.....coming to a movie theater near you someday, maybe.

The cold winter wind lashed Pussy Ann's face, made her gasp from the shock of her skirt hem tangling in her beaded dreadlocks. She thought remorsefully that it wasn't like this at all in Montego Bay this time of year. She flushed crimson as the construction gang working the bank project hooted, one of them with a clear baritone voice screaming "MORE! MORE!" She thought angrily that she'd fulfill his wish if only she had the white boy doll in her purse instead of the small caricature of Birman, nestled next to the long black beaded needles. But she did not outwardly acknowledge the catcalls, and leaned into the wind with a purposeful stride, she could not be late for....

her appointment with the ju-ju woman of Yankeetown who was going to instruct her in the secrets of the "root" and the "words" to use with the charms that would let her take psychotic control of Birman and his xo because not only did she have the Birman caricature and the sharpened needles of impalement in her purse, but she had a freeze-dried paw of Birman's xo that N.S. had shot off with his .32 flint rifle, which when aggregated with the dessicated *urds from Birman's litter box and ground into powder as fine as Jamaican Jerk spice and sprinkled around with certain digitally deprived movements would make sure that the whole forum became sacred ground, protected forever into the future from inquiry and catastrophic events. No matter what. Then she remembered...

...an acquaintance on the other side of the river named Dan who caused his wife great concern due to frequent and unannounced POTKB episodes when lost in cyberspace.

It was a brief recollection however, for she came to the junction of Tin Pan Alley and Dead Creek Road, and saw the small wooden shack beneath the moss draped live oaks, a single kerosene lamp casting yellow light into the blackness of the growing gloom. She reached into her small bag, a leather pouch that held so many possibilities for the future. The cool shape of the cariCATure comforted her, a smile came to her lips as she stepped upon the small veranda. "Tonight we have great time Mr. Birman, tonight you feel the pain of the hounds bite!" she thought, and her small fist knocked on the door frame softly. The door opened inward with a creek, the features of her host obsured in silhouette by the yellow light. She began to introduce herself when...

it suddenly came to her attention that this mysterious Dan, the Lord of big Al and the other gator of the apocalypse, lil' BoB, that she saw in the shadow of the light shade on the kereosene lantern that had the reassuring trademark of the Coleman company, and really was a pump up model similar to the familiar no-lead gas model, except that it used kerosene instead of gas, was plucking several bungee cords stretched across 200 year old plank of cypress with a large hole cut into it and intoning nasally, as if trained by Tibetan Buddhists, Dooooooooo......Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa...Diddy......Diddy..Dum...Diddyyyyyyyyyyyy..Dooooooooooooo!

You guys scare the crap out of me!

And like smoke,Snap appeared from the corner of the shack.He was festooned in dried crat skins that Wizard Dan had made for the Dog.Dan got this idea from his close friend,Buffalo Bill,one of the main heros in the film "Silence Of The Crats."
The Wizard had insence burning that had an effect on visitors.The fumes induced a high that made Dan resemble Tom Selleck to the untrained eye.Pussy Ann Moore started to swoon.
As she stared into Dan's vampire like eyes......Suddenly

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she felt something glowing down below her midriff like the strong stirrings of the seething of an enraged pussy, similar to the rolling movement of individually indistinguishable beans in a viciously boiling kettle over a flaming fire of black jack oak that immediately brought her back to the reality of the resemblance of the den in that dim light to a porta potty used by more guys than the Army had who had just left a red hot bean burrito festival, not in Yanketown or Iowa, Dammit!, but in Charleston, By Gosh, headed for....

.....The Dragon Ladies Buffet Emporium.
Ann had never been there but had read about it in 'Cat Fancy' magazine.
Snap came over and wanted a quick scratch behind the ears(much like Dan.)Pussy Ann didn't really want to touch anything that was covered with dried crat skins, but she needed answers.
She had these charms in her purse but did not know how to use them.
She noticed a large shrine in one corner of this shack.Getting closer she saw it was put there to worship some God named Rigby.Instead of 666, the number 416 was scratched into the plank walls.
The Wizard Dan came floating to her on a rug of Jack Daniels fumes.He asked if she was sent to learn of Birman and his XO, or was she there to sign up for 'Pistol Permit' classes?
A loud knock and the door swings open.........

