Moonshine and Ex-Wives of Mine

Stinkin' Pete Woodlin was an old friend of mine. He was a trick roper and a whip cracker of some fame. He was gifted to say the least when he wasn't balls deep in a cheap piece of carnival snatch or on one of his patented four-day benders. I mean the motherfucker had drunk rubbin' alcohol so many times his stomach lining, more than likely, looked like a burn victim's taint, and the sumbitch couldn't eat nothin' but milk toast (or for you limey bastards out there - milque toaste). That's where you take a loaf of Bunny enriched white bread and brown it and shred it and pour a quart of butter milk over it till it turns into mush. Now believe it or not, this concoction does not have that many vitamins in it and Ole Stinkin' P was slowly digesting hisself just to keep the old home fire burnin'. The process of slowly dissolving, and digesting one's self with the added bonus of an even coating of your own shit and piss on you, plus the rank smell of circus cunt he couldn't stay out of, resulted in Stinkin' Pete Woodlin gettin' his handle.

Now Stinkin' P, I'll refer to him as "Stinky P" from here on out, like I said, was a goddamn genius with a whip, lariat or firearm. The firearms becoming more of problem as his DTs advanced, but I never saw him ever open a bottle by hand. He would pop that kangaroo leather cracker of his whip around a cork or cap and sling that fucker off without splllin' a drop, which, wastin' a drop of likker to Stinky P was a crime tantamount to killin' and eatin' a family of six.

He was... wait a minute... Fuck the Sheriff’s at the door... I'll finish this later, there's three or four out there and it looks like I'll be taking a blue light fast taxi for a while this afternoon.

Part Redux:

OK chalk on up for "Whoremundula" seems her "New Beau" beat the ever lovin' slut outta her and she told Barney Fife I did it. Well as I was writting to you by way of the Great American Novel here I was able to show them that I was on line at the time and was saved a vacation swingin' a yo-yo. The problem being now I don't feel like talking and I'm gonna go get Judy Garland style drunk. I have a new half gallon of Dawsonville watermelon hooch and me and the mandrill are gonna huff some Freon.

See you on the other side.