we would be flying on Thanksgiving Day as well. Dash needed to be spoon-fed shit like this, especially if we were in public.


Dash stopped in his tracks. “They don’t celebrate Thanksgiving in Canada? What the hell is wrong with them?”


I put on my patient face. “They do celebrate it, but about six weeks earlier. Now, shut up and sit down.”


He dropped to the seat, stared out the window, then glared at me once more. “This place is insane!”


“It’s Toronto airport. What did you think? They would roll out the red carpet for you? Maybe they should have held back everyone else, like you were some sort of god damned royalty?”


“We’re flying to Alaska from here?”


Damn. There it was; the first question that I really didn’t want to answer. “You need some coffee? You should probably use the washroom. I don’t want to have you bouncing up and down on the plane.”


“If you don’t want me to have to pee on the plane, why do you want me to have coffee?”


He was starting to piss me off. I forced a kind, understanding smile. “I thought perhaps you were thirsty.”


He sat quietly, content for a moment with the answer.


“Hey!” He spun around on the seat to face me. “You want me to go to the bathroom now because there aren’t any bathrooms on the plane, right?”


“Of course there are bathrooms on the plane.” This plane anyway. I wasn’t sure if that would be the case for the rest of the trip. “Just shut up and sit there.”


I opened a magazine, hoping he would get the message that I was done talking. He fiddled his fingers, shifted in his seat, shuffled his feet on the carpet. I knew he wouldn’t be quiet for long.


“So we’re going to Alaska from here.”


Eventually, but I couldn’t tell him that. “We’ll be there before you know it.”


“Air Canada flight one-twenty-one to Winnipeg is preparing to board.”


Dash looked up to the ceiling. He probably thought the woman was sitting in the rafters making the announcement.


I stood. “That’s us.”


“No, it isn’t.”


“Yes, it absolutely is.”


He shook his head. “No, it can’t be, because we’re going to Alaska, not Winter... Winter...”


“Winnipeg. Winnipeg is on the way to Alaska. Let’s go.”

*

***

*****

||


Winnipeg? Who the hell came up with these Canadian names? Why the hell were we going there? I grabbed my bag and followed Bambi, but this was not going to be the end of the discussion.


Thankfully we were through customs. Of course, Bambi had to bat her eyelashes and shake her barely-contained boobs at the customs agent. I was a bit worried; I’d seen on TV what border cops do to people – and they enjoy every minute of being able to inflict pain on people. I couldn’t blame them for that, but there was something distasteful about being on the receiving end of that. She was putting the moves on him, and I was sure they would pull us over and check through everything. Then again, if I had Bambi shaking her booty at me, I would absolutely run in the opposite direction. Too bad I hadn’t thought of that before.


I hate airplanes. They are small, crowded, and always there is some grubby-faced kid teething right beside you, where you can’t escape the noise... or you have the kid beside you who pukes every time the plane moves. Planes are crawling with germs and weirdoes. Who the hell needs that!


“I get the window!”


The bitch almost body-checked me right onto the god damned wing as she shoved past me. I tried to find my seat belt, but had to push several layers of her blubber out of the way.


“We’ll be lucky if no one throws a god damned harpoon into you while we’re in Alaska.”


She glared at me. “They don’t whale hunt anymore. It’s illegal.”


“Sure it is... until they have the perfect excuse – the whale was attacking them at the salad bar!”


Her elbow slammed into my ribs. I should have known to keep my mouth shut.


She turned to face the window, watching the baggage getting thrown into the cargo hold. I took the opportunity to mime what a whale walking through the restaurant to the salad bar might look like, puffing out my cheeks, and using my arms to emphasize my whale-ish size. The kid in the seat across from us giggled. Bambi didn’t. Her elbow slammed into me again.


She was starting to settle, sorting through her bags, shoving one under the seat in front of her, one under the seat in front of me, almost smothering me as she leaned over. I was pretty sure her nipples were polishing the toes of my shoes as she reached to the floor. My god, she was a lot of woman... and not in the good way country music singers croon about.


“Fasten your seatbelts. We’re getting ready to taxi.”


I couldn’t see the woman speaking. She sounded hot.


“The weather in Winnipeg is a chilly minus nineteen, with a wind chill of minus twenty-seven.”


I leaned closer to Bambi. “What the hell is a wind chill?”


“Shhh.”


“We’ll be stopped there for thirty minutes then will be heading on to Calgary. Those passengers continuing on are asked to stay in your seats while we reload the plane.”


I turned to Bambi. “Calgary?”


She smiled that patient saint-like smile that made me want to shove my fist down her throat. “Well, yes... we don’t need to worry. We can just stay in our seats.”


“Winnipeg to Calgary?”


She smiled again.


“Then Calgary to...? Alaska?”


She nodded. She looked a bit too happy with that.


“Where in Alaska?”


She fidgeted, chewing on her bottom lip. “Well, you see, we need to go from Calgary to Anchorage...”


“And your uncle Flockington lived in Anchorage?” I knew the answer before I asked, but I needed to hear it from her.


“Well, no, not exactly. Once we get to Anchorage tomorrow morning...”


“Tomorrow morning?” I didn’t yell. I spat the question between very clenched teeth.


“Yeah, well, by the time we get to Winnipeg, then to Calgary, have a little stop-over, change planes, and get to Anchorage, it will be tomorrow morning...” She was babbling now. She knew how pissed off I was. “But it will be early tomorrow morning.”


“How early?”


“Umm, well, very early.” She batted her eyelashes again. That never has worked on me. I let my eyes repeat the question. “Three in the morning.”


I waited. I knew there was more.


“Then, we wait at the airport for a bit, and get our flight to Uncle Flockington’s home.”


“A bit?”


She sighed. “Okay, about eleven hours later, we get on our final flight.”


“To where?”


She smiled. I shuddered.


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Dashing Through The Snow

Posted on November 26, 2015 at 9:20 AM Comments comments (0)

As we approach the holiday season, we wanted to give you a little 'present' (bear in mind we use that word with creative license ;) ;). Our very own Bambi rides again in a new release coming out this Christmas season -- a Christmas story we can quite confidently say is like nothing you've seen before. There will be no sugar-laden miracle at the end. There will be no adorable children going through that typical Christmas angst. There is no deeply moving message of hope and inspiration. None of those things would do justice to a Bambi and Dash story. What it is, hopefully, is a chance for you to sit back for a chapter a day, unwind from your stresses of the day, and have a little chuckle at their expense. Our gift to you -- Dashiel Waitflaker: Dash-ing Through The Snow. 

 

 

Chapter 1 – Sweet Little Jesus Boy

 


I snapped my fingers. Juan didn’t need to ask. He showed up less than a minute later with another piña colada on a tray.


“Meez Bambi.” Juan bowed as he presented the tray to me.


I took the drink then leaned forward. “It’s getting a bit hot here, Juan.” I waggled my eyebrows at him. He knew what I wanted.


Without complaint, he grabbed the suntan lotion and squirted some into his hands. He then started to rub it into my skin. I growled at him, my inner cougar surfacing again. He was the best part of Cuba – my own fecking cabana boy. He was perfect – toned, tanned, dark-eyed... and everything he did pissed off Dash. I turned my head to smile at Dash, watching his blood pressure rise.


“Give the poor bastard a break.” Dash glared at me. “No one deserves that sort of torture.”


“Shut the hell up, Dash.” I turned and gave Juan my most provocative smile. “Thank you, Juan.”


Juan wiped his hands on a towel before picking up my empty glass and setting it on his tray. “Meez Bambi.” He bowed again then strode off. I watched as he disappeared into the hotel. My god, he had one fine ass on him.


“Quit drooling. For god’s sake, can’t you show even a hint of class?”


“Shut up, Dash.”


“What the hell did that kid ever do to you? Rubbing your back is cruel and unusual punishment by any standards.”


“Shut the hell up, Dash. Mind your own damned business. Juan is here to take care of me, so screw off.”


“His name is Jesus, for Christ sake! Gee-zuz. Not Juan!”


Dash was starting to annoy me – again. “It’s Hay-sus, asshole, but I was raised Catholic, so I can’t say that! It’s like... blasphemy or something. He’s getting damned good pay. He can live with whatever I want to call him.”


“God damned cabana banana.”


“Boy! Cabana boy!” I settled back on my lounger then took a calming breath. “God damned moron! That’s what you are.” I stated it as a quiet fact. “I think I’m starting to burn. My skin is so sensitive now, after you let it burn so badly on that damned boat.”


I didn’t need to look. I could feel his glare.


