Sunday, February 11, 2007

Scruffy Love 4; The Great Spirit of Scruff

If you'd like to read the other ones: Part One. Part Two. Part Three.


“Oh, Thurgood,” said Cassidy with tons and tons of love in her voice. “I can’t wait to get you alone and in the dark so that I may become naked. You too.”

“That’s right, honey crumpet,” said the extremely talented genius. “Then we may construct large quantities of love with our bodies. Naked.”

“You’re ever so much more studlier than that man to whom I used to cling like a lovestruck barnacle,” admitted Cassidy. She was not lying. Thurgood could see this in her eyes and on her stunningly lippy lips. Her cheeks were also coated with some form of sparkly dust, which made her prettier still. “In fact, I wish to help you bring about his destruction. Shall we take the steam-powered autobuggy that you crafted with your own prodigiously dexterous hands, or shall we travel on one of your pretty horses. They are prettier than Buck’s horses. By far. Buck’s horses have fleas and they smell very badly.” Cassidy swooned, and the very handsome Thurgood caught her just in time.

“Dang, I’m fast,” he remarked to her face, which had its eyes closed because she was happy. “As a matter of fact, why don’t we have a small morsel of sex to celebrate the truth of this fact?” said Thurgood, making an excellent suggestion. He slapped Cassidy roughly about the face to wake her from her temporary coma. She awoke and smiled vacuously up into Thurgood’s excessively handsome visage.

“Yes. YES!” she said, and took off her corset.

Thurgood, who also looked very good without clothes on, tugged loose his $#@Ac—


The sound of a warning klaxon bit into Thurgood Bastardson’s concentration like a vindictive goat, bringing his typing to a literally crashing halt. Grimacing, he separated the jammed hammers and let them fall back. He ripped the paper from the roller of his typewriter, balled it up and threw it into a corner.

“Curses, blast, and a thousand more curses!” he roared into the throat of his cave. His voice echoed around the dank stone labyrinth like evil balls of wax on the pitching deck of a ship bound for Heck. “The fairday celebrations have commenced! The townsfolk, the blasted stupid townsfolk! They’ll be out there, poking rabbits and frowning thoughtfully at cows. The frivolity! It makes my evil hackles become hackly!” He checked his pocket for his can opener and stomped over to his elevator.

* * *

Miles away, under the dreaming sky of a sunny September afternoon, Buck and Cassidy were laughing at the bunnies.

“Oh, Buck! Look at the darling white one here! See how pink his little nose is?” Cassidy crooned, poking a dainty finger into the rabbit’s cage. The animal was contentedly licking her fingertip.

“Aye, fair lady,” Buck agreed, patting her on the shoulder. “Almost red, like the center of a bullseye.” He secretly wished he had his rifle with him. “But take care that yon beastie doesn’t chew upon thy prettily manicured ladyclaws,” he gently chided.

“Oh, you’re such a practical manly man!” Cassidy laughed. She punched Buck playfully in the eye. “I want to go look at the ducks! Come with me,” she said, and gathered up her skirts. Buck chuckled to himself and followed. “Are you gazing longingly at my hypnotically swaying buttocks?” Cassidy asked with a giggle, looking back over her shoulder.

“Sure am!” said Buck with enthusiasm, and ran headfirst into a cow.

“This is the best Saturday ever!” declared Cassidy, prancing onward.

Buck picked himself up from the floor of the barn and dusted the straw off his man patties. He let loose a Snort of Studly Glee, and hurried after his darling.

They emerged from the bunny barn hand in hand, and walked leisurely along the gravel path that led to the ducks.

“It was ever such a good idea to come to the fair today, Buck,” said Cassidy with feeling. She clung to his muscular and lightly scarred forearm. “Those bunnies were adorable, the hayride was delightful, and I do believe there’ll be pie over at Old Man Grizzlebum’s place.”

“You forgot the goats, stickylips,” said Buck, and pinched her where the pinching was good.

“Ow! My elbow, you silly brute!”

“Haw!”

“Yes, I did forget the goats, didn’t I?” Cassidy admitted, pouting.

“Deee-licious,” said Buck, licking his muscular and lightly scarred lips.

Further ruminations on the deliciousness of the goats or the adorability of the bunnies were cut short. A cloud of dust had risen before the duck pens, obscuring them. The sounds of shouting men, laughing children and enraged quacking filled the air.

