Inkwell: Authors and Artists

    

Clementina burst through the swinging saloon doors, a cloud of prairie dust
rising behind her, as she re-
  

    
peated the name of the dive, "The Internet of Libations."  It made no
sense at all, but she de-
  

    
livered the fourteen cases of Grey Goose vodka, watched as the manager
signed the slip, and pre-
  

    
tended not to notice the lurking figure in the corner.  It was un-
  

    <scribbled>
  

    
derneath the greenish light of the neon sign, and she couldn't be sure
if it was watching her, or indeed if it was even hu-
  

    
morous, but somehow she had to stifle a giggle. A hair-raising growl
emerged from the un-
  

    

-dead bartender. "Do you have something for me to sign?" this zombie
demanded, "Or are you another one of those per-
  

    
verted dead heads?  We don't serve the breathing here, and you can get
your voyeuristic jollies elsewhere.  The m-
  

    

--inute the bartender finished speaking, Clementina flared her nostrils. She
stood straight up to show her full height, and mis-
  

    
-sed her full height by a good six inches as her flared nostrils
caught the edge of the bar and she staggered back into the waiting arms
of a passing salesman in town for a trade show for purveyors of nov-
  

    
el approaches to mark-
  

    
smanship training for officers of the FBI, CIA, and members of the
mil-
  

    
-lion-strong Siamese Death Cat Brigade. "Hands off me," said Clementine. She
swung round, the salesman's two sample sub-sub grenade-launching bolt-action
machine guns already in her grasp. Taking care-
  

    
ful stock of the situation, she quickly figured out that her best ch-
  

    
-inchilla coat was in danger of sliding into a puddle of stale beer
and staler dreams. Swinging one gun expertly across the bar to her
partner, she swept the coat up with a flourish, feeling its silky
warmth br-
  

    
ing a blush to her cheeks. "Dammit," she thought. Men made extravagant
passes at her when her face flushed. It was the one wildcard she sim- 
  

    
-ply could never quite get a handle on.  She stepped back, glowered at
the salesman and said "I am n-
  

    
ew to these parts, but I'm not new to this planet. Where the hell did you get
the idea that it was okay to t-
  

    
-hink that i'm just another potential cu-
  

    
bs fan?  No, I'm a fan of the White So-
  

    
cial Democrats, whose next meeting will take place at the town ha-
  

    
rlot's Airstream. Everybody knows the way, and there's booze in the b-
  

    <scribbled by davidwag Wed 6 May 15 17:33>
  

    
reasts made of rubber (with working nipples) that hang from the ba-
  

    
abboon statue in the pantry w-