Dash opened his mouth to yell at me but stopped when Juan showed up with my phone on his tray. I waggled my eyebrows at him again – an unmistakable ‘come hither’ look – then flicked the hem of his trunks with my fingertips. He bent over, lowering the tray to me.


“Meez Bambi.”


“Why, thank you, Juan.” One hand reached for the phone. The one that had reached for his trunks snaked inside the material, sliding up his thigh. I shuddered at the potential hidden by that material.


Dash glared again. Juan straightened and backed away, taking the tray with him. I lifted the phone to my ear.


*

***

****

||


You could see that poor bugger cringe every time he had to come near Bambi. Who could blame him? He must have done something to totally piss off the king or emperor or whatever the hell that Castrol guy was. I had to say, though, when you didn’t have to look at the slums and scruffy poor people, he did have a pretty nice country. What the hell did I care? It wasn’t costing me a damned thing – thanks to Bambi and her god damned freakish luck.


Then again, watching Jesus putting that suntan oil on the fat bitch was sort of like watching someone oiling up warm lard. The poor bastardo will suffer flashbacks from that for the rest of his god damned life.


She still hadn’t noticed that he only spoke two words to her. I think he was afraid to say more, that with his poor grasp of the language, and Bambi’s eternally overcharged hormones, he might say something that would only lead to disaster. The last bugger she did that to died from it, but let’s not go there! Truth to be told, though, Jesus was one fine specimen – not a lot unlike me in my prime, which would be up until the day I met Bambi.


We had been in Cuba for only a few days. Surprisingly, our pictures weren’t hanging on the post office wall yet, but I knew it was just a matter of time. That stupid Bambi would find a way to land us in the middle of a disaster, and we would be here, in fecking Cuba, where no one would be able to help us. I would probably end up serving a life sentence of having to run oil all over some other hairy moron – like I hadn’t already served that sentence since Bambi and I were married in god damned Saskatchewan.


“Oh Dash!”


I didn’t turn. She said it in that long drawn out Mary Tyler Moore way – ohhhhhhh Daaaaashhhhhh. It was a harbinger. I just knew it.


“My uncle Flockington has died.” Bambi sobbed and sniffled as she spoke.


“Flockington? What the hell is a flockington?”


Her palm smacked the back of my head. “My uncle! I just told you that.”


I didn’t point out that she had miraculously stopped crying in order to correct me. Alligator tears – that’s all the bitch was capable of. I played along. “Oh no, your uncle Flockington is dead? What happened... and why the hell should we care?” I dodged the swinging palm this time.


“He was my favorite uncle.”


“I didn’t know you had an uncle.”


“Of course I do.”


“So why the hell haven’t I heard about him before?”


She glared at me. She did that whenever I asked something that required logic. “I haven’t seen him for a while.”


“No shit.”


“He was sort of... eccentric.”


He was a relative of Bambi’s and she thought he was eccentric? Yeah, we were talking either very normal, or he was totally bat crap crazy. My money was on the second option. “Lemme guess. You want to go to the funeral, right?”


“Well...” She hesitated. It was time to prepare. “No, not exactly. The funeral was a couple weeks ago.”


“A couple weeks ago?” Now she was pissing me off. “So what the hell do we care about Uncle Flockington being dead then?”


She smiled. It was that piggy-eyed shit-eating smile that I hated. “I’m in his will. I have to go to the reading.”


“His will?” Holy crap! Someone actually had an uncle who died leaving an estate to a niece, and it had to be Bambi.


“Yeah.” There was no trace of sorrow in her voice now. “So get your ass up out of that chair, get some clothes on, get packed and let’s burn some rubber.”


I stood, but made sure she would see I wasn’t happy about it. “Fine. Where the hell did Uncle Flockington live?” Bambi mumbled an answer. I had no idea what she said, but fully understood that she intended it that way. I wasn’t going to budge. “Bambi, where the hell are we going?” I crossed my arms for emphasis.


“North... to the mainland.”


I raised a brow. “Could you be a bit more specific?”


“North!” She barked it at me.


“Jesus, not Canada!”


Jesus appeared at my side with a bottle of beer. “Meester Dash.”


“Jesus Christ, not you! The other Jesus!”


“No, not Canada.”


“Where in the name of all that is fecking holy are we going?”


