Yesterday I happened upon Squint Beastwood sitting in a park in the North Dallas area. He had an empty lawn chair next to him, and he appeared to be deeply into a conversation with it.
Squint (speaking as his character the Man with No Name); You see, chair, I have a gun. It’s a really, really big gun. And I know how to use it. I can shoot the eyes out of a peckerwood at 100 yards. (I was confused about whether he actually meant to say “woodpecker”, but his gun was so big I was afraid to ask.)
chair (speaking as itself); …
Squint (still as the Man with No Name); I just don’t get this whole second amendment thing. I mean, do I really have to have somebody’s permission to have a gun? I don’t think so. Lots of dudes have come up to me and said, “give me your gun, Josey Whales.” And I don’t have to even shoot them to keep my gun. I just squint my eyes real hard at them and chomp down on the toothpick in my mouth and say, “Are you sure you want to be asking me that? I can draw my gun and shoot so fast that you can’t blink before you’d be deader than a cold stone that died from stone cancer.” And they would just get this confused look on their faces and drop their own guns. Of course, then I would shoot them stone cold deader than a cold stone that died from stone cancer. You know what I mean?”
chair (still speaking as itself); …
Squint (suddenly speaking as the rogue cop anti-hero Hurty Barry); Now they are pestering me about the rights of the perpetrator. They say things to me like, “Barry, you can’t just go around shooting somebody just because they were jaywalking or playing with a toy gun while making the mistake of being black.” But I don’t get that. There are no crimes committed around me because I just look at the perpetrator and say, “I know you are thinking about committing a crime, criminal. But you gotta ask yourself, can he really shoot me before I can dial 911 on a cell phone? You’ve been texting a lot, and have lots of practice, and probably think you can snap a picture of me and text Hurty Barry just violated my civil rights before I can shoot you in the head and make you stone cold deader than a cold stone that died of stone cancer. So, do ya feel lucky, punk?”
And then I shoot them in the head. The world is suddenly a safer place. Why would anybody assume that somebody who is thinking of committing a crime has a right to a fair trial to determine if they actually committed a crime or not? You just don’t know people the way I know people. They are all criminals, rapists, murderers… and some, I assume are good people, but I think we should just shoot them stone cold deader than a cold stone that died of stone cancer and let God sort them out on judgement day.
chair (still speaking as itself)…
Buck Cheston, former leader of the NPA (National Pistol Association) and star of movies like Planet of the Grapes wanders up and speaks as himself instead of one of his numerous movie characters; Squint, old man, I see you have been talking to chairs again. And you are afraid that Obama and his jack-booted government thugs are going to take away your guns.
Squint (still speaking as Hurty Barry); No, Buck. Nobody takes away my guns. I am just upset that society seems to think we should talk about our problems and find peaceful solutions, instead of solving problems with violence.
Buck (still speaking as leader of the NPA… even though he is actually dead now); I agree with you that we can never solve this country’s problems as long as liberals and government types want to take away our guns. Whether it is a matter of going to war with Iran, or keeping peace on the streets of Baltimore, the solution is not to take guns out of the hands of good guys with a gun. We have to be able to shoot bad guys with a gun, and shoot to kill. They will never get my guns until they pry them from my cold dead hands.
Squint (suddenly shifting back to being the Man With No Name); But, Buck, aren’t you dead of old age already?
Buck (speaking now as a dead man who is deader than a cold stone that died of stone cancer); Yes, I am afraid that is so.
Squint (still speaking as the Man with No Name); Well, don’t worry, Buck. I’m still alive and I still have my gun, and if I can’t kill the bad guy, then he must be immortal.
Buck (still speaking as a dead man); You know, Squint, you haven’t been talking to anyone who is actually alive for this entire conversation.
Squint (finally speaking as himself); I will definitely have to kill somebody for that. Somebody needs to die.
The chair began shivering uncontrollably.
One must end the year on a note that is either upbeat or regretful. A heartfelt, “Meh,” just won’t cut it.
I have given you a picture Paffooney today of the tapestry created by the town of Rowan, Iowa for its centennial in 2002. I consider Rowan my home town. I was not born there, but it is the scene of most of my childhood. It shaped most of who I am and how I am and what I am. It is the scene of most of my fiction because that’s where the most valuable treasures of Truth are hidden, near the wishing wells of our youth. I keep it on my bedroom wall because, not only do Pooh and Fozzie like it to be there, it is a beautiful thing to look at and reflect upon. It keeps what is most important in my life in focus. I have a lot of physical pain from my six incurable diseases, and pain makes the focus blur at times. But pain is also the source of what wit and wisdom I have to offer. I will continue to contemplate and write and think and create… and draw. I will continue to post at least a portion of the results here. I do desire to make some money with my writing, but that is only a secondary concern. I am not really writing for the people who know me in real life. They already know me and made up their minds about me long ago. They might read this and that and recognize something of themselves, but they are not the ones I am speaking to at this moment. I am talking in prose to those who see my ideas for the very first time with new eyes, no preconceived notions about me. It is for them, the readers I do not personally know, that my magic spells are cast in words.
Catch a Falling Star 