throat, ready to overcome all challenges...and they all owed their great mission to one man, the ‘B’jackass’ of a man, the President.
The rolling country at the foot of the towering mountains were the borderland and in a state of turmoil, where the tribes feuded with one another, where bands of outlaws and dark forces roamed unhindered. BamaOay and his fair companion strode along the landscape in the soft morning sunlight followed by his small entourage of Little Hoot’Shalanders. As they strolled further from the Little Hoot’Shaland settlement the forest countryside engulfed them like a vast rosy blanket limiting the distance the eye could see to not more than a hundred yards in any direction. The yellow lava road they were trekking could be seen disappearing in the distance where the dark shadow of the volcano could be seen on the horizon. Ahead of them lay some of the first of several strongholds controlled by minor chieftains. A banner made from what remained of the President’s shorts waved gaily against the clear blue sky carried by the standard bearer, B.O.
Roughly sketched onto the fabric using burnt wood charcoal was an emblem almost resembling a donkey, but so rough a fourth grader’s drawing that it could have also passed for any four-legged creature.
The mission, to unite the clans under one banner...the Jackass Banner!
Even now, with summer half-over, the leaves of the everpinks, the tall rich grasses of the knolls, the redwoods were rich with life and the prehistoric critters were still everywhere. The sun smiled upon the growing-wearier-by-the moment travelers as they strode past the gorgeous purples and pinks and reds of the local flowering fauna. It was a land of contrasts with cool, breezy sunlights; hot summer-like nights; and wooly, barely-clad dudes and ferocious spine-chilling broads. It was not only these rugged, lush surroundings that bred a hardy populace; it also had something to do with being carnivores, cannibalistic carnivores. The locals’ taste for fellow humans was forever pitting the lowbrows of one sect against the covetous primitives of the neighboring clans and was the chief reason for many to go missing.
To the north of this caravan lay the Little Hoot’Shaland clan and beyond them the ruins of the great wall, the demarcation line between the cultured and non-cultured. Those that had ventured beyond those stony ruins, those that ventured into that forest that lay beyond the wall, they invariably went missing, thought to have been eaten by horrible, hideous serpents, or fallen off the edge of the world. Separated by the Plain of Skulls ran the Red River and beyond that more nations of cannibals in the part of this world called Hoot’Shaland. Beyond lay the nation of the Big Hoot’Shalanders and further beyond that still the Midi-Hoot’Shaland clans...proud kingdoms all.
The backward peoples of all theses clans held their lands by the weight of their pointy spears and knew little to nothing of farming and horticulture...because they were all meat eaters and cannibals.
BamaOay, ScrowSucka (IllaryHay), Pile Driver (Nancy ElosiPay), Stinker (Al OreGay), B.O. (Harry Eidray), Moose Breath (Barbara AltersWay), Nut Goblet (Diane AwyerSay), Numb Nuts (John EwartStay), Rat Catcher (Bill AherMay), and Ig’Nollum (Jimmy ArvilleCay) were all part of the little band of merry travelers that crossed the Plain of Skulls.
BamaOay noted with mild curiosity the nature in which some of those skeletons had been gnawed upon, others splintered and broken. The skulls of many of the remains were generally removed from the vertebrae and crushed as if by some ferocious blow of tremendous force.
“By the looks of things these bones have been lying here for a long, long time,” he remarked.
Like a shot, as if appearing from the ground itself, the President and his little group were suddenly surrounded by primitives sporting animal hide skirts and all carried menacing pointy sticks. The portliest of the group, the leader, stepped forward sternly ordering everyone to halt. He regarded BamaOay cryptically; a round-eyed, white pigmy who in the sunlight had a striking wrinkled, hairy epidermis.
“Who are these folk?” whispered the President.
“They be Big Hoot’Shalanders, master,” came B.O.’s response.
“Shut up you!” shouted the portly commander who was further moved to remark gutturally: "This be Big Hoot’Shaland territory dogs! You die here...like them!" The slob kicked one of the shattered skulls and sent it clattering across the bone-strewn ground.
