Worst of Times

Worst of Times

A Story by barleygirl
"

trying to get serious, but it's not working . . .

"

Last time Ole Mercury went retrograde we saw all manner of unexplained phenomena spitting down on our backwoods hamlet. No doubt, Mercury is the manic b*****d cousin we wish we never got the nuisance of meeting.

One time, to the vexation of his steady squeeze Dandy, he mysteriously came down with the clap. Nobody can figure out how this could’ve happened, since his sexual escapades are so infrequent, and only happen when the Ponderosa comet streaks across midnight skies. It’s a religious thing with this guy. That’s the only time he’ll ceremoniously mount an amused llama in the neighbor’s pasture. Mercury does his dirty deed stark naked, right in front of the wild outdoors and ancient spirits, a sort of personal tent revival, except under the stars. Inviting all, he never gets any takers. He truly makes a spectacle of his ole boney butt, way out there in the knee-deep stickers, littered with deer ticks.

Everyone knows Fussy Freddy, the rancher running this flock. He’s persnickety about vaccinating his llamas against anything known to the health authorities as an issue in such precarious times. Hypodermic needles dot all the nearby dales like dead dragonflies gone fanatic. Evidence of Freddy’s terror is strewn about, implements precariously wool-dangling until finally dropping off into the dirt. No way ole Mercury caught the clap from these fastidious beasts. Besides, Freddy took out a restraining order on our mountain molester after his last llama romp.

Back a while, Ole Mercury was claiming he found a “tabula rasa” on the trendy Ruddy ledge, which overhangs the Muddy river. This mountain stream ran crystal clear, back in the day. But many young whippersnappers offed themselves here over the years, so the water twirls a shade ruddy these days. Ruddy ledge is where all the dweebs drop acid. Since there’s a high likelihood someone will want to fly, some adolescent skull is eventually heard skidding down the embankment, quenching Bone beach with a rosy splash. Upon this beach, Ole Mercury discovered his tabula rasa, so he claims.

At the time, he had a raging attack of the clap, with one hand steadily down his britches, rubbing like a rabid skunk swarmed by fleas. Whenever anyone gave him advice about anything, he would refer to his tabula rasa. We all knew it was an ordinary blank slab of river slate, but we humored him because he could be scary at times. After all, his geriatric genitals were tormenting him.

We all knew, sooner or later, the cure for clap would be displayed on his high-tech tabula rasa. Predictably, he bugles the cure for venereal disease. It’s mercury. Yeah, that shiny silver stuff spilling from broken thermometers, bouncing bubbles of viscous allure. This s**t is mortally toxic, but life with the clap is no life worth living, according to Randy Angora. That’s right, Randy Angora. His name before he swigged a pint of mercury and blew his bananas for two weeks straight. Geez! Nobody figured he’d survive. But he did.

These days he’s called Ole Mercury, his hard-earned moniker, along with his constant sheen, slightly silver. But this story is set back when he was still quite Randy and his ole lady Dandy didn’t appreciate him being so damn handsy. He fashioned his own business cards from torn-up envelopes around holiday-time so he could bag a holly sprig or pine bough as part of his decorative schtick. He scrawled “Randy, a Very Handsy Man” in whatever color crayon he happened to grab. There was no space for a phone number and he’s never had one. People just show up out of the blue in these parts, hollering their arrival, never knocking.

Not lost on Dandy, his handy clientele was always female. I say “was” because he lost his libido later on, after he turned silver. This story features the virile, non-silver Randy, still servicing his wholesome clientele wholeheartedly, doing whatever household odds-n-ends a young housewife might get a hankerin’ to have executed with enthusiasm. Yeah, this guy was one gung-ho handyman.

It never snows anywhere near our balmy backwoods hamlet. There’s a species of cottonwood tree growing along the riverbanks that’s gone plum overzealous from all the drugs and antibiotics percolating into the runoff. Usually cottonwood trees release a flurry of white floating tufts for a few weeks in summer. But these trees have gone berserk, producing a ton of white fluff year-round. Since nobody came up with the idea first, our local handyman nabbed the corner on the market for his fluff-blowing services in a clime where snowblowers are never for sale.

It sounds hopelessly trite and old-fashioned, but Randy had a hard-on for Marilyn Monroe the movie star. Since this story all happened back in the fifties or sixties, it wasn’t overly farfetched of him to ask each of his clients to don a circle-skirt sundress while he blew her socks off. After all, nobody wanted unsightly dirty tufts clinging to their fresh white bobby socks. It’s quite notable how many of these ladies would do exactly as he requested, even to the point of donating their ten-gallon panties to his favorite charity, Save the Llamas.

The Ruddy-ledge dweebs had broken into the medicinal hoard in Fussy Freddy’s barn some weeks prior. Nobody knew about this until it came out later on, but Freddy had an aversion to certain spiteful llamas that spit honkin’ loogies at him. He took this very personally. He wanted all his llamas to view him as a benevolent monarch. But Freddy was as malicious as one oft-persecuted modern-day leader (as revealed in dozens of tell-all books spewing from publishing houses). The benevolent farmer Freddy was in the habit of injecting his naughty llamas with benzodiazepine, affectionately referred to as the “date-rape” drug. Freddy was too fastidious to f**k his llamas, of course. He simply preferred his flock to be inordinately submissive without fail.