“Alaska, okay? We’re going to Alaska... but he was totally loaded; rolling in dough. We have to go. We’ll be there for one day. That’s all! Then we can get the hell out of there and it will be easy street for the rest of our lives.”


I didn’t believe it, not for one minute, but I also knew there was no point arguing. We were heading to Alaska.



Bambi Two -- Redux (that rhymes)

Posted on February 15, 2013 at 2:10 AM Comments comments (0)

As promised, we offer the first chapter of Bambi's second adventure,

DASHIEL WAITFLAKER: A FUNNY THING HAPPENED ON THE WAY TO THE OPERA
by AmandaLyn Donogal


1 – Making Overtures


One million dollars sure as hell didn’t go as far as it used to, even in this asshole town in nowhere Mexico. I looked around the joint. Damn, it still took my breath away, a thing of absolute beauty out here in taco hell.

“Hey, bobo, either order another chela or pay for some chaca chaca with me, but you aren’t gonna be taking up space in my joint without paying something for the damned privilege.”

The guy was a pejaro. The scruffy bastard had been sitting at that table for two hours now and had ordered one beer. He gave me that stoned look that he always had.

“Hey, Pepe, make up your muy pequeño mind before I have to get Dash or Antonio in here. You don’t want to chaca chaca with them!”

I had the gift of tongues. Who the hell would have guessed that, but these Mexican señors fell all over themselves for me. They couldn’t stay away from the joint. Who could? It had a special class. Damned good thing too, because it was about all that was left of the loot we had won.

Then... he walked in. He -- this long, lush dark piece of hairy manhood that set my juices a-flowing and my face a-glowing. Holy crap! Dark eyes, big hat brim pulled close to them so they were barely visible, and he was bow-legged! Yes! A woman of my plentiful attributes loves a man with bowed legs!

I pulled down the top of my blouse. There’s nothing wrong with letting the girls breathe a little in the heat of the day. Besides, the name on the door is Bambi’s Pink Pagoda Burrito Barn and Beer House, so I can damned well wear what I want. “Hey, Guapo, what can I get you?”

He stared at me for a moment, drinking in my beauty. I fluffed the ends of my hair. Hell, you gotta understand that my time was running out. If I wanted there to be some little Bambini’s running around, I needed to get my ass in gear. I sashayed a bit closer to him, turned on the charm. This one would probably make damned fine babies... not like the ones I imagined damned Dash would cause. Talk about a god damned train wreck that would be, not that it mattered. He and I were through, almost -- as soon as we could find a bloody lawyer who could speak English to help settle things. That asshole Dash had pissed through our money. There was no way he was getting the Pink Pagoda.

“You want tequila? Chela? Some boom-boom with Bambi?”

He was putty in my hands. I could feel him melting right on the spot.

He stepped back, looked me up and down then sat on the nearest chair. There was no doubt about it. I moved closer, let him smell my perfume. Well, truth be told, I couldn’t get perfume around here, but rubbing some of that tobasco sauce under my ear lobes had the men falling at my feet. It also helped when there was a shortage of water for a shower, and that happened more than once.

I leaned over, let my blouse fall open as I dropped one of those stupid cardboard drink coasters on the table in front of him. “You got a name, Guapo?” I jiggled a bit so he would notice them.

He chewed on the end of one of those small cigar things... too small for a cigar and too brown for a cigarette... I used to call them shitarettes because that was what they looked like. He made it look just fine, though. His eyes narrowed. “Rum.”

He pronounced it ‘rhoom’. He was so damned cute.

“I can get you a ‘rhoom’, Guapo. How about a rhoom with this hunk of burning Bambi?” I smiled at him and winked.

“Rum.”

Okay. He was gonna be a pajaro, too? Fine. I got him a glass of rum -- passed it underneath Jeb’s perch just in case the damned bird would take a crap and add some seasoning. Of course, that useless buzzard just ignored me.

I stood back at his table, started to put the glass down, then stopped and stood straight. “No name, no rum.”

He glared. Holy crap! He had a gold tooth that I could just catch a glimpse of when he pretended to smile. “Jose.”

