River of Tears

I was on a wagon train with McDougal in the early 1840's. We were attacked by panthers somewhere near Oklahoma. There was a whole brigade of them -- I don't know, maybe 40 or so. Well, to be honest, they weren't all panthers. There were also a bunch of foxes, zebras, goats and chickens mixed in there. They were led by a single heavyset Guatemalan striding a twin-engine Buick Leviathan (coupe).

Of course we were traveling light as hell back in those days and were protected only by our wits, superior strength, and an army of 11,000 French schoolchildren packing bazookas and a pound of c4 each.

So goddamn McDougal freaks out on me. Starts ripping at his shirt and crying. Just crying like a damn baby.

McDougal cries tears of blood.

And in great quantities.

Within about eight minutes he cried enough blood to form a river. A river of blood that washed away everyone and everything within a 60 mile radius. I only survived by building an ark out of whiskey barrels and moth balls.

I sailed that river of blood for 60 years until it finally dumped me and my boat into the mouth of hell.

When I got there, goddamned McDougal greeted me with a warm smile and a hundred dollar bill.

"Why you gotta cry so bad?" I asked him.

He didn't know.

He never does.