thank you for bringing our goats back…

~

episode 19

Reinforcements Arrive At Pluckame

~

Two Afghan National Army representatives

Materialize out of thin air

Dressed to the max in second-hand uniforms

They are sitting on an old blanket nearby the voting shed

~

They’re soldiers now & have weapons & pay checks

They’ve been herding stray goats on their trek to the village

They impress nobody as being fierce

Laughter thunders from 1,000 Taliban hiding behind a pile of boulders

~

The 2 ANA soldiers sweating profusely in their hot uniforms

Cool down on the blanket layed-out in the shade

A hospitable woman in a burqa brings them a pot of tea & 2 cups

“Thank you for bringing our goats back to Pluckame,” says she

~

Taliban bullets whistle & ricochet everywhere

A rocket blows the roof off the village’s rebuilt mosque

One bullet pings on the helmet of one of the ANA soldiers

He smiles benignly & sips his tea

~

by

rawclyde

!

The Afghaneeland Adventure Series

(text copyright clyde collins 2014)

calling collect

~

episode 20

Interlude

by

rawclyde

!

Taliban make merry with ample ammo & bullets dance

The Afghan National Army soldier pulls a cell phone out of

One of several pouches on his chest & dials collect

The other ANA soldier grinds his teeth

~

A stray bullet ricochets around in the empty cup in his hand

Luckily the cup is made of tin, not porcelain

Then the bullet stands up on the cup’s rim & starts singing

Which adds real & deep meaning to the drama

~

Everyone is leaning closer and closer toward the cell phone

The soldier with the little thing up against the side of his head

Makes amiable conversation, smiles a lot

Puts the phone away & says to the other soldier

~

“The captain says to wait a moment”

The other soldier rolls his eyeballs skyward & twiddles his thumbs

The woman in the yellow polka-dot burqa gets up off the old blanket

And floats back to her modest dwelling to replenish the tea pot

~

“What color were her eyes?”

“I believe they were blue.”

“Do you suppose she is the legendary woman?”

“Well, this is Pluckame, isn’t it?”

~

Yes, anything goes in Pluckame

You never know what’s going to happen nex’

Whether it’s a vote gone awry or a bullet in your eye

The invisible village up there on the mountain ridge

~

~

Afghaneeland Adventure Series

~

text copyright clyde collins 2015

the afghaneeland epic continues !

Col. Sheena Johnson, U.S. Army

~

episode 23

Capt’n Fiddler Parachutes Into Pluckame

~

Ahhhhhhh, catapulting soaring roaring glory!

The boldness, the common sense of the U.S. Secretary of Defense!

Chuck Hagel has sold the entire U.S. Air Force’s A-10 Warthog Fleet

To the Afghan National Army for one dollar!

~

With a lot of training & expensive accoutrements

Now the ANA gots its own aging, rattling, deadly air-support

This Chuck is proud of that Chuck

For doing the right Chuck Chuck thing!

~

I am Capt’n Chuck Fiddler of the U.S. Army

Pulling my ripcord over the Nuristan Province of

Not Afghanistan, but Afghaneeland

A bubble full of wishful thinking inside my mind

~

A tiny dumb-ass bubble that refuses to pop

But that floats like a prayer in the ethereal reaches

Of a poor old soldier’s mind, so yes

I am parachuting out of a Warthog aeroplane above Pluckame!

~

Inside this strange bubble that will not stop

I’ve been training Afghan soldiers to fly

Now like a rain drop I am about to plop

At the feet of Col. Sheena Johnson

~

I shall serve wherever my empress be

Be it Afghanistan & be it free

So I float from above

To back the colonel’s love!

~

Yes, I float & whirl & twirl

Caught in a vortex of air swirling grand

Afghaneeland’s atmosphere gots a mind of its own

It looks like I’ll never land!!!

~

rawclyde

!

Afghaneeland Adventure Series

text copyright clyde collins 2015

Tulsi

for u.s. president

~

Behold

Laka

Standing

On

The

 Mountain

~

     With eyes closed he grew numb under the cold shower in the TAMC barracks, and pretended he was standing under an icy waterfall in the mountains.  The hot water was not working this Saturday morning ~ again.

     With a towel tied around his waist he was stepping across the hallway to his cave-like room when Pvt. 1 Tom Weasel stopped him and said, “Wanna smoke a joint, Duty?”

     “No no no no,” replied PFC Donald Duty, invigorated from the cold shower.  “I don’t smoke it no mo’.”

     “Well, how you gonna be mellow if you don’t smoke it no mo’?” said Weasel.

     “I chant,” said Duty ~ and he locked himself up in his room.  He put on some clothes, opened the curtain, twirled open the window, sat down in front of a most beautiful sky and let the trade winds kiss his cheek.  Sure enough, he began to chant:

     “Ku ana ‘o Laka i ka mauna,

     Noho ana ‘o Laka i ke po ‘o oka ‘ohu.