“By the spirit of scruff! Some bandit means to upset the fairday frivolity by ducknapping the ducks! Only one man would sink to such depths of craftery!” Buck shouted at the dust. His brow furrowed and his jaw set, he plunged into the cloud, dragging Cassidy along in his wake.

13 comments:

The Stupid Blogger said...

Ah-ha! Now Bastardson will get his due! Whew! You almost got me with that beginning. At first, I thought the fickle female had actually gone over to Thurgood. Silly, since you warned me about this in advance. Ah, well. I got so caught up in the drama that I neglected to keep a sharp eye on ye olde author's craftiness. Good stuff, mate!

Jacob "Pickle Weasel" Nordby said...

Foo

Firstly, I must do a bit of obeisance to your magnificent stupidity.

There are times I feel that I am the keeper of the flame of a small genius, but then I read after one such as yourself and I am most wretched.

In other words, nice work, dude! You have a gift, my friend.

You also have a problem. It's obvious to me that you need to spend less time in The Girlfriend's basement reading her collection of morally questionable 212-page paperbacks.

If you were to come out into the warm sunshine of a Michigan February, you'd find that there's a big, wide world out here waiting for just such a talent as your own.

You could probably give Lewis Carroll a run, you clever Nonsensesmith.

foodaddy's foodaddy said...

Coming soon: The Old Man Grizzlebum Comedy-Variety Show, with a guest cameo by Pthabbth!

Jacob "Pickle Weasel" Nordby said...

FooGrandpappy...

you must have been using some kind of good LSD when the Fooster was conceived.

Jeez! He's the good kind of weird

foodaddy's foodaddy said...

Let's hope Little Rodney makes an appearance in the next episode.

The Stupid Blogger said...

Hey, that's right! Where's Little Rodney?

Jacob "Pickle Weasel" Nordby said...

Hey, Foo Granpapps!

I was talkin' to you, dang it. You didn't reply, but instead chatted about little Rodney (the filthy little miscreant).

I was even giving you the rare compliment--which is now like cold ashes in my mouth.

Paul "FooDaddy" Brand said...

Aw crud. I forgot to add Lil' Rodney. Of course, I forgot him in the last Skuffy Luv too, so he shouldn't be too surprised.

Thank you all for your kind comments! You all deserve to have presented to you a can of your favorite sody pop.

'Cept for you, dad. You like diet pop. Bleh.

foodaddy's foodaddy said...

I hereby agrees with all the good stuff y'all'r sayin' 'bout th' boy. Now all he's gotta do to become a Real Writer is to take up heavy drinkin', like Old Man Grizzlebum, who I hear has Little Rodney runnin' pies for him in the shire roundaboutly.

But what I really wanna know is, who's this Studly Glee fella, and why's Buck lettin' his Snorts loose?

[tunes authentic heirloom banjo]

Well, I'll tell ya..

[rips off a authentic Ozark Mountain banjo tune on his Appalachian dulcimer whilst accompanyin' himself vocally using Himalayan throat singing what he picked up in the Sierra Nevadas:]

I gotta pie, yew ain't got none.
Li'l Studly Glee.
Fooboy's havin' all the fun.
Li'l Studly Glee.

CHORUS:
O, Li'l Studly,
Li'l Studly Glee!
O, Li'l Studly,
Li'l Studly Glee.

Wrassle a Snort and turn him loose,
Li'l Studly Glee.
Slap my weasel and cook my goose,
Li'l Studly Glee.

[and so the long Rocky Mountain night wore on...]

The Drive-by Blogger said...

Great post FooDaddy, but what happened to the "bodice ripping" type of artwork that usually goes with it.

Jacob "Pickle Weasel" Nordby said...

Foo is such a narcissist that he thinks the photo of himself on this one IS a bodice-ripper.

Your bodice, that is.

Paul "FooDaddy" Brand said...

I'm sorry y'all. I couldn't wait until I found a suitably funny bodice-rippin' cover to mock. I'm sure they're out there, and I've got my eyes open.

Until then, you'll have to make do with the hastily Photoshopped one of my studly self.

Any derisive snorts I hear will be taken as overt displays of jealousy.

El Fugbum said...

The only piece of writing I know of which contains BOTH a lovestruck barnacle and enraged quacking.