“Fine, Jose.” I almost threw the drink at him. Instead, I reached right in front of his ugly face and slammed it on the table. The hairs from his moustache tickled the back of my arm. “Here’s your damned rum. Drink it and get the hell out of my joint.” I held out my hand for the money. He dropped some cash in my palm. I didn’t bother to thank him. I knew there would be no tip in there. There never was. Well, almost never. There was that one time, after Maria got pissed off with her old man and came in here for a drink to calm her nerves. She dropped a tip into my hand... told me her old man wouldn’t need it any more. Of course, she never made it as famous as old Lorena what’s-her-nuts did, but what the hell? That’s Mexico for you.

I turned away from the table, headed back to the bar. He was watching me. Holy crap! He had it bad for me. Bambi was gonna get lucky tonight.


~*~



That stupid bitch I was married to never heard me come in. Probably she has so much of that greasy white cholesterol crap oozing out of her arteries and spilling into her alviolies or excrusion tubes or whatever the hell those little pipes in her ears are. I never bothered paying attention to that crap in school. I knew the damned tubes were there, and hers had to be plugged because she never heard a god damned thing. That was good enough for me.

I was behind her stupid beaded curtain. Of course, the thing was pink... everything was pink. She had that fringe shit with the little hairy balls hanging down on everything... the bar stools, the bar, the window sills. It was a blessing she didn’t know her ass from a hole in the ground when it came to cleaning; the windows were so filthy no one could see what a god damned pink nightmare they were walking into, and when you walked in here? It reeked of that horse piss smell of marijuana and stale beer. All the people who came in here smoked that crap. It was probably the only way to survive seeing god damned Bambi. Maybe I should try it? It wouldn’t be hard to score a little weed around here.

Still, she had a pretty good business going. It was the only place to get something to eat for miles around, and Antonio made a killer burrito, so people did come back. It sure as hell wasn’t for the ambience or Bambi’s bubbly god damned personality.

She leaned over, shaking her massive, disgusting tits at that guy. She thought she was god damned Charo down here, shaking and wiggling and trying to roll her Rs. Her tongue was too fat for that and she ended up sounding like Sylvester. What a stupid god damned cat Sylvester was. Every time I watched that cartoon, I was praying he would catch that damned shithead Tweetie bird then eat the annoying yellow piece of crap.

“When the hell did you get in here?”

I love you too, Darling. “None of your damned business. I still own half the business. I have to make sure you aren’t scaring away all the customers.” I never took any of her crap.

She pushed past me. “Antonio, make a couple burritos for Jose.”

There it was – nails on a blackboard. “Why in the name of all that is holy does everyone have a name that starts with a god damned J?” It was true. We never had a Fred or a Mike walk in the door. “And when the hell are you gonna just say their names normal instead of sounding like some stupid cat horking up a hairball? HHHosaay? What the hell is that?”

“Get yer sad skinny ass outta my way, Sugar britches. I got work to do and a hot man waiting to get at it with me.”

Apparently the wacky tobacky smell had fried what was left of a brain in that fat head.

“Right. Good luck with that.” I looked at Jose again. Jesus Christ, he was a mean looking son of a bitch, and for me to see that was something. They didn’t come much meaner or meaner looking than me.

Antonio set the plate on the counter for serving. Bambi pulled down her top, let those damned saggy basketball boobs dangle a bit more and rolled up the waistband of her skirt to shorten it up, flashing a calf that was about the size of a normal man’s waist. Holy crap. This was not going to be good.

The New and Improved Bambi

Posted on February 14, 2013 at 10:20 AM Comments comments (0)

AmandaLyn Donogal's two Dashiel and Bambi books have be re-released, this time in 'family-friendly' versions. It's still the same Thelma and Louise ride, just without the Pulp Fiction flavor. We will give you a little taste of each book... but we're pretty sure once you start reading, you will want to know more. Tomorrow, we will show you the new face (and new insides) of Dashiel Waitflaker: A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Opera. Today, we offer...

DASHIEL WAITFLAKER: Deer Hunter -- redux

 

 

1 – THANK YOU FOR VISITING DOGPOUND


I was just outside Dogpound, a little shithole town between nowhere and the asshole of the earth, when I pulled over. The passenger door opened. Adolf braced his front paws on the headrest and barked his warning. I looked down and shook my head. “You getting your sorry ass up into this rig, or you just gonna stand there and let the cold air in?” He wanted a welcome, and that was just what he got. It was the best I was gonna give him.

Long skinny legs lifted him in. A mild Chinook wind would be enough to land the poor bugger on his ass. What the hell had I just opened my door to? Damn, when would I learn? I was just too damned kind and caring.