A flood of .50bmg shells roll out,and through the opening,,,she sees a large tortise shell,with a gold inlay of the initials,BB,,,,,,,,,the strong smell of burnt two-cycle gas fills the air,,

...not to mention a lot of smoke, not necessarily of the two stroke variety.

Pussy Ann looked upon this apparition and said with her Jamaican lilt, "Mr. Turtle sah, would it be that you have finally returned from the pahty at the Golden Chopstix? I have journeyed many miles and have great needs, many questions. Sah, it is true that the Birman was once in Jamaica? It is said that Mr. Marley died of cat scratch fever, I must know if this is true! I come to this place of my veesions only to find stange signs. Theese '416', men in cat skins floating on fumes, and what kind of deviltry ees dis permit pistol, what manner of fish this is? I now am speeeking with a turtle, weeth a man in cat skins behind me, a dog named Snap having sex with the ottoman. What manner of voodoo is this you practice? And sah, how is...

AHHHHHHH,Pussy Ann,,,you must bring sally back to me!!!!!!!!!with her twin .50's intact,,,and all the pots and pans!!!!!!!!!! go gurl go!!! came the voice from inside the shell

Therna and her new forum friend Omnivorous_Bob, who though a gnubigh, had the chance to become a derf, a claybuster, and yes, even an old elk hunter, just by jumping in and working hard to control the evil Birman and his nitwit buddy B. xo, either of which was truly as smart as a bag of hammers, or even a load of brick, but then she remembered the ju-ju woman of Yenkeetown and her anti-crat spells full of doowop rhythms and beats that was the necessary accompaniement to the 416 signs and J. Daniels fumes, the Birman dolly and the extra sharp hatpins but wondered if...

...big lizards were not the best solution. She hear fo de Beeg Al, de Leetle Bob, and in the midst of this epiphany, and while fondling her cariCATure a hatpin slid up under her thumbnail. A ghoulish shriek, a banshee's wail, and the possibles bag flew into the air. The abrupt commotion caused the oil lamp to go out, her lilt turned into language only sailors know. Then the bag hit a limb on the live oak above, and ricochetted toward the river. The collision wrought havoc within the bag, Birman's cariCATure suddenly transformed, his head up his ass, a common condition as we've all come to know. A hatpin thru his balls, another thru his lungs, and last but not least, a bottle of Kingston's Red Hot Mojo Sauce up his ass. She never had tightened the cap before...

but it was tight now.

I don't even know what to say?

SSHHHHH, don't interupt them. They wax eloquent and emote with passion! derf

So tight in fact that the cap cracked, then split apart, administering a 1000 CC emema to the previously inert cariCATure. Among the splendiferous multitude of events that followed,...

...crats in over 1000 cities across the land suddently raced toward their litterboxes, fire shooting from their backsides. Yes, Birman's spies had been discovered. Now the only thing left to do...

Out of the turtle shell,a Kentucky Mountain Man appears.He is dragging a 73 point Buck that got a 2839 on the B/C scale.He is mumbling something about 475 yards and a .31 cap/ball Squill rifle.
An Old Elk Hunter burst forth from the swamp muck.OEH holds up a wireless mouse that brings forth a Hologram of webpages showing this same deer has been killed for the last seven years.The Kentucky Mountain Man starts to smolder and then disappears with his ass on fire.
Pussy Ann Moore was inthralled with these manly men.She wasn't used to being ignored.Hell, she didn't own a bass boat or a firearm.What could she be good for?
Suddenly,a brilliant light is hovering over the shack.Ms. Moore steps out onto the veranda with our Super Heros to see what was causing the commotion.The swamp came alive with animals screaming.
Out of the ball of light,a pod of sorts descends.It resembled a CNC Turret Lathe.
Upon touching the mossy ground,it opens like a large flower.Standing in the middle of it is a large man in jeans and a shirt w/his name on it.He is bristleing with tools.Feeler gauges,micrometers,lil' stainless steel rulers and what not.In one hand he holds a powerful weapon that is the size of a sheetrock mud bucket and resembles a lead ladle. The other powerful arm has no hand ,but a large chainsaw w/ five cutting bars fanned out.The engine looks a lot like a 225 Evinrude.
"Ahh,it's HTRN," said Wizard Dan.
To which HTRN replies....................

