More Poems

Manure Page

Poems by Others

My FREE eBook

Stupid Criminals




Manure Happens

About Hilma


Read My
Screenplay #1


I got to thinking about how the bad guys in those TV Western shoot-em-ups didn't have to deal with modern inconveniences. So I wrote this updated version.

Performed at Tall Tales Show, Plummer, ID, 2003.

by Hilma (Volcano) Volk

We were playin' pool, a feelin' cool
In the back of Smiley's Bar
It was Friday night and the mood was right
For drinkin' Coors Beer from a jar.

The local crowd was gettin' loud
'Til gunshots fired outside.
The shooting stopped and our jaws dropped
As the doors burst open wide.

Horses hooves inscribed their grooves
In the slippery barroom floor,
As three men rode in who reeked of gin
And looked like old West lore.

Someone said, "Why that's Crazy Ed.
He's been ten years in jail.
That's his brothers Moe and Cactus Joe.
They'd left town without a trail."

They were tall and lean and lookin' mean
With a six gun in each hand.
Crazy Ed frowned as he looked around
As though he didn't understand.

He cried out, deranged, "This place has changed.
But I'm back here anyway
To get that snake by the name of Jake
Who stole my Ellie Mae."

Our silence was broke, a happenstance stroke,
As a cellular phone gave a whine.
Thirty hands picked up, but Luther Rupp
Sheepishly said, "It's mine."

"You answer that, I'll lay you flat"
You all lay your phones on the table.
Dial 911, I'll take my gun
An' jest see who I'll disable."

A motorized rendition of a bronze edition
Of Ghost Riders in the Sky
On a ceiling track, gave Ed's head a whack -

That made him drop from his horse with a plop
But he came up just as quick
He'd lost a gun but he still had one
That he waved like a lunatic.

Then came the horrid scream of a fax machine
On the bartender's speaker phone.
The horses reared, their minds were geared
To head out for parts unknown.

And Joe and Moe were yellin' "Whoa!"
Just barely hangin' on.
Someone gave a pull on the mechanical bull.
Man, what a phenomenon!

Them horses bucked like thunder strucked -
Joe was drug around by the foot.
Moe landed with grace in the fireplace
And came up black with soot.

The horses dashed, Joe was gettin' thrashed
Against chairs and table legs
His ride would abort with a mighty snort
As he slammed through a pile of kegs.

Crazy Ed raged, his wrath engaged -
Then a cel phone chirped like a bird.
He was about to smash it into trash
When he heard the dreaded word.

"POLICE! Freeze. Stop, you Sleaze."
No one called Ed by that name.
Around he sped and pumped some lead
Through the heart of a video game.

Moe didn't feel good, but he played Eastwood
And hollered, "Make my day!"
But cute little blonde, playing James Bond,
Nailed his face with pepper spray.

She said, "This'll be fun," as she used her stun gun.
Moe jolted, then doubled in half.
The poor man writhed and agonized;
She tied him up like he was a calf.

Ed, down to one shot, fired the lot
You see, that man was loaded.
In a blinding flash and a deafening crash
The big screen TV exploded.

Talk about panic, those horses were manic
Upturning everything they came near.
They stampeded Ed who dove in dread
And got plowed by the mechanical steer.

Joe was bruised and a bit confused
And barely able to crawl
To the electronic shotguns, you know the ones,
For that duck hunting game on the wall.

Joe aimed and fired at the man who was hired
To be the so-called host.
When he failed to kill, Joe felt rather ill
As the bouncer declared, "I'm a ghost."

By then Ed was nabbed and being jabbed
By an old lady with a cue stick
Who'd sprayed his face with a can of mace.
And planted a Karate kick.

The horses redirected, were intercepted.
And quietly led out the door.
Things started to cool, we resumed shooting pool
Avoiding the turds on the floor.

The Police appear in riot gear
Expecting to find the worst.
Their timing weren't bad, but its kinda sad
That the lawyers got there first.

In front of the judge, the boys wouldn't budge -
Pleaded innocent, wouldn't you know.
But they changed their tune as the entire courtroom
Watched the whole thing on video.

They'll be in the pen 'til I don't know when.
Ed said to his brothers, "Aw heck.
A barroom brawl ain't no fun at all
Since the West done turned high tech."

copyright 1999

but neither does raising cattle

unless you're a lawyer !!!

  Selected Cowboy Poetry
by Hilma (Volcano) Volk

Back to Poem Index


Manure Happens
by Hilma (Volcano) Volk
Copyright 1995, 2005, All Rights Reserved
Website: http://www.manurehappens.com