Folks,

Mad:

As his plane and more importantly his booze, go sputtering away, Dux has a strange, somewhat satisfied gleam in his tired old bloodshots. JRT thinks this is odd for someone who has just been so shamelessly abused and that done by a mate at that. He won't dwell on this thought for long because he knows full well that he is as guilty as sin himself.

Dux laughs a devilish laugh and pulls a full bottle of Jack Daniels from inside his battle dress. He slaps it down on the creaky wooden table causing a cloud of dust to rise a bit and quickly settle. JRT does not wait but instantly picks up the bottle and begins filling two heavily fingerprinted glasses. As he holds his glass to his lips and gazes at the amber fluid swirling about inside he notices lipstick on the rim. Dux's? Naw! Must be the Beer Maid's from down at the Addled Prince. He took a mighty slug as Dux did the same and then before the liquid fire had enough time to pass his scarred epiglottis, he was already pouring himself another big one.

Dux somewhat too protectively for JRT's comfort put the half filled bottle back inside his coat. Then he sat down with a sigh and laughed a huge belly laugh that forced JRT to look at him with the obvious question on his lips.

Nursing his drink, Dux took the hint and before JRT could even ask he smiled broadly and began to explain. JRT listened closely as he recalled that he had noticed this evil glint in Dux's eye only once before on the satisfying occasion when Dux had gotten sweet revenge upon a debt welshing C51 by filling his mate's condoms with cayenne pepper. C51 quickly got over it but Olga never had.

Just then there was a jarring, rumbling, gut rending, crash. All the sirens begin to wail and there was the unmistakable sound of the crash truck's bell. As they raced outside, to JRT's amazement, Dux tells him that he is delighted to relate that, firstly, that bottle of JD Mad so unsociably ripped from his hands was laced with a very strong but odorless and tasteless laxative, secondly, he had not gotten 'round to putting even a thimbleful of petrol into his old kite's tank so that the horrendous crash was probably a surprised Mad landing in one of those hungry oaks that reach up for the unwary at the end of the field. JRT had never seen Dux so pleased with himself.

JRT now had a very self-satisfying grin on his own face as they both ran toward all the commotion at the far end of the grassy field. This grin was suddenly replaced with a dark frown as he reasoned that the laxative laced bottle in question had most likely been meant for him since Dux had no way to know the sticky-fingered Mad was back. JRT's mad dash slowed to a sudden but enlightened halt and, as Dux ran on apparently unnoticing, JRT turned back.

The world had turned upside down. Dux, his easiest mark, his dependable dupe had actually out smarted him. Unthinkable! But for the unquenchable thirst of a just returned prodigal Mad he would now be headed for several unpleasant and noisy hours in the nearest drafty latrine. As he trudged back, deep in thought and self doubt, JRT noticed something lying in the grass. As he neared it he realized what it was. Dux must have dropped the half-filled bottle as they ran toward the crash site. He picked up the bottle and hastily un-corked it whilst keeping one eye peeled on the running Dux.

Over at the end of the field, near Farmer Dobbin's pig sty, he could see Dux was now helping load a huddled, writhing form onto a stretcher. From where he stood it appeared the form on the stretcher was trying desperately to pull down his trousers. JRT chuckled and raised the bottle in a heartfelt toast to his busy comrades.

Then, as the liquid fire ripped down his esophagus, and the Spitfire suddenly came crashing down out of the tree, the dark thoughts returned and he began to walk back. Self searching is thirsty work thought JRT as he took another healthy slug....

Last edited by Jolly Roger Two; 02/17/07 04:57 PM.

Originally Registered January,2001 Member Number 3044

"Blessed are they who expect nothing, for they shall not be disappointed" - Edmond Gwenn, "The Trouble With Harry"

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