Swiftly, his beady eyes caught sight of a primitive’s version of eye candy. Like the President and B.O. earlier in this story, the Big Hoot’Shaland leader’s fierce dark eyes burned with a light any woman could understand as they ran over IllaryHay's glorious figure, lingering on the smallish swells of what could only have been her splendid little bosoms beneath a beaver hide blouse. Grinning with teeth missing, eyes transfixed, the primitive with his primordial yearnings now taking hold over his instincts to kill quickly added, “Okay, maybe keep one alive.”
BamaOay did not deign to reply to the taunting and the leader, energized perhaps by everyone’s silence, muttered a curse, stepped forward as if to capture the white honey in his hairy, solid arms. It was an unfortunate move for the cave dweller, who looked a lot like that megaphone toting Al ArptonShay in the 3rd Dimension, but whose name was Goo Goo in this 5th, or 6th Dimension.
BamaOay was standing several feet away, the driver held in his right hand; leather grip locked in his tightening grip. He would neither let nor allow anyone to ravage his female companion, not as long as the uncontrolled beast of a barbarian burned within his soul. There was but a few feet separating the bullet-shaped head of the Big Hoot’Shaland hunting party leader and his club, well within range of beaning the primitive before he could withdraw his noodle out of the impact zone. BamaOay gathered his strength; he gathered his courage; he had no time to get into a proper golfing stance, this swing of his was going to rely purely on potluck. He swung his mighty club...SWOOSH! through the air. The driver made a ZING! noise when it connected with the primitive’s noggin. The leader’s skull was probably over an inch thick, but he fell like a butchered hog all the same. BamaOay smiled; he had been working on his swing.
The laid-out primitive’s comrades stared on in horror. Everyone looking to see the creature crawl into a fetal position upon the ground, drool oozing from his mouth, terror clearly reflected in his wild gaze.
For the moment no one attempted any reprisal, nor did anyone accept the President’s invitation to, “Come on and get some!” Presently, they did nothing save for grunt in their apelike speech soon followed by two of them coming forward, then lifting their senseless, whimpering leader like a sack of wheat, arms and legs dangling, dragging him away.
BamaOay knew things could turn nasty at any second; sure they all looked like reasonable primitives; they were all light-complexioned with big blue eyes and bearded faces, but they had something resembling a gang tattoo carved into each of their foreheads.
“They look like good eating,” he heard one of the Big Hoot’Shaland hunting party whisper.
“I say stop,” commanded the President in his smooth, deep delivery. He lifted his driver again into the air and shook it back and forth to get everyone’s attention. “Me B’jackass...me King...me here to unite all you people eaters with ‘hope and change.’”
“B’jackass, what is a B’jackass?” asked someone in the hunting party.
Pile Driver whispered, Pssst...“B’jackass...you B’jackass us. They call you ‘B’jagoff.’”
“What the fuck?” returned the President with a little surprise. “Me B’jagoff, not B’jackass?”
“You B’jagoff them, B’jackass us,” responded Pile Driver with happiness etched upon her slightly bearded features.
BamaOay did not curse, scream, scold or rave as a civilized man might have done at the woman. But, the agony and turmoil over having to call oneself something sounding like a ‘jack off’ was nonetheless difficult. His feeble limbs were aquiver with the intensity of his emotions. Somewhere far to the south the other clans were still not under his heal; he needed to be slashing and burning his
way through the heart of those minor kingdoms and not standing around talking to some dimwitted head hunters. It was preordained that his current entourage of sheeple would swell in numbers through the force of his personality, charisma, eloquent speaking voice and soon he would dominate this world. None would be able to stand before him as these insolent dogs were now doing. It might take weeks, maybe months, but eventually all the Jackasses would succumb to his will. Sure there would be minor bumps along the way, but most assuredly those instances could be overcome through simple mendacity when necessary, just as chance had come to his rescue countless times before. But, in the meantime he must play along, so he did little save for grind his powerful teeth in tempered annoyance.
These deliberations of his took nearly a minute...a minute of vacuous mental calculation, but time that did not upset the backward peoples on either side of the spears. These were primitives and therefore non-thinkers and completely content with standing around all day looking under rocks, or watching the grass grow, especially when they were not having sex and humping their brains out in an endless effort to reproduce; something BamaOay would later learn never led to offspring in this 6th, or 5th Dimension.
BamaOay
Barbarian King Page 27
