LEAVE IT TO PEEVER

The Storyteller

The Gambler

One cowboy town is about the same as the next. The men stink, chew tobacco, and are about as civilized as a renegade Indian brave on the warpath. I should know, I travel with one.

Each town we go to, I go in first, to loosen up the towns finest. He stays on the outskirts of town, usually getting liquored up, sleeping it off, and starting all over again. If the truth were known, I don’t mind getting away from him for a week or so. But I don’t like being kissed and felt up by the town slops. Better off their wives deal with them. But work is work.

Tonight he’ll make his appearance. I’ll pretend I don’t know him, and he’ll play poker. He will cheat them while I distract them and give him signals. We’ll do our thing for three or four days, and skedaddle before we’re caught. We’ll get maybe ten miles down the road before he wants to make love. He always celebrates this way. About a week without is his limit. Oh well, we’ve got some money now and I’ll get my share. But I’m getting tired of this life. I’m tired of traveling with a man who only thinks of one thing, and it ain’t me.

Angel Underneath My Bed

Sleep. Sleep is good. Some people don’t like to sleep. They think it’s a waste of time. What can you get accomplished while you’re sleeping? Everyone wants to get something accomplished. I want to dream. After almost dying, sleep entices me. There must be an angel underneath my bed.

Dear Mr. President

It has come to my attention that you have lied and deceived us. Normally, I wouldn’t think much about this, you being a politician and all. But you are the President of the United States, once the most powerful and trusted nation on earth. There were no weapons of mass destruction in Iraq. And the worst part is, you knew it. Now, 4100 American soldiers are dead, and countless ten’s of thousands injured, both physically and mentally. You obviously have no idea what is happening. You’re life has been sheltered, and everything you have has been handed to you on a silver spoon. If you want to see what you’ve done, come take a walk with me.

Truth or Consequences

The truth is, it’s hard to know what the truth is. Is the truth the truth because one particular person says it is? Or because it’s written in some fancy book? What does the truth look like? Is it pleasing to the eye, like an angel? Or does it look more like the devil, with horns and a tail? Does the truth smell? Is it sweet or bitter to the taste? Is the truth like water flowing through your fingers? Could you drown in it? Maybe the truth is not the truth. And what’s the consequence for making up a truth that’s not?

The Pugilist

“Damn, that hurt. Bill, you got to take it a little easier. This ain’t no championship bout. You’re my sparring partner, for Christ’s sake.” “Sorry, boss. You’re leaving a lot of openings.” Bill has been with me all the while. I started at seventeen, and have been fighting ever since. “Yeah, I’m a bit preoccupied. I’m thinking about quitting.” “Quitting. Boss, just cause I hit you a few times.”

“No, Bill, that’s not it. You’re job is to try and hit me. It’s just, I’m getting tired. Time is running out on me. After all, I’ll be thirty soon. These young guys are strong and hungry. I’ve had my time. It’s time to move on. There’s got to be more to life than this fighting and brutality?” “Oh, come on. Two more title defenses and we’ll have more money than we know what to do with. Now is not the time to quit. Remember, we’re “The Wrecking Crew.” Now is never a good time to quit. But what about my dream? When am I ever going to get time for that? “Yeah, let’s get back to work. Give me one more good round. But take it ease, I don’t want to be known as the champ you got knocked out by his sparring partner.” “Okay Boss, I’ll ease up a bit.” I know that won’t happen. It never does.