“There’s a towel behind the seat. Dry yourself off before you fog up the inside of my windshield. How the hell long you been standing out there?” I took my eyes off him long enough to check my mirror and put my truck in gear. “Damn, you are one sorry looking dude. Where the hell you going?”

“To the land of none-of-your-goddamned-business. Just drive.”

What the hell was this? I laughed. Finally, a guy with some guts – obviously a dumbass bastard, but he had guts. “Where the hell did ya get that voice? Must have been from the basement bin. Sounds like it comes from well beyond your ass.” It was one hell of a voice, deep and velvet, could probably melt butter but there was no way I was telling him that. Besides, I was immune to those sorts of charms, any sorts of charms, at least of the male persuasion. Men were bad news. It was simple as that. There wasn’t a good one among em; some of em just hid the bad better. This one was bad from the word go, and he made no attempt to hide that fact. I liked that in him.

He rubbed the towel over his head like he was scrubbing a shit-covered dog. His face was long and lean, like the rest of him. He was scarred, well worn, had obviously seen a lot of life. Adolf was still barking his damned head off. I tapped him on the nose. “Shut the hell up, Adolf. For god’s sake, I don’t think we need to worry about this one.” I flashed our new guest my best smile. “This long drink of water ain’t gonna try nothing. I could beat the crap outta him in two seconds. Don’t worry, though.” I reached back and scratched his teeny ears. “If it comes to that, you can have his nuts.”

I knew this asshole was taking inventory. His eyes wandered around the cab.

“I’m heading north for a bit, then east. Lemme know when you want out.” It might be sooner than he thought. The breakfast burrito I had in Cochrane was already rumbling around inside my guts, and there was no way the windows were being opened on my baby. Adolf hated driving with the windows open.

He had those eyes, those damned eyes that were… well… there was something different with them. What the hell color were they, anyways? There were barricades up in em, walls that must be hiding a lot of other shit. I was shifting my way up the damned hill. My baby hated doing that hard work, so I had to coax her along. She had a long run ahead of her and it never paid to piss her off this early in the trip. My palm massaged the damned stick. Come on baby… you can do it. Those damned eyes… they were taking in everything.

“So… since you’re such a goddamned gentleman, perhaps you would like to at least tell me what the hell I should call ya? You’re in my rig, after all.”

He stared at me – damned icicle darts. He didn’t answer.

“The dog’s Adolf. I’m Bambi.” There. Maybe that would make a difference, make him say something, open up the lines of friendly communication. I’m nothing if not a diplomat.

He scowled at the dog, turned to look at the trees flipping past, talked to his window. “Waitflaker. The name’s Waitflaker. Dashiel Waitflaker.”



~*~


Damn! I knew from the moment I opened that bloody door I was in for it. She was the ugliest bitch I ever set eyes on, and her voice? Goddamned blackboard nails would be easier to listen to. It took a minute for my eyes to focus with the change of the light of the cab – it was nothing more than a pink haze.

You ever get that thing where there is a yapping in your head, just an annoying continuous yapping? That’s what was happening to me, and it seemed to come from behind this broad’s head. Holy shit, she was big. Big enough to burn diesel and probably fart black. I already knew the last half of that sentiment to be true. I scrunched my noise but she probably didn’t notice. Sweet Jesus, it stank in there. I was cold and damned wet and wanted to get out of the bloody Canadian weather. I don’t know what the hell these people did to piss off the big man, but it must have been something bad to get this weather. As for the bitch behind the wheel? So much for the goody-goody Canadian reputation. God and I knew better. On the good side, her foul farts helped to warm me up faster. I had been around worse before; probably would be again.

She had jowls, for Christ sake… jowls that shook with the vibration of the goddamned truck. Damned jello jowls. And the yapping! I had to look twice to make sure. It was a goddamned pink poodle… pink! ...The size of a damned hamster, yapping its god-awful head off. One slap with my hand – that’s all it would take to shut the bloody thing up for good. What a useless piece of shit. And people think God has no sense of humor. He does, but it’s a sick and twisted one. Maybe that’s sorta why I felt at one with him. We understood each other.

I wished she would shut the hell up. Yaps as much as her dog does.

