Pleasant Romp With Killer Bull

 

Part 14 of 30

The Mam & Pap

Royal Splendid Traveling Rodeo

Picture yourself in those taut moments — filled with agony, ecstasy, and expectation, “I might die in the next minute. Forgive me for the sins of my youth, which everyone does." Get securely prone and a’straddle as best you can a bull whose back is six times your senior.

The seconds tick down before the gate springs and your thoughts are a mile a minute. “I had genuine sweaty-armpits fear of this animal when I first saw him, and it’s not much better now.” You mentally juggle fear and resolve, counting the seconds till you either get up alive or they whisk your lifeless body out of the area so as to not bring everyone down.

There’s an uneasy truce, at least in your mind, because it’s tough to negotiate with a proud bull from your somewhat-dominant edge of sitting on its back. If you could sum it up, it’d be, “I’ll go easy on you, Old Bull, because each one of us is the other’s bread and butter, so to speak.” Then you try the commiseration approach: “Someday we’ll be retired together, me in a room, you in a stall, each of our quarters adjacent and opening up to a playground for us to mosey lazily around, remembering the ‘Shows of ‘98’ and all the good old days. Remember our first time together, your loco wildness and my abject terror barely concealed?”

That thought is barely filed away before the door springs open and the bull bucks and kicks like he means business, dirty business. Which he has to because no one bucks like his life depends on it just for the hell of it. Then there’s the eyes, that intent glare of death. If it weren’t for the snarl of rope around his muzzle, he’d take a bite outta everything in sight. Firearms might make an unwelcome appearance, it being always necessary to maintain life and limb of the human performers and their watchers. Especially the crowd, because they can sue.

Right now, though, the crowd is into it, their thirst for blood barely concealed. They’re so into it that they loosen the purse strings of their collective humanity and are just hoping to see some action, riproaring stuff maybe involving the bull goring the man, taking out the clowns, who knows what all is possible? Destroying the county? “Just so these bleachers are able to protect me till I’m able to escape the grounds!”

Eight seconds of glory have passed and the rider waves his arm, “I’m OK, thank you for your thoughts and prayers...” The clowns roll a few bald tires around the lot, lulling the bull back to docility, which is how bulls naturally behave with mixed signals and scattered focus. Like la la land.

The Wreckers Are Coming!

 Part 7 of 30

There's Death In Them Thar Drawers

We’re looking here at imminent destruction. I wake up and survey the situation on a daily basis. And with authority I can report that it's not just imminent, it’s already here and well underway. Of course being a prophet these days is unprofitable. But it's in my bones, warn the bastards!

In times like these we need a beacon, in times like these a clarion call. I'm very sure, I'm very sure, don't put me off, it could be the death of us all. I might give a signal, say, on the top of the highest building. Or in an airplane flying through the air, maybe already airborne, trailing a message behind that all could see. And nothing would drive the message home any better than “The Wreckers Are Not Just Coming, They’re Here!” If it weren’t for the public panic I’d rent the plane myself. An expense that would break me.

But if there’s a headline, a commentary on this sad state of affairs, it has to be that. The Wreckers Are Coming. With the onslaught coming simultaneously from two different perspectives, the old double-pronged sword, threatening to cleave asunder both meat and bone, straight to the marrow, gettin' right down to the real nitty gritty.

In times like these. What a refrain! In times like these all of us must be patriots to our way of life, keeping sex only within narrow well-defined socially-proscribed boundaries. It's gonna be hard, and that's the problem. Calling all of us who be patriots to our reaffirm our values, the things passed down to us as a once-rich legacy from the preceding generations, grandma and grandpa, who themselves knew no better but believed it anyway.

But I’ve got to take a break before I can stem the tide. And take a knee, bowing in solemnity to their memory. Their sex led to a mother and several siblings, who -- whether they knew it or not -- believed just as I believe. I didn’t make this up. Their marrow is my marrow, their 'morrow is my 'morrow, we're basically related by DNA, the shared connection of grandparent to grandparent, etc., etc. Get us together and we could beat this dead horse all day.

It's still important, though, so let's get to it: THE WRECKERS ARE COMING. Pulling down the walls that held society up, as well as the walls that held back the vain libido of men and women alike from over-mixing, bringing into play everything from the bone right up her maiden voyage, bon voyage; on that front the ship's left the station.

Today, then, right now, as people breach those barriers, we’re seeing them come together, flesh of the flesh -- yours, mine, and ours -- with all drawers forever flappin’ in the wind, once removed -- and all things exposed to the light of day and the darkness of the hour. Indeed, there's death in them thar drawers! God help us as they bust through.