....Where the heck is this Ms. More, Pussy, who was supposed to meet me hours ago, with the rough sketch of her new energy efficient crat trap that she wanted prototyped and tested by the civilian equivalents of SGF, the most formidable elements of the free worlds' special crat figthtng forces, secretly deployed in B.C. Oregonia, W.V. and other locations best left un-named who had parts of the puzzling pussy problem under study so......

On a bright and sunny day,Poletax and Mortie were on a fishing peir on the coast of Emerald Isle, N.C.
Mort was trying to figure out how Pole was catchin' so many Blues.Mort was useing live Squills while Pole had a box of secret bait he wouldn't let Mortie use,much less see.Whatever they were,the bait swam fairly well.At least for a while.
The boys cooler started ringing.The 'Crat Phone'as it was called.Inside their cooler were 27 Beck's Bombers.They started with 38 of these 22 ounce babies,but it was 6:35 AM and 11 went for breakfast,so far.One of these bottles was the 'Crat phone'.After several earfuls of beer ,Mortie found it.
It was their esteemed leader,Dragon Lady.
Now Mortie had a lot of trouble understanding complete sentences in English much less English/Mandaran and he finally handed the phone to Poletax.
Wiping Morts drool off of it,Pole listened carefully to Dragon Lady's instructions.
She said to...........

Dragon Lady say stop praying with serf and kirr pussy! GIs tark tark tark, no take care of business! This Pussy Ann More sound rike fancy girry house name, Li think she dien qe dao numba 10 bad stuff. Carry hot sauce in purse too strange for Li! She too kinky Li think.
Oh werr, you boys have more drink then finish story about crat with fire come out rear end. Too funny for Li! HA HA, Li wet pants! Have onry one keyboard.

That arr for now.

"That arr for now", no Pussy Ann More.

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Dragon Lady say stop praying with serf and kirr pussy!

Stop,,,,Stop,,,,,

How come I wasn't cast as the romantic lead?

I certainly have the looks And No, my name isn't "Sako" so your story is a little off.


HTRN

quote:

Out of the ball of light,a pod of sorts descends.It resembled a CNC Turret Lathe.
Upon touching the mossy ground,it opens like a large flower.Standing in the middle of it is a large man in jeans and a shirt w/his name on it.He is bristleing with tools.Feeler gauges,micrometers,lil' stainless steel rulers and what not.In one hand he holds a powerful weapon that is the size of a sheetrock mud bucket and resembles a lead ladle. The other powerful arm has no hand ,but a large chainsaw w/ five cutting bars fanned out.The engine looks a lot like a 225 Evinrude.
"Ahh,it's HTRN," said Wizard Dan.

You have been nominated for 'Best supporting Actor"


Dan

Pres., TYHC

http://www.Cratscar.Awards

And I wouldn't use a damn Evinrude - Rotax all the way!


HTRN

HTRN. If you would post a nice picture of yourself in the open here , the "Writers of Truth" and "observers of life" would make sure that your liking for pussy stories got you written into the script in a most obvious way.(Remember to sign the libel release first).Perhaps as the fellow with the biggest gun? Eh?, or the best crat trap?

Somebody didn't click the link, did they?


HTRN

That's not so Sakoman. I was just wanting you to post that picture in the clear and then we could all have great fun, you being a good sport & all! Hah!

Me in my favorite hat:____________________Me in front of a Bridgeport VMC I inspected:


Me a month or so ago:

Me last December:

Well there ya go boys & girls, when that flash of light happened and that pod descended to the ground just like Dan said, and the pod opened up just like a Triffid flower, it was HTRN that got out, just like he said. The pictures clearly show his detacheable chainsaw arm attachment is not attached for the picture, but his truck driving arm is. Like wise all his magnetic tools and measurers are not visible, but probably sheathed close by. He is shown coming and going from a crat patrol, maybe. So when you do up your next true story, you have another dedicated major player to write in. Now IF some stalwart here has a good address, I'll send a picture of old ned in for posting. It just seems right that we know who is watching out the other way? Besides I would like to star in one of these immortal epics. N.S.

Yep, only true warriors of the crat have that blaze of red in their eyes. It comes from watching the spray of red in early dawn light.

Dan

Pres., TYHC

http://www.RedEye.Special

Or they don't know how to use the anti redeye settings in their new digital camera...


HTRN