Filthie's Mobile Fortress Of Solitude

Filthie's Mobile Fortress Of Solitude
Where Great Intelligence Goes To Be Insulted

Wednesday, 13 October 2021

Once Upon A Tard In The West


Stinky Pete, Mad Jack and I walked slowly down the street, 3 abreast. On the street side, townsfolk scurried into the buildings and slammed and bolted the doors behind them, and pulled down the shades. A few brave souls peered at us from the windows as we passed. We were here to wreck this town, starting with its law men first.

Facing us 30 paces away, they stared back at us. Grim. Silent. Sheriff Toirdhealbeach Beaucail swept his duster behind him with dramatic flourish to expose the two nickel plated Colts on his hip. Flies buzzed around Deputy Quartermain as he slammed the action shut on his double barrelled 12 bore. BP said nothing as he flexed his hands near his ivory handled Schofields. “We really gonna do this, Filthie?” the Sherriff asked.

Without taking my eyes off them, I noisily spat out my chewing tobacco and said, “Ayep….”



  1. Wow. You make me sound brilliant, Glen.

    As a side note, two handed (Nito) sword work is very challenging. I can only imagine two handed gun work.

  2. I pulled the hammers back on my old Greener and settled the barrels on Dep'ty Quartermain's star.

    "They call you Quartermain?" I said, and let the barrels drop a few inches.

    "They'll call you No-main in two shots or two seconds - whichever comes first."

    All you could hear was the wind out on the prairie, and even that died down in less time than it takes to tell about it. Then, just as I was about to let fly with the right barrel, that no-good Stinky Pete farted. Not just a gentle little one-cheek sneak, either. This was a loaded up Texas chili fart that made everybody check to see which way the wind was blowin' - only there warn't no wind. Ever'body jest eased on back a few steps, trying to watch for the tell-tale dust or the roll of a tumbleweed to tell us which way the breeze was gonna blow.

    Because it mattered.

    1. Thy poetry bringith mist to thyne eye

  3. That it does, Anon.

    It’s funny, looking back on how Hollywood had to rely on talentless hacks like John Wayne, Clint Eastwood, Lorne Greene, etc ad nauseum. If they had handsome devils like us to play those roles…they woulda been 100 times better than they were!