Oh, what am I doing in Dodge City when I want to be in Mindu’s arms? Or at least spanking her, and listening to the funny things she says?
Linsa’s tough love is a pain in the — it could be important — a pain in the Fifth Chakra. This Dodge City stuff is for Hungarian brew masters. When do I get to fuck the parson’s daughter? Turn Judge Roy Bean into a chicken, and Wyatt Urp too, and the rest of the jury, because I don’t think they had juries at the assizes in Dodge City when Judge Roy Bean presided, but I can make one up anyway. Actually, I can make anything happen in my Fifth Chakra. I can make any fucking thing happen in my Fifth Chakra.
HOOMBA. VOOMBA.
Yeah. So why have I made it so we’re sitting in this stupid jail in Dodge City, Kansas waiting for the parson’s daughter to arrive so I can stick my dick down her throat while she’s reading the Bible to the in-fy-dels.
HOOMBA. BOOMBA. GABOOM. PAYOOMBA.
Holly fucking shit, Jod! Where did you get those?
CRAM.
You crammed them all right, Jod. If it’s not hashish donuts it’s fricking peyote buttons.
(The inside of the jail cell is dark because it’s the middle of the night, but the glowing red embers of Jod’s eyes illuminate the mesa he has spread out on the dirt jail house floor.)
Holy fucking Buntline Specials, Jod, you managed to cram all these peyote buttons into your harem trousers?
VOOM.
I’ll say!
(Jod’s mesa has been set out on a Navajo blanket, which along with a bucket to shit in constitutes all the furnishings the jail house has to offer. It’s not very large either, and the northwest corner of Jod’s mesa is represented by Doc Holliday’s booted left foot, their peyote ceremony as it gets under way also being accompanied by the Doc’s sleep apneic snores as the alcoholic stench of his breath threatens to envelope them, but fails to do so when he urinates in his pants and the competing odors actually cancel one another out.)
Shall we wake Doc up and offer him some, Jod?