Ready, Aim, Fire

by Harry B. Sanderford and Madam Z

A ragged rider, face smeared with dried blood and campfire soot, fetched the Winchester from the saddle and stomped the dust off her boots before entering the saloon. Carrying the rifle loosely on one hip, she charged up to the crowded bar and started yelling, "Look here fellas, I'm hurt, I'm horny and I need a man right now, so which one of you polecats is gonna take care of me?" The men at the bar looked up from their drinks then away or down at their boots, so this raggedy Annie Oakley ratcheted the rifle's lever and upon regaining their attention, shot the mirror behind the bar to show that the Winchester wasn't exactly loaded with sofa pillows and that she was not there to be ignored. Most of those cowardly cowboys stampeded for the door, but two of them stayed behind: Curly, a big, square-jawed, hard-muscled sharp-shooter from out of town, who looked at Annie and said, "Lady, I got a gun as big and hard as that Winchester of yours, and I'm your man;" and Zev, the only Jew west of the Mississippi, who stepped up in front of Curly and declared, in a voice as sweet as milk and honey, "My dear woman, it is clear that you need some tender loving care, and while the gun in my pocket is not a rifle, my aim is true and your satisfaction is guaranteed." Curly swept the little fellow aside, unlooping his suspenders which Zev caught hold of and digging his heels in, water-skied along the saloon floor planks in the big man's wake towards Annie, who was on the bar unbuttoning her shirt and wondering what Mary Chapin Carpenter would do in this situation (WWMCCD) when it came to her, "Hey Curly, hey Zev, boys, you don't have to fight, HOTDOG, I'm feeling lucky tonight!" But, as always in a situation like this, the question of "Who goes first?" rears its head and Curly shook Zev off his suspenders and charged toward the bar, unzipping his pants and grinning from ear to rear, but Zev scooted in front of him and started helping Annie out of her shirt and dusty pants, licking every inch of every erogenous zone on Annie's lucky body, until she was bucking like a wild pony, while Curly stood there, shell-shocked and helpless as Zev mounted his filly and Annie reached over and grabbed her rifle, aimed it at Curly and said, "Hit that dusty trail, cowboy; I've found the promised land."


Harry B. Sanderford and Madam Z know how to rise to a challenge.