Political Humor |

This week’s installment of our on-line political humor novel is written by that Southern Bell, Snig of Snig’s Spot.

Next week Alex L will take the helm, then our very own JumpOut. If you’re interested in writing a chapter, check out Mild Max for details. Come on, you know you want to.

Ch 3: Shorts in a Snowstorm

I calculated how long it would take me to reach the six inches to where I’d laid the shotgun down, turn around and blow whoever was behind me away. Longer than it would take for them to pull the trigger. Apparently whoever it was, was reading my mind.

“Don’t even try it… ” For once in my life, I did what I was told.

“Get up nice and easy- keep your hands where I can see them.”

I remember thinking to myself that has to be the most effeminate voice I’ve ever heard on a guy as I turned around. I had my butt cheeks clinched together out of reflex.

I almost relaxed when I realized I was looking at what appeared to be a woman over the cold steel. Mid-20s, long dark hair, and oddly enough, shaved legs. I did my best in the semi-darkness to discern whether he or she had an Adam’s Apple.

Around these parts, things were seldom what they seemed and it wasn’t outside the realm of possibility that this was some dude wanting to be a lady. Whether a he or a she, the shorts during the lovely snow we constantly had was a dead giveaway- Californian by birth, that I could be sure of. Didn’t matter if they were wearing a parka too, they’d be in shorts nine out of ten times.

Once again, someone was reading my mind. “I am a girl. I was born a girl, live as a girl and like boys. Any questions?”

I had questions, plenty of questions…but I knew better than to ask any of them. There are times that the only answer is, No ma’am, which was my answer to her.

“Are you a…”, I began to ask, but she immediately cut me off. She continued to train the gun on my nose as she fished around in her pocket for something. She produced a piece of paper, looked at me, back at it and back at me again. She smiled slightly and eased the hammer back into place, lowering the gun and re-holstering it.

I started breathing again.

“I was really hoping that was you I started following back at Holy Cross Cemetery,” she said.

I was slipping. I should have known I’d grown a tail, but I didn’t. I’d been bouncing too long at Thunderdome. I was too out of practice. I almost didn’t hear her when she asked how much Cutter had charged me. I rattled off some figure, my mind elsewhere like thinking about who the Hell was this chick, how’d she managed to tail me when I hadn’t even planned on going anywhere earlier, and for what reason?

“That son of a bitch! He charged me three times as much!”

“Yeah, Cutter is a son of a bitch. That’s for sure. Now, since you seem to know who I am, how about you tell me who you are?”

Whoever she was, at least she was easy on the eyes. It was sort of mesmerizing to see a real woman -especially one with shaved legs. At least I knew for sure she wasn’t some hippie biker bitch. Like the legendary hippies of the 60’s, real hippie biker bitches never shaved their legs.

About that time we both heard them. Shouts of, “Someone’s over here! It’s got to be him!”, were getting closer.

She turned out the flashlight and asked if I wanted to live to see tomorrow in a hushed voice. “If you do, come with me now,” she’d said.

I had two choices- ignore her offer and stand my ground and fight- most likely to my death, if I was lucky.

She stood up and started off toward a shack at the edge of the wall. I thought about my odds for a brief moment. Die eventually at the hands of an angry mob of homospecials or possibly die eventually at the hands of a beautiful woman?

The choice wasn’t too hard for me to make. I grabbed my gear and followed her through the rubble to the door of shack and we disappeared inside just as the flitters reached the spot we’d just been standing.

She was feeling around on the floor of the darkened shack. She asked if I’d had breakfast yet. All I could think was what an inane question that was considering all that the flitters had split up and were kicking over everything they could and tossing Molotov cocktails into any semi-standing buildings trying to flush me out.

No, I’d not eaten and I wasn’t even remotely hungry. Had she lost her damned mind? I was beginning to wonder if I’d made the right decision just as she snatched something up from the floor.

“In here! He’s in here! Bring the real fire power!” I heard just as she jumped in the tunnel beneath the trap door she’d just opened.

“Come on!” she hissed at me.

I thought about it one last time- stay and fight or go with her? There was what appeared to be a partial case of dynamite on the floor near what had once been a window, probably left behind by some schmuck who couldn’t carry it all or who planned to come back, but never made it.

That could help me I remember thinking.

And that’s when the Molotov cocktail landed just inside the window.

The tunnel shook from the explosion just as I slammed the trap door shut above my head. Dust and small rocks rained down on us.

“Do you think you could move any damned slower?” she asked. “I was told you were a professional.”

A professional? Oh geez. I realized I was looking at her back as she making her way down the tunnel. I started following her, thinking I still didn’t know her name, but at least the flitters thought I was dead…

The story so far:

Chapter 1: Behind Thunderdome

Chapter2: Click