proximity...and in the midst of this threat the President deliberately leveled his long driver and struck the stooge in the noodle.
A maniacal yell of laughter and mockery answered the clubbing and Stinker came at the President like a flying ball of fur, long arms stretched out to grab and tackle our hero.
The first attempt to knock the primitive into oblivion failing he leapt aside and watched like a bullfighter watching a bull run through his cape as the Troglodyte went scampering past. Swinging his club high and in so fast a motion it seemed a blur to the onlookers...above his head, he thrust it down onto the one-inch thick bone of the man’s skull with all his might. The driver sang as it passed through air with speed, only to come to an abrupt halt when club head met solid skull at the end of his mighty stroke, but finally bringing the demented stooge to the ground.
He looked at his driver and saw that it was dented. It had been like hitting a boulder with two legs and a brain case, so thick that even his savage blow met without first-time success. In his mighty arms, in his mighty grasp he expected all lowlifes of this world to succumb quickly to this sort of brutal beating. That thought was now all for naught. Solid as his driver was, flailing apelike creatures with their hard noggins and puny brains. The failure now caused him to shudder to the depths of his soul.
He realized that he was not in as mighty a position as he now desperately desired. Already the surroundings began to stink with the flotsam of the man critter, but he would never once flinch for he was a barbarian and the thought of showing fear never now entered his mind. He had never had to flee from a single foe as President and had the thought occurred to him he would have assailed the assailant with all the departments and agencies at his disposal.
He saw no help for Stinker’s situation, but by any means necessary should have a good dunking...conscious or not. His only wish was to leave the removal of the filthy body to the others and why not, he had already given a good account of himself.
There above the laid out body flies began to arrive in the flickering light and as if that was not enough other creatures attracted to the smell of the human miscarriage set about to make their presence widely known both in the heavens and in the forest in protest.
“Okay Piley, B.O., go dump your compatriot in the creek...then jump in yourselves. No reason anyone should smell like Stinker tonight.”
If for the smell alone slight hatred quickly turned up upon the faces of the two lowbrows. It was going to be a ghastly chore, maybe not requiring courage, but certainly the ability to hold one’s breath for extended periods of time.
Pile Driver fought to hold onto Stinker’s arms, while B.O. grabbed his feet both now thinking to themselves that their comrade may have outlived his usefulness to the tribe. The trio melted away like ghosts in the gloom of night followed some minutes later by a fearful laughter that quickly changed to screams of agony. For man's only weapon against that scourge is courage, courage that flinches not from the gates of Hell itself, but from the pain.
Of this sort of torment BamaOay knew nothing, he only knew that the falls he was still taking were causing bruising, but never tearing or rending his colossally muscled body. Others would waver under the onslaught, while his own barbarianism would withstand any such assault. Reeling and gasping earlier he might, however, need to work on his swing. Maybe he was holding his club too tightly. Yes, he thought, that could be throwing my stroke off a bit.
The noise of bodies tumbling and splashing about in the creek came to ear as the Troglodytes struggled to rid themselves of the miasma.
The smoke of the campfire climbed like a serpent into the night sky. His flesh crawled and his wooly hair stood on end at the thought of being in the same sort of condition as Stinker.
A distant gibbering came to ear. He did not comprehend as a man hears and comprehends the speech of a man, but the frightful secrets it imparted in whisperings and yammerings and screaming silences sank fingers of ice into his soul and he knew this was the bane of most carnivores.
Lying flat on his back in a bed of dry leaves having finished polishing off one of the roasted tree squirrel things the President finally succumbed to his exhaustion and disillusions of self-grandeur. His hard, taught, brawny body was snug and warm in the leaf litter...
....and he began to sleep soundly.
EEB-BEE-BEE...EEB-BEE-BEE.
The Tribe Of Hoot’Shalanders
The Boston Post-Chronicle-Tribune-Times - “The doorway appears to magically open somewhere between ten thousand and twenty thousand feet...up,” said archeologist Oprah InfreyWay during a public press announcement. When asked by reporters how the Trianglodylians would have reached a doorway miles above earth she was at a loss to answer saying only, “All I can say is our investigation is still underway and that we hope the dig site will reveal further clues that will provide everyone with the answers.”