     ‘O Laka kumu hula,

     Nana i ‘a ‘eka waokele…”

     Outside, a misty cloud white and purple upon the hilltop, gently tumbled forward.  The cloud transformed into a pretty face with depthless eyes and a supple body with graceful moves.  It was obvious ~ Laka, the hula goddess, had arrived ~ and was dancing in the sky!

     From the colorful lei hanging from her neck and tossing to and fro, there fell a flower.  It landed on the window pane in front of Duty.  “Mahalo, my beloved,” said Duty.

     He reached for the flower.  As soon as he touched it, the flower turned into a diving mask and snorkel.  Duty whispered to the suddenly clear blue sky, “Ah, I know what I’m going to do today!”

     With swimming trunks rolled up in a towel and Laka’s gift in his hand, Duty darted out of the barracks.  Sp4 Joe Honor and Sp4 John Country were about to drive away in Country’s automobile.  Duty flagged them down.

     “What’s up?” said Duty.

     “We’re going snorkeling!” replied Honor and Country in baritoned chorus.

     “Oh, can I go?  Oh, please, guys, please!”

     “Hop in,” smirked Country.

     In a cove about a half mile on the other side of Waimea Falls, located on the North Shore, the three off-duty TAMC soldiers floated around above another world ~ Fish World ~ and occasionally dove deeply into it ~ all day long.  The surface of the sea was smooth as glass and you could see forever ~ even underwater.  The many colored fishes were sassy as could be.

     Later back at the barracks, played out and cleansed of worry, Duty stepped around two MPs and a drug detection dog ~ German Shepherd type ~ in the hallway.  The dog was howling in front of Weasel’s barracks-room door.

~

https://www.tulsi2020.com

~

from

her

secret agent

bred in

DUTY WORLD

~

The Terrible Truth & One Thousand Lies

 This One

is

On The House

 ~

by Rawclyde!

1980

~

     The music pounded like a locomotive.  The go-go girl followed it like a train.  And every patron in the bar was her caboose.

     Her nucleus of sexuality, hardly covered by a little white bikini bottom oh so snug, exploded, poetically speaking, all over the stage.

     She aimed it at a poor hobo and pumped him a few.  She would never know how much he appreciated that.  She did the bump ‘de bump with a lonely soldier boy’s ambition and ground to pieces an old cowboy’s sadness.  Boldly she stepped up close to a wicked man’s leer, crouched low and with her hands ludicrously rammed it in and out.

     Her fat, shapely, little belly, a masterpiece so tan, so smooth, so hot, was just about smoking like a home on fire.  Her belly button was the sun.  Her stage, more than just creaking wood, was the face of every feller’s drifting dream.

     She really knew how to dance.

     Like a snake, like a swan, like a cloud, like a shooting star, like the terrible truth and a thousand lies.  Nobody, absolutely nobody played pool when Philana danced.

     A tall stranger sauntered into the place.  Infront of the go-go bar’s stage, or ramp, he stoically stood ~ watched the go-go girl go-go.  His presence loomed so profoundly that the hooting, guffawing, and even the silent dreaming of all the Saturday night patrons ~ died.  He was that rare kind of guy.  Besides, except for a preposterous, black, cowboy hat on his head, he was naked.

     The go-go tune ended.

     Nobody clapped.  Usually everybody clapped, and a few would holler, when Philana finished a number.  But due to this stranger’s strange naked presence ~ not this time.

     An old drunk accidently knocked over a glass of beer.  He ducked his head sheepishly.  Not a soul moved.  Deep silence reigned.

     The stranger, lewdly handsome, smiled just a little bit at the intrigued saloon girl who was now standing still in the quiet limelight.  She rested her hand on her smooth hip, eyeballed the stranger up and down ~ especially down.  She was out of breath.  Her round, bare, little breasts gently rose and fell.

     “What?  What?  Are you trying to corrupt this town?”  she finally asked of him ~ her smile twitching.

     “No,” replied the stranger with an unobtrusive chuckle.  “Just escaped from jail.  All I could grab on my way out was ~ my hat.”

     Another working girl, scantily clad, quietly served him a beer.  “The bartender says this one is on the house,” she whispered.

     The stranger nodded gratefully, toasted the bartender, lifted the frosty mug to his thirsty lips.

     Philana rested a high-heeled foot on the bar that encircled the ramp.  She was staring at the stranger with not just her eyes, it seemed, but also with the provocative bulge of her snuggly, barely veiled, dynamite-packed pussy, which was at the same level as the stranger’s face and just a few inches away.  “What’s your name?” she asked.

     “Bogie,” drawled the stranger.  He ignored the saloon girl’s poignantly flaunted mound, squinted up into the soul in her brown bottomless eyes.  “Nick Bogie.”

     “I’m Philana,” said Philana.  Music began to play again.  Some fool howled.  There was laughter.  And cigarette smoke.  The woman and the man stared into each other’s eyes for a long moment.

     Then ~

     “Let’s ball, Bogie!” cried Philana like a whip.  Her eyes squinted full of tears.  Her thigh quivered.  The man to whom she had spoken held open his arms.

     She jumped.

     He carried her out the door like a bride.