Armed with their stolen hoard of blue-benny hypodermics, the dweebs had had it out for Randy Angora for eons. They all knew he regularly dusted the socks off the young studs’ most ardent milf’s . . .

(MILF = Mothers I’d Like to F**k).

So, they hatched a plan to betray Randy’s bayonet. Servicing his vigorous clientele could be tedious some mornings, so Randy was in the habit of strolling over to take his afternoon nap on Ruddy ledge, the soothing babble of Muddy river lulling him to slumber. As he slept, several dweebs loaded his leaf blower with an inadvertent stab of blue-bennies. Being bent to the rafters on acid half the time, the dweebs had no plan for exactly who the target of these drop-shots might be. They were simply in the slovenly habit of waiting to see how things would fly and who would die. To this end, they stealthily spied on Randy.

Similarly, Randy Angora was just a garden-variety pervert, not a client rapist. Sure, he tried to finagle a Marilyn-esque flash of panties as often as possible, but he only aimed to render a lady’s socks nice and tidy. After a refreshing nap upon the ledge, Randy picked up his leaf blower and wandered over to his next client’s yard. Old Lady Spanks was the junior-high disciplinarian at the school in town where most dweebs would’ve been bussed, if they gave a flying f**k about catching the thudding yellow dweeb bus. How could they remember to, when nobody could tell time anyway?

As half dozen dweebs huddled behind a gray picket fence wrapped in thorns, Randy fired up his fluff-blower and straightaway darted Old Lady Spanks. She was opening the front door in her frilly sundress, sans panties, so of course Randy aimed his blower to billow her skirt right up in the front. Seeing this parched weathered old-lady snatch was such a daunting sight for these naïve dweebs, they didn’t even notice how perfectly the cluster of hypodermic needles they’d planted inside Randy’s blaster was aimed.

Since Randy wasn’t the sharpest grater in the pantry, he was perplexed to see a garland of syringes fanning out from Old Lady Spanks’ snatch. He confused this odd sight with the awareness that Freddy vaccinated his llamas against perverts like Randy. We had all seen the widespread scourge of hypodermic needles scattered across the land and Randy believed this was done in response to his own wooly philandering.

Suffice to say, the sight of Spanks’ snatch adorned in needlework sent Randy scurrying afar, never to return. He figured the frustrated llama farmer must’ve expanded his inoculation fixation to include Randy’s clients as well. Not too long afterwards the mercury incident struck him silly, so Randy’s philandering was curtailed and he turned into Ole Mercury at that point.

Still loitering in the thorns back at Old Lady Spanks, mindless as mud suckers, it took the dweebs a full five minutes to realize that wicked disciplinarian was just splayed there, supine and begging to be sacked. Not a single idea I could possibly dream up to describe in detail right now, could outshine the lecherous creatives already guessing how this story ends . . .

© 2019 barleygirl


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Featured Review

Thinking back on it, I have absolutely no idea what happened, start to finish.

I remember that somebody had the clap. Or maybe everybody did. And some kid smashed his or her skull open on an embankment.

I read all of the words, but I don't have a clue what happened.

Which probably means it's authentic, because I imagine I wouldn't understand this story spoken aloud by some dude in a battered old pickup, driving me vaguely west.

But I'd sure like that dude, and so help me, I sure liked whatever this was.

Posted 4 Months Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

barleygirl

4 Months Ago

I'm reading three different anthologies of top-notch short stories. I find myself CONSTANTLY in the .. read more



Reviews

I feel like I just watched an episode of the twilight zone and oh brother where art thou simultaneously LOL I hope that wasn't in any way a true story cause I'm feeling for that poor lady in a bad way right now:)

Posted 4 Months Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

barleygirl

4 Months Ago

Two programs I'm familiar with, but which I've never watched. In fact, I never watch any science fic.. read more
i have this distinct picture of you on stage doing stand up comedy, Margie! that's one wild never ending story ...
E.

Posted 4 Months Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

barleygirl

4 Months Ago

I admit, my grasp on seriousness has been fading, year by year. Something like this cracks me up for.. read more
Einstein Noodle

4 Months Ago

awwwwwwwwwww ;( love on ya Barley!
Thinking back on it, I have absolutely no idea what happened, start to finish.

I remember that somebody had the clap. Or maybe everybody did. And some kid smashed his or her skull open on an embankment.

I read all of the words, but I don't have a clue what happened.

Which probably means it's authentic, because I imagine I wouldn't understand this story spoken aloud by some dude in a battered old pickup, driving me vaguely west.

But I'd sure like that dude, and so help me, I sure liked whatever this was.

Posted 4 Months Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

barleygirl

4 Months Ago

I'm reading three different anthologies of top-notch short stories. I find myself CONSTANTLY in the .. read more

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Added on November 13, 2019
Last Updated on November 13, 2019

Author

barleygirl
barleygirl

Central Coast, CA



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Just loving life & sharing my blessings. more..

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