| Subject: Jimmy Montana Goes To Town |
Author:
Pouncing Fossa
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Date Posted: 02:52:27 06/20/02 Thu
Jimmy Montana's ship was getting hot. It was the kind of all encompassing, down right horrible hot that rips your pores to shreds, plasters your hair to your neck, and makes your whole heart and soul beg for a nice condo in Antartica, the kind of hot that would make most men fall to the ground and weep. Jimmy Montana was not most men. This, of course, meant that although he was lying on the ground and making small sniffling noises, he was doing it in a very manly and direct way, and was very proud of himself for his technique. It wasn't a bad way to spend an afternoon, really.
He'd been doing this for about an hour when his cruddy old telecom gave it's ring(the Bonanza theme). With a long sigh, he rose himself up from the floor, rolling his out of shape form up off the ground and into some facsimle of standing. Still wobbling slightly, he stepped into view range of the telecom, putting on his best "Why the fuck are you calling me *now*? face.
"Jimmy, you got any idea how much money you still owe me for that mural I painted on your ship bout' two months ago?", a bearded man hissed from the little screen. The bearded man's face was drawn, and sweat seemed to be lifting off him in small white clouds, almost cartoonishly. He appeared to have been doing some running lately, maybe even running from things, which Jimmy didn't doubt in the least.Jimmy, therefore, started the motions of a really good brush-off, the type he always did when people wanted his money.
"Yeah, yeah, I know how much money it was. 300 woolongs left over, right? Or something like that? Maybe?"
"IT'S 305 WOOLONGS!", snarled the bearded man, who was suddenly beggining to resemble Turok The Wild Man Of Borneo. Jimmy winced.
"Uh.......so I'll pay you later?"
"YOU'LL PAY ME NOW, YOU GODAMN BAG OF WHITE TRASH!"
Jimmy winced, again. Time to play Manly Hardball, evidently. Emphasis on "manly". "No. I pay you when I have money.", Jimmy said curtly, and he squared his jaw. Clint Eastwood, your ass is mine, he was thinking.
The bearded man wasn't cowed, at least not visibly. "IF YOU DON'T PAY ME WITHIN TWO DAYS, I'LL HUNT YOU DOWN AND FLAIL YOU WITH YOUR OWN -ASS- UGLY BELT BUCKLE!"
Well, THAT was an insult. Jimmy sniffed degradingly, flicked off the com' screen with one deft flick of his ring finger, and then set to work on cleaning his nails. Huh. It wasn't like the guy was actually honest to god going to come after him-he'd seen The Bearded One in real life before, and the man had the balls of a hairdresser, or at least a hairy hairdresser. And the law wouldn't bother with hunting down Jimmy's ass either- 350 wooloongs was the amount of bribe pay each officer proabablly received in an hour, or at least on this part of Mars.Therefore, the call was completely inconsquential, and should be instantly and blithely erased from his mind and memory, and maybe even his hippocampus and those other brain parts he didn't know the names of. No worries, mate, nothing to see here. Jimmy placed his nail pick in a drawer and shoved off down the hall of his extremely tacky ship. His dog was going to be hungry, maybe.
However, the call didn't leave his mind, or more clearly, the possible threat implyed in the call didn't leave him. Instead, it stuck with him like a really dumb buzzard,hovering over his head and waiting to prey on him when it thought he'd stopped moving enough. He'd be sitting down, watching TV, thinking about infomercials. Bam.He'd be tinkering with a gadget, wondering if he should go off looking for a bounty. Bam. He'd be drinking beer on the couch and trying to see how many times his dog would bark at invisible things in a half hour. Bam. Obviously, things were getting bad. This was *not* manly, in any way, shape, or form, and Jimmy was beggining to slowly fear for the future life of his raging male libidio, which he had carefully cared for and cultivated since the age of five. He was just thinking about writing Cowboy's Magazine self help page and asking about possible Male Libidio Saving Techniques, when a knock came to the door of his ship.
Thank god. He'd be able to prove to himself that no one was out to kill him over 350 wooloongs. Smiling, he rose himself up from his cheap chair and walked on over to the main door, shoving it aside with a manly grunt and then peering out with a big smile on his face. He was met with a gun, which was swiftly pressed with a kinda meaningful force directly between Jimmy's eyes.
God, why did he *always* have to be so right about things?
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