Suddenly there was a burst of light at the top
of the basement stairs, concurrently
with the sound of the creaking of a door, and
then, in single file, down the stairs
came three large inbred louts,
each armed with a double-barreled shotgun.
One of them, the smallest one,
(we found out later his name was Cletus)
pointed his gun at me.
“You, handsome Dan, you’re first.”
“Don’t go,” said Paul.
“Tell ‘em to fuck themselves,” said Babe.
But this Cletus cocked both hammers
of his shotgun, and,
what are you going to do?
I got up.
“So long, pal,” said Paul.
“Later, dude,” said Babe.
“See ya when I see ya,” says I.
And up I went, with the three
inbred bothers,
Cletus,
(and, as we were to learn their names anon)
Festus,
and
Augustus.
They marched me up to the third floor,
and, after giving me a bath in incense-
scented water, and bidding me clean
my teeth and shave my chin whiskers,
I was clad in a silk robe and taken
to a bedroom, where awaited the
three sisters:
Letitia,
Patricia,
and
Felicia.
The things they made me do
the things they did to me
I don’t even want to talk about.
Hours later the three inbred brothers
dragged me back down to the basement,
where Paul and Babe did the best they
could to console me.
Next day it was Paul’s turn.
As painful as it had all been for me,
I think it was even more horrifying
for me to see this great giant,
this paragon,
this hero called Paul Bunyan,
return a gibbering whimpering child.
Babe and I did what we could
to comfort our friend.
Next day it was Babe’s turn.
“Good luck, old pal,” said Paul.
“Chin up, buddy,” says I.
“Yeah, right,” said Babe,
noble Babe,
Babe the great blue ox.
Some hours later the basement door
opened again, and silhouetted
in that coffin of light at the
top of the stairs was Babe.
“Come on, you lazy bastards,” he yelled,
“let’s go!”
He didn’t have to tell me and Paul
twice.
We tramped up those stairs
damned quick.
“Come on, pals,” said Babe,
“time to hit the road.”
He led the way, and we followed him,
and in the living room we saw
the three inbred brothers,
standing in a line,
holding their shotguns
at “order arms”.
“See ya later, fellas,” said Babe
to the three inbred brothers,
the ones he told us later were
named Cletus,
Festus,
and Augustus.
And we walked right on out that front door,
across that great big porch and down the
steps, down the winding path down
that hill, and through that cast-iron gate
and back to the road.
“Babe,” said Paul, as we set sprightly off,
southbound, as the sun began to set to our right,
“what the hell happened in there?”
“Yeah,” I said, “what the hell, Babe?”
“Fellas,” said Babe, “let’s just say
I gave them three sisters all they wanted.
And then I gave them just a little bit more.”
And he began to whistle a merry tune.
And, as the sun set, and as that road
grew dark,
we walked along,
the three of us,
Paul Bunyan,
Babe the great blue ox,
and me.
We walked on,
New Orleans bound.
“let’s go!”
He didn’t have to tell me and Paul
twice.
We tramped up those stairs
damned quick.
“Come on, pals,” said Babe,
“time to hit the road.”
He led the way, and we followed him,
and in the living room we saw
the three inbred brothers,
standing in a line,
holding their shotguns
at “order arms”.
“See ya later, fellas,” said Babe
to the three inbred brothers,
the ones he told us later were
named Cletus,
Festus,
and Augustus.
And we walked right on out that front door,
across that great big porch and down the
steps, down the winding path down
that hill, and through that cast-iron gate
and back to the road.
“Babe,” said Paul, as we set sprightly off,
southbound, as the sun began to set to our right,
“what the hell happened in there?”
“Yeah,” I said, “what the hell, Babe?”
“Fellas,” said Babe, “let’s just say
I gave them three sisters all they wanted.
And then I gave them just a little bit more.”
And he began to whistle a merry tune.
And, as the sun set, and as that road
grew dark,
we walked along,
the three of us,
Paul Bunyan,
Babe the great blue ox,
and me.
We walked on,
New Orleans bound.
a penmarq studios™ production
original art by rhoda penmarq
original art by rhoda penmarq
(Our editorial staff is still feverishly preparing Volume One of Arnold Schnabel's towering chef-d'œuvre for publication as a "book" sometime this year, but never fear, as soon as this work is completed Arnold will be back with all-new thrilling adventures!)
