THE TANK LID ABOVE BANGED and down through the hatch came the head of a slack-jawed scumrunner, his lank hair dripping yellow with pissrain. He tossed a snaggle-toothed grin.
"Head toadsucker requests wildman with lone star sobriquet at whole lot of main headquarters mucho pronto post haste in a damn big hurry!" He grinned again, slung the pissdrizzle from is hairroots with a quick shake of his head and disappeared.
"That friggin frogsucker's gonna make sure i have to get out in this mess!" Texas Bill Garver grumbled, scratching his bullbag gonads.
"Well run along honey, and when you get through jawin with the jizzlips, we'll get it on," Melody J. J. Badbox said, shaking her slinky ass.
"Ah, Tex my good man, sorry to have to disturb you on such a dastardly day," the wartlips said expansively, waving the dripping Texan to a seat in the corner of his small, stinking office. "As it were."
Tex skimmed runners of pissdrizzle from his forearms with the heels of his hands and thanked whatever that Grovenor's shoestrings at least weren't doing a bad Dylan imitation. "What's goin down, Grove?" he asked. "Why call me out on a friggin duck day like this?" "Again, sorry my good man...fact is, I am forced to transfer you up on the North 40 suction field for a few days, as it were." "What the shit for?" "The lone skimmer up there, jolly good fellow by the name of Tyson Tyson, has been having a few problems, Tex, seems to be losing the handle on reality--or what passes for it." Grovenor took a hit from the fresh cuplegs frog clutched in his right paw before continuing. "I wouldn't ask you Tex, were it not absolutely essential."
"Well hell, when do I haul balls?" Tex sighed. "I guess it's part of the job, whatever the hell THAT is."
"I shall have a scumpacker in front of your tank in the by and by...give you time to, shall we say, wind up any pressing affairs of the moment?"
"Right on, toadlips!"
Melody J. J. Badbox was not overjoyed at the news of Tex's imminent departure for the North 40.
"What'n hell is that frogfaced fucker up to anyhow?" she asked, putting her hands on her hips in that sexy fashion that drove Tex wild, her violet eyes flashing. "I just get here and already he's pullin some kind of jive!"
"Don't get all bent out of shape, baby, it's only for a short short I'll be gone," Tex said.
"Not a long long, you're sure?"
"Sure enough, sweetlegs." "Well hell, Tex darlin, how's about one for the road then?"
Tex was balls deep in some good hot woman funk when he heard the roar of the scumpacker as it slid through the muck outside his tank.
"Gotta run, mama," he said, backing out with a wet PLOP.
"Hell's bells, baby, I didn't even get off!"
"So didn't I," Tex replied. "Save it on the back burner, hotlips, til I return."
"You know it, you righteous twatsplitter!"
"Pile yore ass aboard!" the scumpacker pilot hooted. He pulled shit-stained goggles back down over his bloodshot peepers. "Hang loose to boogie!"
Hot Dog Truck - A Vegetarian Poem:
by Rick Lupert
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