I’m out of hooch and I haven’t had food for a
couple of days… I have to go see Artie – so I head over
early, at 10:00AM an unearthly hour
in our little town.
I open the twisted oval door to the bar,
and when I step inside and close it – darkness!
And not a peep except a curious snuffling sound that
sounds like a blunt-nose puppy ( a boxer or a lab) is
looking for a place to sleep…a bit of a wheeze..
and, what’s that? A hic-cup? And a snort…
And a terrified, mewling sound… so it’s not
a wolverine – wolverines don’t make mewling sounds…
even expressing affection, wolverines tend to snarl…
Then I heard a heavy thump. Did someone deliver
a proper front kick at the bar? By proper I mean heel first….
Not a puppy then…
Matilda has a big great Dane – dumb as a post. It sounds
kind of like him – bewildered, confused
and begging for something he never quite understands
he wants.
I reach out… and feel,,, what feels like a horse’s
tail hanging all the way down to my knees… hanging
over the edge of the bar…. this is too weird. And
nasty. The tail isn’t entirely dry.
A horse! What would a horse be doing
in Artie’s bar? I’ve seen many a horse’s ass here,
but never a horse…then again, at the moment I can’t see.
I search for more of those yellow candles…
I find a wooden ‘safety’ match snap it on my
thumbnail. There’s a flash of light… For a split-second
I see it…there’s either a large dog or a small
horse kneeling on Artie’s bar…
And the noises it’s making. Rather like
someone goosed a moose, or moosed a goose,
or… or what? I don’t know what… My imagination
is vast (or so I’ve been told, and I’m not at all sure
it’s a compliment).
But this is unimaginable!
The eyes looked strangely human.
But animals’ eyes often look this way, I’m sure
you’ve noticed.
However these eyes seem to be
bulging, as if the creature has been caught
in a surprising situation – a distressing situation.
I’ve got to find another match.
I don’t want to touch that hair again,
hanging down over the edge of the bar… it’s
just too creepy. Did I detect a stickiness to it…?
Oh, God! No!
You don’t want to be placing your
hands on just any sticky fluid! Imagine
crawling along the floor of a bus station bathroom…
well, that’s not the place to put your hand in
something wet… nosiree!
I once saw a pale white palm reach
into my stall in a pay-as-you-go toilet stall
in a bus station bathroom in the City…downstairs, of course,
it had to be downstairs!
Oh, sticky hair! No! Maybe I’d better
leave. Better find some alcohol first to wash
my hands.
“OOOOMmmPH!” it made a sound.
It wasn’t a deep-voiced male sound.
Tho the sound had plenty of gusto in it…
this is not a small creature. This is a large
dumb brute… in the midst of consternation…
Distress? Aw, now I can’t leave!
And my insulated green rubber boot just got stuck…
on something… sticky… on the floor.
OOooo… I almost throw up. And that
won’t help the general stickiness situation!
I find another match. I flick my thumb… I see
his eyes. It’s not a horse’s head! It’s a dog’s…
head mask… A mask? Oh, too weird! Too
sticky, and stinky too… I’m gone!
I work my way along the wall… one, two,
three moose heads… I’m out of here! I snatch
open the door… A glimmer from outside helps a bit.
No question. A large dumb brute is kneeling on the
bar, with a big hairy tail… making Great Dane sounds
if you stuff the dogs nose under a pillow…
I step out onto the Main Lane and let
the door close behind me. I light a cigar and
stare up at the gorgeous imperious stars…
the peaceful stars, the clean stars. The air is cold and sharp.
I like it out here.
The arctic air does not feel depraved.
The air of the arctic feels pristine. Not like the ugly
scene, the monstrous situation all-too- present
in Artie’s Elegant Bar and Grill.

I wire a rag to a pole of driftwood. I pour
some naphtha gas on the rag. I reach into my
bunker and pick up the Bic lighter. I light
the rag and push the pole into the mud at the
edge of the Mane Lane, just outside of Artie’s Bar.
I keep the door propped open.
Now I can see inside. Yes, it’s a beast
with a dog’s head… no wait, is that a horn emerging
from the forehead of the dog? No!
Yes! It is. And some kind of a cone
is rising atop the dog-head mask… The dog has
a pig nose and a dunce’s hat. A dunce’s hat?
It’s got to be Artie! You think Artie, you think
dunce’s cap!
IT IS! IT IS ARTIE! In the pointy hat of a fool!
As I say, it’s not that big a mental stretch… to think of
Artie in such headgear… although, the forehead-dildo
is a bit of a surprise, I must say.
And something’s written on the fool’s hat.
I enter the bar and light one of the
oil lamps. Good God! What have they done to
our poor bartender? I’m concerned…
I’ve got to get a camera!
I walk back in with my flash camera.
I can see what looks like Bruno the Great Dane,
only with big wide eyes, shake his head, “NO!”
Artie’s saying in mime.
I flash the shot from one angle. Then
I flash two more of his pig-face. Ha! Ha! That
pig’s nose looks cute on Artie! And what are
those words written on the dunce’s hat?
PIG… Yes, right above his ear. PERVERT!
higher up and. “FOOL!” And right above the dildo
emerging from between his eyes…!”
I snap another shot to the sound of
Artie grunting in denial!

Enough’s enough. I peel off the duct
tape strapping the hat onto Artie’s black hair…
I pull off the head-dildo. It comes off with a suction
sound – a pop! Has someone glued that to his
I cut the cloth of the dog mask
away. And there’s Artie! Wide-eyed and
ridiculous in all his glory!
His trying to say something, but
he can’t. There’s a bright red ball in his
mouth, strapped there. I pop this out.
Artie gasps. “Untie me!” he wails.
I’ve got cramps!”he grunts.
Then I see it, his wrists and legs
are tied to the bar… his legs are tied open
at the ankles…. and on no, the horse’s tail
is attached to a broom stick. The broom stick
appears to penetrate up Artie’s ass!
I cut the ropes loose…. I give a tug
on the horse’s tail at the end of the broomstick,
“Do you want this out?” I ask Artie,
trying not to laugh… “Or are you enjoying it?”
“Argrolff!” Artie shout’s back at me
from over his shoulders… His arms and legs
are quivering… I pick him up and lay
him on his side on the polished bar. I try
not to notice, but certain body parts have
been shaved, clean as a baby’s bottom!
Time for me to leave. I want to digest this
monstrous scene in peace and tranquillity.
I wish to think of other things. Like salmon fishing
in Yemen.

“I’ll let you take care of the rest of
your outfit.” I say to Artie; “I’m not sure what
you want where, what costume parts are annoying
and which parts you are enjoying!
I’d hate to interfere!
I say this just as he’s reaching behind
him with both hands, attempting to remove
the duct tape from his shaved ass..
“UCK OORF!” he shouts loudly… but once
again his voice is muffled because now
he’s lying face down on the bar, squirming
like a caterpillar ((with dreams of distant

He looks confused, bewildered… not
sure how to extract himself from his present
His voice is shaken, muffled. I wonder
just how far the broom handle penetrates up his
ass. I’d like to know, but it’s not the sort
of question it’s polite to ask.

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North West Territories,,, only sixteen left in town

The town was so completely destroyed by Friendly Fire no one can remember the name of the town, or exactly where the town was…..We know it  was east of the Mackenzie Rover – but the River moves around a lot and can sweep away sandbars overnight.  The JUICY ROOST HOTEL is only a fond memory in the minds of those of us who still have memories.

A Canadian pilot bombed us returning from the “dance” at Normal Wells the night before. Perhaps he saw something move fast out of the corner of his eye. Perhaps he hated Judge Wilcox like the rest of us —(My evil Uncle Elmer Wilcox was the judge… And everybody knows he was a monster.  But… Henry, no, honest! Henry was the fun guy… as his demise would point out to you. He walked off into the muskeg, perhaps seeing attractive buttocks in a cloud of flies, why knows? He

disappeared with a hard-on and a Walkman… and the thoughts in his head are only speculation)  This is ART in the Mackenzie River drainage basin….

        When you can see the hand in front of your face, despite the ravaging

humming, chittering (and are they laughing?) flies…. when and if you can see your

hand you may have an instant to witness a VanGogh… if you can hold the page

still of the reference book from the decimated Wait-A-Bit Library. If you can

hold the book still for a calm instant, and not scratch any intimate parts… maybe

then you can see the beauty that much of the rest of the world knows…but don`t count on it… better to look at Art thru the uncompromising light of a Coleman Lamp…like light in a surgical matinee… then maybe you see the colours… (if your drug-addicted mad slattern isn`t howling at your with barely noticeable articulation and you can put the reference book on your kitchen table for a moment of rest, then you have a chance… if your door is solid and nailed shut and you can forget the 100 pound weasels just down the shore… the wolverines reputed to have inherited Human  sex glands, intelligence and perversions, changed by some genetic experiment made during the time of the DEW line. THEN maybe you can

look at a Van Gogh painting, but don`t count on it….

EDIT 2X????C((((((Most of this is legend.. some of it is merely rumour, tho quite recent rumour….tapes exists – the words of several horrified and astounded victims)

Officially, none of us believe them… But we know the truth when we       hear it… ((some drunks have gone missing))))))))))Perhaps the pilot saw something move  fast out if the corner of his eye; perhaps he hated the architecture of the Town Hall or the A&P, Perhaps he hated Judge Wilcox , too…. he definitely had that perfect hand to eye co-ordination some of are lucky enough to have, no matter how drunk we might happen to be…One thing ya gotta say about the kid, no matter what psychotic thoughts were passing thru his brain, he was a hell of a shot… His aim was pretty terrific

            There was also the rumour that he fired at Artie`s Bar because he`dheard that Artie was screwing one of the Arctic Dixie Chicks… the flyboy`s favourite….young men can be hot-headed at some times…. I heard the first building that went up was THE  BUILDING RIGHT BEHINDArtie`s HOLE IN THE GROUND BAR…where Artie did indeed nail TRIXIE more times than I can count.

         She was the hottest of the Arctic Dixie chicks…. and she danced

extremely suggestively with a body to launch 1000 jets… great rolling buttocks, short skirts knee high leather boots with chrome stiletto heels….. a bit of whimsy which… always endeared herto me and to Psycho Fly-boy, which is now his handle… and will be`til he becomes legend in Hank’s one page newspaper… put out at unpredictable times. So twelve minutes later, I attended at what presently is our city hall, jail,,,  It`s that board and baton ersatz brick-faced structure that  rises up out of the roof of Artie`s bar.

        I knocked and knocked and then craned my neck and looked thruthe twelve-paned, wooden framed window… which isthe biggest picture winda on the Main Lane… I saw the mayor passed out in what was my nagahyde Lazy-Boy armchair, which I donated to the Town of Wait-A-Bitone long winter night with Matilda…. Matilda being electedmayor after me, I thought it was only fair to create a traditionof a comfortable mayor chair. Of course, I was intoxicated at the time, or I would have remembered it was the only chair I had.

     Matilda was passed out unconscious after having performed her mayoralty duties the night before.I noticed she still had the soccer pads on her knees…so I knew she had been hard at work til dawn doing the municipal works.

            It was hard to begrudge her my chair at a tender time like that.

           Later Hank was reading this passage  about falling in love with Matilda`s Ass, and 4 inch chrome spiked heels.

          “Endeared her to you ! That`s rich.. I caught you licking and sucking those heels in her closet – sitting in the dark by yourself…”

           “That wasn’t me,” I say. Was the man a spy? I don`t like spies – they catch me… doing things….I hate to ask this, … I know Trixie`s dead”… but ”What happened to..?”.“WHAT HAPPENED TO HER BOOTS?!!!

You are one sick fuck, Santa…”

“Maybe so… but,,, ANSWER MY QUESTION, FOOL!” “Hey!”

      How did that happen?… Where did my gun com, from… in my hand and  pointed right between his eyes?”

      Hank pants…. Standing with the gun, “You`re not serious.


So he told me pretty quick….I don`t know where all these remembered moments come from… must be the flies….or Maybe it`s because I haven`t even seena woman`s ass in 13 months…. and some stupid fuck burned all my “Real Ass” magazines…He blew up  all my computer connectionsAnd by the time you get LEG ACTION  up here…….the copy is in tatters.

                                     *    *     *


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