SERIALIZATION OF “the Zany Time Travels of Warble McGorkle” – Chapter 25 of 61
Salvos of Congealed Chili Prove Promising at the Defense of the Alamo
Chapter 25
Salvos of Congealed Chili Prove Promising at the Defense of the Alamo
A few hours later, the Mexicans finally arrive. The Texicans are pretending they’re all either napping or lounging in the interior rooms playing Texas Hold ‘Em or engaging each other in friendly knife fights. The Mexicans, basing their assumption on prior experience, assume the Texicans are just stupid, though, and are not expecting their arrival.
But Warble has been peeping through a crack in the wall in the bell tower. Just as the Mexicans (the vanguard of whom are carrying extension ladders and grapnels) get midway between maximum firing range of the Alamo’s cannons and the base of the wall, Warble vigorously rings the bell and shouts the command:
“LASH ME TO THE MAST, BOYS! STAKE ME TO THE POLE AND COMMENCE MY DEATH CHANT! HOKA HEY! IT’S CLOBBERIN’ TIME! IN OTHER WORDS, AND TO PUT IT PLAINLY: FIRE! FIRE AWAY! FIRE AT WILL!”
Warble then looks down, his visage betraying deep concentration, scratches his head, and rubs his chin. “Come to think of it, there’s probably not a Will in the bunch of ‘em,” he says to himself. He turns around, points at the sky with his right index finger (seeing this, Mary finally realizes what this characteristic idiosyncratic gesture of Warble’s reminds her of: John Travolta in “Saturday Night Fever”), faces “his” men, and yells at the top of his lungs:
“FIRE AT PEDRO! FIRE AT JUAN! FIRE AT JOSE! FIRE AT JUAN AGAIN (there’s a lot of Juans in that bunch, I reckon)! FIRE AT ALBERTO, GILBERTO, ROBERTO...and all those other various and sundry assorted Bertos!”
Well before Warble has completed his rather lengthy opening statement, the defenders of the Alamo commence with their opening salvo. Texas chili shoots out of the cannons, splattering the attacking army with the combined ingredients of beans, peppers, hamburger (as this was, to be precise, chili con carne, not just plain old chili), onions, carrots, tofu, and peanut butter.
The Mexicans are repelled. That is to say, they momentarily pause in their advance, and then continue coming on apace, but they are repulsed, or revolted, by the odor and texture of the sticky goo dripping down their spiffy, newly-laundered white uniforms (the chili had been cooling off for an hour or so, and had congealed quite a bit) .
As is common with megalomaniacal, slap-happy glory hogs, Warble considers himself invincible and loses his head. Not literally, that is, but in the heat of battle he climbs atop one of the chili-shooting cannons to get a better view of the proceedings. While gawking, laughing, pointing, provoking, trash-talking, commanding, and otherwise making a nuisance of himself, Warble becomes the target of many Mexican sharpshooters. A teeny-meeny ball (Mexico’s lightweight and economically manufactured answer to the minie ball) strikes the heel of his left boot as he is airborne above the cannon barrel, dancing his idiosyncratic version of a Texas Reel.
The teeny-meeny ball strips the heel right off Warble’s left boot, sending the boot appendage over the other side of the wall in a long and graceful arc, chaperoned the whole trip by the teeny-meeny ball, until both objects disappear together down an armadillo’s den.
Warble, meanwhile, has landed in a heap alongside the cannon. The force of the wardrobe malfunction had spun him around in the air and dumped him unceremoniously onto the deck.
Truth be told, the teeny-meeny ball saved Warble from friendly fire, as Jim Bowie was just about to throw his ‘Arkansas toothpick’ (as some people call his signature weapon) between Warble’s shoulder blades (from a prone position on his cot, from which vantage point Jim had a limited view of the action).
Dazed and confused, Warble lifts his head up and barks: “Robespierre, you scoundrel! You must’ve cut corners on those boots you made me! They fly apart like nobody’s business.”
Soundtrack Note: “Dazed and Confused” by Led Zeppelin
Before Ward (who is busy loading a cannon with chili) can respond, Warble calls over the medic on duty.
"Sawbones, I think my brain may be busted, and my body totaled.”
“I don’t doubt the former, but can you be more specific about the latter?” the doctor requests.
"Well, for starters, I’ve got a small stream in my neck."
"Um...yes, right, those would be blood vessels."
"That’s not what I’m talkin’ about, you stethoscope-around-the-neck-hangin’, hypocritical-oath-takin’, baby-blue-pajama-wearin’, leather-bag-totin’, take-one-of-these-and-call-me-in-the-mornin’-advisin’, dad-blamed sawbones pseudo-healer! It’s a crick! I’ve got a CRICK in my neck! Get out your porcupine needles and give me some accurate punctures, or I’ll send you packin’ on the next thing smokin’! You can be replaced, you know--Krazy Kevorkian offered to come along on this pleasure cruise at half your fee!"
The doctor reddens in anger and turns away, but not before hotly replying (miffed as he is at Warble’s less-than-complimentary phraseology): “Maybe you should’ve called that other feller, then.”
Note from the legal department: Of course, Warble made that bit up about Dr. Kevorkian’s kind offer--no such negotiations ever occurred.
Mary comes up and feels of Warble, to see if anything is broken. Enjoying the treatment, Warble rolls over for more of the same, panting, wagging his tail, and shaking his extremities like a frisky puppy -- or a spastic high school cheerleader.
“Oh, get up, you old faker, you’re fine,” Mary chides, pulling Warble up by one of his arms. Warble sighs, shrugs, and then crouches on his haunches. Surreptitiously, this time, he surveys the scene unfolding on the field of battle.
Seeing the chili has not been enough of a deterrent to turn back the tortilla-fed hordes, Warble orders the second phase of his master plan, the donut onslaught, to begin.
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Blackbird Crow Raven’s “the Zany Time Travels of Warble McGorkle” is being serialized in this space each Sunday and Thursday; it is also available in its entirety from here.
You can listen to the recording of this excerpt, by the author’s alter ego/evil twin, here: