They Ate With Their Boots Off
©Mental Dimensions Humor Ezine
by Chris Nardone
.:Conquest Humor:.
05 Mar 2006
A small contingent of the 666th Cavalry was trotting along the plains with General Georgie S. Custard in the lead. Nobody knew what the "S" stood for. But after this story, one might agree it's for "Stupid" or "Foolish" or "Senseless" or "Asinine" or "Inept" or...well, you get the idea.
Custard, decked out in his heavily starched uniform, medals and ribbons across his chest, held up his hand for the unit to slow down. "Company! Hold your damn horses!" Then he chuckled. "I made that last part up," Custard said, feeling proud of not boring his troops with the standard "halt".
One of Custard's men, the resident gambler, Major Mark Las Vegas spoke up. "Why are we stopping, sir? We gonna play craps?"
"Hell, no! I'm not gonna be the jerk who downs a glass of Milk of Magna-whatcha-ma-callit again!"
"Huh?"
Custard removed his hat and shook out the rollers from his long, curly mane of hair. "Gotta hide these things. If the misses sees me with them, I'm a dead duck!" He wheeled his horse around to face his troops. "Okay, men," he began, "who brought the pies?"
"Well," Las Vegas said, "if I was any good at poker, I'll bet we didn't."
Custard slapped his thigh in frustration. "God dammit! No pies? How can I go on patrol without any pies?"
His other commander, Captain Freddy Dentene, a man who always had a noxious cloud around his mouth answered. "We'll just have to make do, sir!"
Georgie's face went white and sick, and he almost gagged. "Jesus, Freddy! Didn't you brush this morning?"
"No, sir!"
"Why the hell not?"
"Don't know how, sir!" Dentene said with pride. By this time, Custard was deathly pale and swaying in the saddle.
"Are you okay, General?" Las Vegas asked. "If I were any good at bluffing, I'd wager you're not feeling well."
Dentene waved his hand in dismissal. "Oh, he's fine!"
But he wasn't because....TIMBER!!!
Las Vegas was helping Georgie to his feet. "Are you okay, sir?"
"I...think so. I was assaulted by this awful stench."
Dentene snapped to attention, smiling widely. "That would be me, sir!"
"No shit!" Georgie muttered.
Custard shook his head a few times, then had his soldiers gather around. "Let's get down to business, men. To the north, we believe the Sueme tribe is camped."
"Greedy savages!" the men barked in unison.
"To the east, we think there is a village of Shyanns."
"Submissive heathens!" the troops shouted.
Custard turned to Las Vegas and Dentene. "I want you two to take up positions behind Ass Crack."
"Uh, that's Ash Creek, sir," Dentene said.
"Whatever! Then we'll attack like the dumb, blunder-headed morons that we are!"
Las Vegas scratched his head. "If I was any good at picking my nose, I'd say that there is a plan I can't refuse."
Dentene came up to Georgie with a smile and clapped him hard on the back. "Don't worry, sir. We'll take up our missionary positions and lay into those injuns real good!"
Dentene spotted Custard teetering once more. "Sir, you're looking ill again!"
TIMBER!!!
As Freddy Dentene and Marky Las Vegas headed off on their mounts, Custard staggered drunkenly to his feet, waving his hand in front of his face. "Damn! That guy needs some serious mouthwash!"
Moments later, an enlisted man came up to Georgie and saluted. "General? We've been getting reports that the Indian forces are numbered to be at least three thousand. We have six hundred. Wouldn't you say we're a bit overmatched?"
Custard put his hands on hips and thrust his chin forward. "I'm never overmatched! Shame on you, you pathetic pudding puss!"
"Excuse me, sir?"
"Damn! I'm hungry for a pie!"
* * *
Meanwhile, the two head Indian chiefs, Shitting Fool and High Mutt were in a teepee, readying themselves for battle. The Fool tore his feathered headdress from his head while posing in front of the mirror. "Bah! It make me look fat!"
Mutt came up behind him. "I have something to inform you of, Chief Shitty."
The chief turned, eyes blazing. "Now, see here, you drugged-up little dogface!" Then he stepped back, thinking. "Oops! Me forgot. That's chief's name. Speak, doggie!"
"There is a small contingent of cavalry heading toward us. What shall we do?"
"How many white men?"
"About six hundred or so."
"Great jumping Geronimo! Paleface commanding officer must be real ass wipe! We blow them next week!"
Mutt's face soured at the hideous thought, then held up his hands, halting his leader's murderous use of the white man's language. "We'll blow them INTO next week, Chief." Mutt nodded solemnly. "Yep. It's a shame those turkey's never took time to watch 'Little Big Man'."
The Fool grunted his agreement and picked up his headdress, handing it to Mutt. "Give this piece of shit to idiot brother in law, then we ride into battle against cavalry."
"Whatever you say, Fool!"
About twenty minutes later, the two chiefs were in a clump of rocks near the Little Big Dong River, spying on Custard and his unit as they prepared for battle. Shitting Fool saw Georgie standing rod-stiff with hands proudly on hips, watching his soldiers go about their duties. "Hey! Me know that guy. That's Georgie Custard!"
"You don't say?"
"Mutt, get us apple pies. We really let them have it now!"
"Hmm, what do you have up your feathers, Shitty One?"
* * *
Las Vegas came to stand next to Custard as they peered in the direction from which they believed the Indians would come. "What do you think, Marky?"
"Well, if I was wearing my lucky jockstrap, I'd say we'll blow them into next week."
Then an object arced from the rocks ahead and the two dimwits stared at it heading right for them. Custard's eyes bulged as the pie splattered across his face. "Hey, what's the big idea!" His tongue lapped some of it up. "Hmm, it tastes like...APPLE!! I hate apple! There's only one chief who knows I hate apple pie!"
Shoving Las Vegas aside, Georgie went for the Gatling gun that was set up. Marky was waving his arms frantically. "Wait, wait! You're pointing it in..."
Then Custard was cranking the Gatling, spewing bullets in the direction of his own troops, yelling, screaming and cursing the whole time. "You bastards! The only live Indian is a good one! Uh, I will fight forever...until I am no more! Um...don't run until you see the piss in their pants!"
He continued spraying his men, letting out war whoops and battle cries. "This one's for you, ol' Rough and Wet!"
"Sir, stop!" Las Vegas screamed.
"I'll breathe on him," Dentene said. "That should do it."
But it was too late. Custard stitched Las Vegas and Dentene as another pie sailed from the rocks, plastering across Georgie's facade. Behind the rocks, Fool and Mutt were snickering in delight. "Might as well put the idiot out of his misery," Mutt said.
Shitting Fool grunted his approval. "Give him cowpie!"
With that, there was only one thing left to say...
TIMBER!!
* * *
Fool and Mutt were heading back to the teepee after the day's work. "I have an idea," Mutt said. "When we get back, let's watch 'Stagecoach'."
"Me have to remind you we get asses kicked in that one?"
"What's the difference? We get our asses kicked in all those flicks anyway!"
"You right. We watch 'Doinking with Wolves'."
"Uh, Fool, that's 'Dances with Wolves'."
"Oh, right! Me forgot!"
"So, how do you think people will remember this battle in the years to come?"
Shitting Fool grunted. "White man will never know truth. They say we kick balls out of Custard's troops at Little Big Dong. They leave it at that."
"Kick balls out of Custard's troops?" Mutt thought about it. "Close enough."
"Now if dogface don't mind, let's move asses! I have to take big dump!"
"How did I know that was coming, Shitty One?"
Comments/Vote