SERIALIZATION OF “the Zany Time Travels of Warble McGorkle” – Chapter 40 of 61
Warble Crash-Lands at the Site of Custer’s Last Stand
Chapter 40
Warble Crash-Lands at the Site of Custer’s Last Stand
In practically no time, our favorite conglomeration of loonies have arrived at the specified place and time. Warble peeps over the side of the Arodnap, points down at the gently rolling plateau below, and yells out: “De plains! De plains! Buckle your seat belts, turn off all electronic devices and all that jazz (I heard you listening to George Benson back there, Comfy), sit down and shutcher pie-hole! We're going in for a landing. Keep your extremities and appendages--which, believe it or not, includes noses and ears for some of you--inside the vehicle at all times. Here we go!”
Soundtrack note: George Benson's “Breezin'” should have begun playing in the background at the start of this scene/chapter
Warble has decided to land the craft “airplane style” this time, rather than hovering in the air and gradually lowering to the ground in the vertical landing or “elevator” (V.T.O.L.) style.
After at first gracefully gliding onto the meadow paralleling the Bighorn River, the Arodnap suddenly lurches and whooshes forward like greased lightning, as if it had stepped on a giant banana peal. Picking up speed, the time and space vehicle careens from side to side as Warble frantically tries to regain control of the runaway craft.
Just as Warble is about to take it back up for another go-around, the Arodnap upends against an oak tree, spilling out its occupants, one after the other.
Plop, thud, thunk, and 'oof' are about all that's heard for the next several seconds.
“Nice flying there, Warble,” Mary says sarcastically, standing up and brushing herself off, glaring ruefully at her husband.
“It wasn't my fault, of course, Mary,” Warble whines. “That grass there is really greasy. The whole Sioux nation must have had a picnic there and wiped off their hands on the blades of grass (or leaves of grass, as Whitman, the inventor of boxes of chocolates, would say), after gorging themselves on Colonel Sanders Montana Fried Chicken.”
“Bosh and balderdash,” Ward says, turning his back on and waving his hand dismissively at Warble. “Excuses, excuses. You're just a rotten pilot, admit it,” he mumbles.
“What did you say, Robespierre?” Warble demands, pursuing his image consultant and pointing his finger at him. “I'd like to see you try to land an experimental craft full of dead weight in the high plains some time!” he challenges defiantly.
“So would I! Let me fly the darned thing!” Ward blurts out. “Maybe we could at least stay in one piece and not muss up our hair that way, damaging our dignity into the bargain!”
“Step back, little fella,” Warble goads. “You couldn't handle a machine like this. Besides, it's mine and I won't let you,” he finishes, arms crossed, pouting.
“For cryin' out loud, Warble,” Jacques says, “fly the dang contraption if you want to, but tell us: Why are we here and what are we gonna do?”
“Now you're talking sense, LaRue. At least somebody here (besides me) is thinking straight and wants to actually accomplish something. What a bunch of losers and crybabies I've saddled myself with. Sheesh!
“Anyway, since you're all so stupid, I guess I'll—again (spoken like Tom Hanks as Forrest Gump in the film of the same name, to be specific, like this: 'UH-gin')—have to give you some remedial education on what y'all should have learned at your mama's breast, or in Kindergarten at the very latest:
“Back in YoOL eighteen and seventy-six (that is to say, the Year of Our Lord 1876), the Planes Indians took advantage of George Strongarm Custer--who believed in fair play and thought the Indians would abide by the rules of warfare, too—by means of a sneak aerial attack as the personable general was unselfishly laying out a la crosse field for the Indians' amusement, right around here--on this very spot, more or less.
“Instead of simply suing Custer in the circuit court (they prefer basketball to la crosse and had specifically requisitioned a basketball court from the “Great Father”), the Planes Indians mercilessly bombed Custer and his men with tons of Cayenne pepper wrapped around garden hoes. What looked like tasty treats descending from the sky were, in actuality and in effect, sodbuster guillotines. Custer and all his men were decapitated by the uncannily accurate bombing carried out by the Planes Indians.
“For those of you who are wondering, the Injuns ordered the garden hoes from J.C. Penney; they were sent in on the Wells Fargo Stage direct from Reno.
“Anyway, the Indians were so cold-hearted and cavalier that they were all casually chewing Dentyne gum as they flew the mission, and listening to 'GarryOwen' on their radios--being played on the kazoo by some yokel on 'Prairie Home Companion' if I recall correctly.
Soundtrack note: If The Chieftains haven't done a recording of “Garryowen” yet, maybe we could talk them into it? Or Van Morrison?
“Wild Bill Hickok is partly to blame for the whole shebang,” Warble continues, “For he was the one who taught the Indians how to fly in the first place, when he personally took them under his wing (no pun intended) and trained them for his eponymously-based production Wild Bill Hickok's Western Extravaganza and Aerial Stunt Show. The Indian squad leader Mad Cow (who today, like Lou Gehrig, has a disease named after him) opened the ceremonies by yelling out, 'Hey, dudes! It’s a good day to kill! Bloodthirsty savages to the battle stations! Mama’s boys, whiners, wimps, milquetoasts, and pantywaists hide behind a tree and just cool your heels and watch a while!'
“The worst thing of all was the music the Indians were listening to. They were flying so low (and solo, too, buy the whey, as they had as many airplanes at their disposal as they had warriors) and had their radios blasting so loud that Custer could hear 'Garryowen' as clear as a bell. Distracted by the melodious tones and catchy rhythm, Custer was too busy break-dancing and “movin' to the groovin'” to heed the warnings some of his officers were alertly supplying him with. Shrewd, battle-hardened veterans that they were, some of Custer's junior officers had by this time perceived the possibly unneighborly intent of the Planes Indians.”
Warble sighs. “If not for the distracting music, Custer would have won the battle, and then been elected President of these hyar Ewe-knighted States. And the upshot of that would've been, that instead of Rutherford Bee "Purple" Haze being elected President in YoOl 1876,” (who institutionalized 'hazing,' from which Warble is still traumatized, by the way) “Custer would've filled that lofty office and sat on that throne.
Soundtrack note: Jimi Hendrix, "Purple Haze"
“Poor old Custer,” Warble sighs, after a moment of silence, a tear running down his cheek, “a kinder, gentler, more humble soul never existed (except for me, of course, but I wasn't born yet, then, so he took the cake at that point in time). All Custer wanted was peace, and to see good come to the Indians—and to become President, of course, but who can blame him for that?”
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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, here: