322

The tall yankee was listening to the Texan, calmly digesting his words, and keeping the poker face he learned from his father.
“Now, I know you weren’t raised on a farm, uh-huh-huh, but lemme tell ya, when me and Jeb were kids we fucked everything on that farm but the tractor, and goddamn if we didn’t at least jack-off on it.” The tall yankee had disliked the Texan since the first time they met, almost 40 years before. Now here they were, in this strange room, dimly lit by a few candles and surrounded by men with names like Austan and Winston.
“Hell, my daddy and granddaddy both did it, I did it, you don’t have to like it, but you gotta do it.”, the Texan now suddenly taking on an air of arrogance, the bully inside him coming out.
“I can assure you that my performance won’t be a problem. I was the top gunslinger at Fordham. They didn’t call me the rifleman for nothing.” The tall yankee could still perform at the drop of a skirt, that much was true.
His audience would be the most powerful men in the nation, dressed in robes, chanting gibberish, all very faggy in the tall yankee’s estimation. Secret meanings in numbers? These guys reminded the him of the old Jewish women he used to collect rent from as a kid. Every question answered with another question, nothing but a bunch of rich kids acting silly. They even had a secret knock. Goddamn queers….

The chants grew louder, and the tall yankee was instructed to kneel before the alter. The smell of incense hung in the air.

“Praise, Hail Satan!
Glory be to Satan the Father of the Earth
and to Lucifer our guiding light
and to Belial who walks between worlds
and to Lilith the queen of the night
As it was in the void of the beginning
Is now, and ever shall be, Satan’s kingdom without End
so it is done.”

The tall yankee regarded it all with the same reverence one may have for a newspaper horoscope or a fortune cookie.

And now here they came, six men carrying a large female gorilla, shaved,sedated, and tied to a litter. Atop the gorilla’s head was a cheap blond wig, and on her primate body were blue thong panties, a garter belt and blue stockings. A blue lace bra was the finishing touch.

The Texan looked at the tall yankee with a sly grin.

“Hey, we didn’t used to shave ‘em back when I did it. It was my idea. Ya kinda squint your eyes, and you can almost imagine it was some real ghetto-boot-tay!”

The tall yankee regarded him again and asked, “Is that really Geronimo’s skull over there?” This was the signal.

In less than a moment, the shock of flash bang grenades and white smoke filled the ritual chamber, and in rushed men wearing swat gear, the federal agents, who were showing very little concern for civil rights or due process, the trigger happy feds dispensing lead to anything that moved. Within a few brief seconds, all was calm and those still alive were cuffed and led out to god knows where, probably some CIA torture house in Eastern Europe.
“Are you ok sir?” The young marine asked the yankee.
“I’m fabulous, never better. I’d say this swamp has been drained. You know, when they brought the ape out, I thought it was Rosie O’Donnel for just a second. That poor monkey.”
With that, he followed the young marine out to the waiting helicopter.

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