We are a commune of inquiring, skeptical, politically centrist, capitalist, anglophile, traditionalist New England Yankee humans, humanoids, and animals with many interests beyond and above politics. Each of us has had a high-school education (or GED), but all had ADD so didn't pay attention very well, especially the dogs. Each one of us does "try my best to be just like I am," and none of us enjoys working for others, including for Maggie, from whom we receive neither a nickel nor a dime. Freedom from nags, cranks, government, do-gooders, control-freaks and idiots is all that we ask for.
" We are proud of our troops but a "surge" is not a victory over an illegal war started with flawed intelligence. The President has us in a quagmire of his making, bringing the world closer to nuclear war and the killing of innocent women and children. We support our troops 100% and in the future, after their retraining as circus clowns and jugglers the United States can once again bring peace to the world"
Atop the plains roiled a turmoil ascendant and spiraling, writhing like an animal before dissipating.
Staring at the unflinching abyss, Larsen laid his firearm across his lap, silent before the thundering and menacing dirt.
"How many you reckon?"
Before his one eye, Habu raised a looking glass, and looked upon the violence with both his sight and gored socket.
A carnival of horribles, hundreds in number, some atop bicycles and others atop cars and trucks, and others leaning from or standing on top of unnameable contraptions, sputtering black fumes like hellish ghouls enslaved to twisted and rusted metal carapaces. Some had faces covered with surgeon's masks and others had swaddled their faces in cloth, some bore flags of nations and others of icons long since dead but newly defined, and some were naked but for skirts of coarse fabrics that billowed into their faces as they clung to the outside of vehicles while others ambled atop stilts, although dressed in the looming black vestiges of death. Some held kites that spun aloft and others sprinted forward wearing only boots, their flesh reddened by sun and filthy by the earth. Some were covered in black but for the slits of menacing eyes and ran at pace as if possessed, and others wore beads and stringed bones and plastic symbols around their necks and metal barbs and bolts pierced all manner of flesh, glinting in the sun as they charged, and some with painted and tattooed faces, and one with strands of torn fabric of every color flapping from every limb as he clung to a van, raising a glass pipe skyward in ambiguous defiance. Onward they rushed, jesters of doom, and from the mask of dust and soot and sulfur came a female rider, atop a spurred ass, who shrieked as if maddened to murder by illness or evil, "To tolerance, to peace, to dignity!"
And behind her they followed, like a writhing parade, a people beyond reckoning, coming upon the two riders like a derelict judgment bereft of God and man.
"Oh my god" said Runtchard, "what if I'm Cormac McCarthy?"
"What then indeed!" hissed The Judge, overhearing the exchange from atop a nearby boulder.
"What then indeed, now finally you ask, now finally that doom is come nigh, now finally too late to ask the question," spat he bitterly.
Then the small party of wretched pilgrims, wiping the sweat from balding sunburnt heads, circled their mules back into the scorched ravine where it seemed like only hours (thought it was years) since they'd buried the case of Winchesters.
Cursing aloud why no one had remembered water and ammunition, they began to dig out the useless weapons.
Buddy and Habu looked into each others eyes, eye, eye and socket and knew what had to be done.
Swiftly corporal Habu mounted his steed and rode toward Fort Wanker, for ammo,water and reinforcements.
After some time Lt. Buddy noticed dust swirls in the distance. He raised the field glasses to his eyes; his heart sank. Cpl. Habu's one eye was leading him in every increasing circles. Without hesitating Lt. Buddy reached for the Sharpes-Creedmore 44-70. Quickly chambering a 550 grain cartrige he took steady aim.
With the report of a howitzer the missile was on it's way. Soon it found it's mark and took out the opposite eye of Cpl Habu's steed, Norbert. This correction set them together on a path to the fort and help.
Lt. Gen. Habu was awarded the Medal of Honor for riding through the lines of hostiles with a wounded animal to help gain support for the men in Lt Buddy's company.
The recovery operation disclosed that the Winchesters had no firing pins.
Thus was born the legend of the "Ride of Habu's Heroics"
The remains of Lt Buddy were later uncovered during an excavation for a Dell Webb retirement resort. He was also awarded the Medal of Honor. The Dell Webb "Lt. Gen (breveted) Buddy" resort is named in his honor.