The sign said ‘Thank you for visiting Dogpound’. Dogpound? That was the name of the goddamned town? Sort of appropriate, when I thought about it. Pounded on a few there, could pound on this one, Bambi or, what the hell she call this mutt… Adolf? Jesus Christ. Ugly as shit, but I suppose she might be worth a pounding after all. Any port in a storm. She was making love to the damned stick shift. This woman ain’t had a piece for one hell of a long time, prolly never had a proper one. But, damn, she is one ugly piece of work, with an ass on her the size of the goddamned Montana sky. Hell, she probably has that tattooed across it in big glorious letters. And Bambi? What the hell were her parents on! Bullwinkle, maybe, but Bambi? The goddamned crap you see when you don’t have your gun.

“So what the hell you doing out here, Sugar-britches? It’s a long way from nowhere.”

Holy Christ, she was gonna be annoying. Just so long as she drove this frigging rig and got me the hell away from here. Look at my eyes and tell me if you really want to call me dumb ass names like Sugar-britches.

“Just seeing the world. Thought I would start with the asshole and work my way up.” That should shut her the hell up.

She laughed. “Seen one asshole, you seen em all. At least now you can’t be disappointed in whatever comes next.”

I wanted a smoke. I couldn’t stand puffing on a cigarette to be honest, but the ‘no smoking’ sign dangling over the window made me think it would be a good thing to start up. I might have something to give up for lent or whatever the hell you called it. God would like that. He knows, just like I do, that the whole giving-up thing was a riot, another load of papal bullshit meant to scare people into doing what the church wanted them to do. Maybe the pope and god were on to something after all.

I wished she would quit looking at me. She has little pig eyes, a little turned up at the tip nose. I’d seen that face before, a whole goddamned row of that face, little beady eyes and dirty snotty snouts looking up at me through the fence as I carried the slop bucket at old Uncle Farnsworth’s place. Now there was a piece of work. Drunken bastard, smacked around everyone but the bloody pigs. He loved em. Maybe he’d like Bambi. Hey, Uncle Farnsworth… you looking over here? Whatcha think of this one? Funny thing; no one ever found that bastard. He liked to smack stuff around – too much. I walked in one day while he was smacking Aunt Ivy upside the head then he turned to take a round outta me. Ivy was stunned, laying on the ground watching goddamned bluebirds dance around her empty bloody head. She never missed Farnsworth. No one did, except maybe the pigs. Nah… they didn’t either.

“There’s coffee behind the seat. Spare cup as well. If you’re pouring, my cup gets filled first. You can stay, but when we go to fuel up, it’s your job to make sure the coffee is on and the windows are clean. I need to have clean windows.” She thought for a moment. I could smell she apparently thought with her ass most of the time. There would be huge problems if she was gonna keep polluting the bloody air like that. “Oh, yeah, and don’t forget to make sure Adolf gets a run. There are little plastic baggies in the door pocket there. You gotta clean up after him.”

A WAMMiversary Poo-em from Bambi

Posted on April 25, 2012 at 8:10 AM Comments comments (2)

Well, I had a crazy story so I wrote a little book
'Bout the pink rig that I was driving and that skinny Dash, the schnook
We stopped one day to fuel up, grabbed a snack meant just for me
Bought a ticket that would win us a tremendous lottery…
Cold cash, money on the barrel, taking a payout. 

Well, I wrote my little book then I wondered what to do
Cause there dotted in the pages I had used a curse or two
But the agents wouldn’t look at it, they couldn’t give a damn
So I wrote up a great query and I sent it off to WAMM
Publishers, that is, Writers Amuse Me… they like cursing.

They took a chance on me, and they lived through their first year
Despite a sequel to my book, they still greet me with cheer
But now Dash and I are off again, a new continent to wreck
We’ll search for Russell Crowe, we’ll all wind up in heck
Cause this is a family rated poem… so I can’t say hell.. or anything else I normally would.

So I wish a happy birthday to the WAMM staff and their crew
It will be lots of fun as we drive together through year two
There might be bumps and curvy roads encountered as we go
We’ll just grind some gears and stomp the gas and stop signs we shall blow
On our way to success and fame and fortune. I added all those ands in just for Dave el Lobsterino… he fears me. If we need to sacrifice something to keep going for another year, I volunteer Dash.

Happy WAMMiversary, and many more to come. This stupid poem doesn't have a title. I was told never to write my own titles.

Love and all that crap,
Mandy Pandy Poo