When morning broke the President found he had been bitten again that previous night by more of those bloodsuckers, the flying Chihuahuas, as had IllaryHay. The primordial folk appeared to be immune to the varmints, and in Stinker’s case for obvious reasons.
All but Stinker gathered as a group around the little rippling brook splashing their faces, those bitten caring for their slight injuries before taking off again south. The Al OreGay lookalike was forced to walk fifty yards behind the others, his appearance a shambles, his stupid countenance of what might overtake both the President and IllaryHay the further they trekked into the unknown land.
IllaryHay was in a talkative mood.
"I cannot understand why you nor I want to leave this primitive land and not head back north to the gay, wonderful world of the capitol."
Revealing was the President’s answer, "That may be because it appears we have no wills of our own in this place." Yes, his primordial instincts were far superior to the liberal matron’s. “No matter what we do, or say our souls appear to insist we remain here in this world be it ever so desirable to return to our dimension.”
IllaryHay sighed, “Yes, but there really is...no place like home."
"Of course you’re right, but I understand through my ‘barbarian instincts’ that we have a mission here to complete first before returning."
"Yes, but if our heads are stuffed full of such odd thoughts we will probably end up living in this weird place for the rest of our lives.”
“Let us hope the hell that is not true...woman.”
B.O., who had gone missing for a time, came pushing loudly through the brush.
“Me smell settlement. Smoke rising into air. We home soon.”
“Have food?” asked IllaryHay anxiously. “Have barbecue?”
B.O. looked at the eye candy answering, “Smoke mean food.” Then he raised his head toward the heavens and taking in a deep breath added, “Smoke mean barbecue!”
Somewhere beyond all this humdrum a drum began to beat in the distance.
This was to be an eventful day for the travelers were going to see for the first time how people lived in this pastoral setting. Thinking the delays behind them they had hardly been walking an hour before they came upon a great precipice that blocked their path; the yellow lava road looked to end here. Across the great divide the forest could be seen far and wide. It was a very narrow gorge and when the President crept up to the edge and looked into it he could see it was also very deep and there were many jagged boulders at the bottom. The sides were so steep that none of them could climb down and for a moment it seemed that their journey must end.
"What shall we do?" asked IllaryHay despairingly.
"I haven't the faintest idea," said BamaOay shaking his close-shaved head and looking puzzled. “You ignoramuses didn’t say anything about this. We cannot get over this damn thing. Can’t climb down into and up over this great trough. He looked both to his right, then left. This damn thing looks like it never ends. So, what the hell are we going to do next?"
"Walk over," responded B.O.. “We get o
ver by bridge. Wait and see.”
"What, there’s a bridge? I don’t see any bridge."
"No...wait...see. We will call the settlement for help.”
The threesome nodded to one another, dropped to all fours and set about howling like a pack of coyotes.
A’rooooooo...
A’rooooooo...
Their howling was returned from afar...
A’rooooooo...
...by others who had suddenly appeared on the other side of the sheer drop.
“See, we almost home."
Tribes people could now be seen gathering opposite on the canyon. They set about howling, their howls being returned by more howls from his stooges.
A’rooooooo...A’rooooooo...
The villagers could next be seen picking up two thick ropes and they set about pulling on these ropes as if in a one-sided game of tug of war. With time a rope bridge began to appear from below. Four hours later BamaOay and his entourage were finally ready to cross.
Not far off and half-screened by the tall trees the President could make out the stockade of a settlement. As he approached he could see timbers had been driven into the ground pointy ends thrusting skyward, yet too dull to impale someone. The enclosure looked solid enough. Trees leaned above it and their rosy branches intertwined, so that most of the barricade was cloaked in semidarkness from whose palisade primitive heads leered. A whistle stop of unrevealed name lay before him between
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