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Almost Fiction: Missing links and 1955 Buicks

By Sam Jones

Almost-Fiction-web

Between the end of the Pleistocene and the start of the Neolithic Era, back when Homo Habilis was trying to decide whether to evolve toward Man or into Sasquatch, when the female of several species found Homo Erectus extremely appealing, offshoots of every experimental variety of early man were eagerly auditioning outrageously different notions of how to develop.

The Neanderthal and Cro-Magnon Man came and went. Homo sapiens survived, however they were not the only prehistoric semi-human hominids to stick around. There are others. The missing link Redneckithecus exists. The previously-considered nonexistent Pointed-toed Cowboyparanthropus persists. And the lost Hogbikerpithecus endures. Long since thought to be extinct they all survive and drink at the same watering holes, doing violence to one another when territorial disputes and interbreeding rights to the females are concerned.

Redneckithecus prefers battered Ford pickup trucks. Cowboyparanthropus tie their horses up to hitching posts or drive old Chevys. Individual Hogbikerpithecus ride big nasty motorcycles but when hunting in groups opt for 1955 Buicks.

(Note: A 1955 Buick is Moby Dick, the great white whale that Captain Ahab would have followed to Detroit just for a sniff of that chrome exhaust tip. The front bumper overwhelms the civilized world with two huge orbs of American ingenuity, gigantic chrome mounds. It’s a bumper with two mortar shells; no… artillery shells, to intimidate pedestrians and stir the passions of all the breast men of the world. Nowhere in Christendom is there a bumper that oozes more pure pornographic lust. If ever there was a big-breasted woman of a car, this is it. If it had a mind to, this car has tits big enough to suckle and satisfy all of mankind.)

At the Silver Dollar Bar and Grill both the local Redneckithecus, and the Pointed-toed Cowboyparanthropus had arrived early to stake out opposite sides of the bar. Drinking, swearing, pool shooting and posturing had already begun.

Having backed in the 1955 Buick at the far side of the parking lot, four Hogbikerpithecus swaggered through the door looking to avenge past territorial disputes.

Dying of thirst, two huge Hogbikerpithecus men picked up and threw out four college types purloining their table. Dying of thirst and unable to wait for a cocktail waitress, Hammer and Nails yelled loudly for service.

“What’s it going to take to get a beer in this hillbilly heaven? Are we going to get some service over here?” “What’s the problem? Is all the help in this place busy playing with sheep?” Hammer and Nails boomed.

“How about one of you drugstore cowboy phonies get those sissy pointy-toed boots in gear and bring us a drink!” “Come on, cowgirls, the corral is on fire; let’s have something to put it out.” Doc and Jeb were equally loud.

A very large contingent of boots, hats and spurs, dirty baseball caps and T-shirts with holes were getting very upset. Things happen fast in the Silver Dollar Bar and Grill when infested with contentious and competitive Redneckithecus, Pointed-toed Cowboyparanthropus and Hogbikerpithecus.

“Well, if none of you rednecks or cowboy retards are going to get us a drink, we’ll get our own.” Hammer got up, walked to the nearest table, took a beer from the biggest guy in the room and downed it in one swallow. “Thanks, shit kicker!”

That’s all it took. Rising up, the cowboy objected to the impolite desecration of his beer, however Hammer slowed him down by putting his massive fist through the center of his face, completely flattening his nose. The big guy went out like a light, crashed back into two other tables, angering the inhabitants and drawing them into the disagreement.

With that, all bar etiquette was suspended.

Four rednecks, intent on Hammer, didn’t notice Nails who tripped one, kicked the other directly in the balls, hit the third one in the head with a beer bottle, while Hammer gave the fourth another flat nose. A mixture of cowboys and rednecks came at Nails from behind but an elbow to the guts and a judo toss put them in the middle of the melee where Hammer smashed a chair on both. An amalgamation of four genetic misfits charged from the side but with the pieces of the broken chair, Hammer and Nails stood their ground gleefully punching faces, gouging eyes and bashing heads with chair legs.

With a sucker punch to the side of his head Doc was down in a heap and was receiving cowboy boot heel prints in his back. Hammer came to his rescue grabbing him under one arm and starting toward the door. Nails, using the chair leg cutlass-style, stood defensively until he saw Jeb, who lay muttering face down in the dust having missed all the fun as a result of being coldcocked with a pool cue. Throwing the chair leg Nails gave up being a swashbuckling pirate and grabbed him. Hammer with Doc under his wing and Nails with Jeb in tow fought their way through the front door and into the safety of the parking lot.

“Are we going to take that shit? Let’s get them!” An alliance of cooperative Redneckithecus and Pointed-toed Cowboyparanthropus followed the Hogbikerpithecuses out into the night.

“There they are! In that old Buick!” They all piled into the closest Chevy for the ensuing chase.

Wrong! That’s why the Buick sat idling. The Buick’s Dynaflow transmission was eased into gear, took full advantage of a 50-foot low gear run and planted the front bumper with those two giant tits of steel right in the middle of the opposition’s doors. There was a terrible crash. Women screamed. Men yelled. A Chevy whimpered and a Buick laughed.

Hammer backed up and let them have it again, pushing them like a Sherman tank up against the wall of The Silver Dollar Bar and Grill, trapping them inside and sealing their fate. Hammer backed up one more time, presumably for the kill shot, for the coup de grace.

“Hail Mary, full of grace.” Two cowboys in the backseat crossed themselves.

The Buick was dropped into low and came straight for them but at the last second Hammer hit the brakes and sliding, just touched the crushed door of the Chevy. It was his way of making a point. He backed up slowly and unhurriedly turned for the street.

Notes to anthropologists and paleontologists: If you know where to look, sightings of semi-extinct species are possible in backwoods bars just off the main highway. And, although not mandatory, a tranquilizing dart gun is always a useful tool.

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