This gift is but a token of
Our wish for you: a life of love.
This is your Wedding Day
A time to celebrate
The culmination of your love
Has brought on this lovely fate
There is a certain kind of magic
That exists between the two of you
It can easily be seen
In all that you both do
The caring, the sharing
The laughter, the fun
Throw in a little argument
And neither of you run
Together you face the days
Where ever they may soar
With a love that is destined to stay
Now and forever more
How it all began...
Some say it was round something to do with this...
...or maybe a while before then...
Many, many years ago, back in the Wild West it all began...
(written by a certain P Yates...)
OutFront Goes Wild West
We’re two days out of Smuttyville on the Cheyenne road and just making camp for the night. Ian is
preparing the beans again. God how I hate those bloody beans! Ian loves them so he won't be sleeping
too near the campfire tonight. Not after last night’s near disaster when Womble was blown into the tree
and Dan and I lost our eyebrows. It's pretty hard to look sinister without eyebrows but somehow Dan
manages it. Me, I just look facially bald.
Let me give you an update on our situation. We now have some extra horses. Spooky and his deputies
are walking back to town buck naked with their hands tied behind their backs. It was the least we could
do... They might get back okay, they might not. Either way they
ain't botherin' us no more. So we now have a horse each and a spare for Carol if we catch them varmints
in time, or for Carol's body ifin we don’t. I mean to take her back for a proper burial (and pick up the price
on her head dead or alive. $50 may not be much but it's still money).
They call me the Donkey on account of my mean streak and my obstinacy (some say there maybe
another reason but I don't like to talk about that because the ladies get excited and the men git jealous).
I'm a gunslinger and a drifter; my weapon of choice is the Colt 45 and I can shoot the testicles off a
mosquito at fifty yards so cleanly he won’t realise till he tries to get jiggy jiggy with Mrs mosquito. You
would want to be on my side if we get into a fight.
Around the fire we see the other members of this gang that has terrorised the OutFront Territories since
the civil war. Hailing out of Smuttyville folks call us the Smut Brigade. We are a mean bunch of hombres.
We take from the rich and the poor - we are equal opportunity criminals.
On my left sits Womble, she's a strange one. Left in the desert as a youngster to fend for herself after
her parents were ethnically cleansed by the 7th cavalry, she lived on her wits, running wild with the
coyotes and wolves, scavenging what food she could and barely surviving. Ian and I found her half
starved and dying of thirst just outside of Dodge city a few years back. With some hard work and a lot of
whiskey Ian taught her to understand English almost as good as what we do. She's an invaluable
member of the gang mainly because of her tracking skills she has the sensitive nose of a coyote.
Further round the fire stands Dan or Dpf as he likes to be known. He dresses all in black and
carries two pearl handled pistols, although he is a knife man by persuasion. He always wears a bandolier
of finely balanced throwing knives and carries the biggest bowie knife you will ever see in a sheath worn
between his shoulder blades. I've seen him kill a man from thirty feet away before the poor devil could
get his iron outta his holster. You don't wanna cross Dan unless you got a death wish.
Ian, aka the Golfer, is a strange one alright, he is a Mexican bandito with the biggest sombrero money
can buy. They call him Golfer because that's how he does his killin’. In a short range fight it's a sand
wedge, long distance he can kill a man with a single shot using his no.5 iron and a small white ball. I've
known Golfer since we were youngsters scammin' the marks on the Louisiana riverboat run. One of the
best poker players I've met; apart from me of course.
Tail, a sultry beauty, sits alone on a rock a few feet away from the fire. She has her knees drawn up as if
for protection and a Winchester rifle lays on the rock by her side. She still don't trust any of the menfolk
on account of how we all look a bit shifty and we have been alone in the desert for some time. She's safe
enough from me. I was only ever interested in Carol; damn her eyes! Ian seems to be looking out for
Womble, but Dan and Taz seem to be building up some tension there which we will need to defuse in a
few days before it gets ugly. Tail - that's a nickname as in "piece of" - is a good time girl, formerly Madam
Jaybee's best girl and the most popular with the visiting cowboys. There was some sort of a commotion
one day regarding the town’s physician ole "Doc Type", Tail said he made the wrong declaration so she
shot him stone dead with that little one shot derringer she keeps hidden in a place no gentleman would
look. Jaybee lied for her and Old Spooky was convinced it was self defense so they let her go, but her
heart weren't in the saloon business no more so she joined us because killin' is her thing now and she's
mighty good at it.
Now we come to Taz, the only known survivor of the appropriately named "Little Big Horn" massacre, a
former sergeant in the seventh cavalry. Taz is our 'munitions man. He knows several ways to blow a
man apart using a wide variety of heavy artillery and commonly found household chemicals. On his belt
hang the scalps of all the injuns he's killed personally and a few white men's too. Taz don't speak much
but when he do you'd better listen good.
He tips his hat over his eyes and lays out on his bedroll.
We all turn in but Tail. She's taking the first watch. Soon she will wake me to take over but I can't sleep.
I'm thinkin' about Carol. Is she okay? Did she manage to hide the gold before they caught her? I lay
there with all these thoughts going round in my poor brain like women’s frilly underwear in a wash tub. Then sleep takes me at last.
Back in Smuttyville Miss Jaybee is a frettin’. The smut gang are out of town and now the posse has been
wiped out by that Indian attack. Spooky said they were all dead when his group got to the scene and he
lost half his men including his two deputies Bobby and Rodger.
She’s worried because right now she ain’t makin’ no money. Nobody’s buying no whiskey or no pussy.
Why the girls have taken to entertaining each other lately to keep up their skills, and some of them seem
to like it a little bit too much. As she walks back to the saloon from her latest business venture she rips
out a massive fart. 'Good job I ain't wearin' no panties today,' she thinks. 'I'd a had to wash them again
and that woulda been twice this year; I don’t want to wear them out as I only got the one pair.'
Proudly she looks back at her new restaurant. Above the bright red building the letters J & B rise up
towering like big golden arches. Proudly the sign on the wall says "JayBees Eatin' House - The finest
She’s so proud of the variety of different ways that they can serve beans. There’s nothing else on the
menu, but you can have them steamed, boiled, fried, roasted, mashed, served a l'orange, or even raw as
the main constituent of J & B's legendary "one bean salad", a big hit with the ladies and the main reason
for the earlier massive fart.
'One day,' she thinks, 'there will be a chain of these all over America I’ll call it ‘Beans R us" or "Beans to
Stepping over Andy the town drunk, still reeking of that vile cider he makes out of pears an’ cactus juice,
she walks into the saloon and pours herself a large slug of her finest sippin' whiskey, then downs it in
one go. Andy is led in the doorway of the saloon with a huge smile on his face and his tongue hanging
down to his knees. As she wanders over to him he is talking under his breath. "I seen it, I seen it, it were
lovely my handsome." His accent is still reminiscent of the Somerset village he left some thirty years ago.
For a moment she wonders what he is talking about, then she remembers that she stepped over him and
she isn’t wearing any panties. His eyes glaze over again. "Like a big black cat with its throat cut, I never
seen one before". He’s started snoring now and doesn’t feel the first impact as the chair breaks over his
head, then he gets up and aided by her boot in his ass, shuffles off to find somewhere to sleep it off.
She turns and catches sight of herself in the big mirror behind the bar. Instinctively she sucks in her gut
and thrusts out her ample breasts blowing herself a kiss and winking. "You’ve still got it kiddo" she
whispers "What Donkey sees in the skinny Carol is beyond me I’ll bet she’s only a size 10. He’s lucky he
don’t break her in two with his great manly arms. He needs a real woman just like me. Plenty to get hold
She downs her third whiskey, farts loudly, and vows to herself that she’ll steal him away from Carol
Ironically, at that precise moment out in the desert Donkey and Carol lie entwined in each others arms
recovering from the best and most mind blowing sex either of them have ever had.
They don’t speak because at times like this nothing needs to be said, she is radiant and he just can’t
stop smiling. He looks down at her lithe sensual body and gazes into those perfect emerald grey eyes
(he could stare into those eyes for the rest of his life and it still wouldn’t be enough), for a fleeting
moment he compares her to Jaybee and smiles contentedly knowing he’s made the right choice. Still
holding her he turns so they can cuddle; fitted together like spoons. As he turns he feels her give a slight
shiver. "What’s up baby?" "I don’t know honey. I guess someone just walked over my grave".
Back in the Saloon Jaybee sits on a cowboy’s knee trying to smile, but she’s had too much whiskey so
the self-control has gone. Tears stream down her cheeks and sobbing she runs up stairs to her room.
Donkey holds Carol tightly and gently kisses the back of her shapely neck. In the distance a coyote
Jaybee wishes to say...... "Ha, ha, ha, ha, not in your wildest dreams mate"
...funny, that's what the now Mrs Donkey used to say...