Wednesday, September 10, 2014

Meet the black-hearted cowboy, and his evil steed of chrome ...

An alarm was ringing in the bank.

“Heh heh heh heh,” snickered a raspy voice from the midst of the dust cloud. “Beautiful. Just beautiful … if I do say so myself.” His accent was cowboy. He whistled loudly. “Shooter! Come on, boy! I got a job for you—get in here!”

He was answered by the eruption of a big v-twin engine roaring to life.

The rumble approached him, growing ever louder, the closer it got.

“Shooter! Blow away all this dust, so I can see what in tarnation I’m doin’.”

The cackling engine revved up a few times, and then tached all the way out—and held it there.

Within a few moments, the exhaust blowing out of the screaming motor had cleared most of the dust away.

“ALRIGHT, SHOOTER!!! ALRIGHT!!! THAT’LL DO!!!”

The engine revved down.

A tall, lanky man in a long black duster coat and cowboy hat walked up to the snarling motorcycle, and gave it a pat on its gleaming black chrome gas tank. “That’s a good boy, Shooter. Good boy.”

The bike growled affectionately under his touch.

“That’s right. Shooter and The Rustler—pardners ‘till the end. Which doesn’t look like it’s going to be coming anytime soon now, does it? Heh heh heh heh heh.”

The cycle matched his evil laughter with it’s own, mechanical version of the same.

“Alright! Enough messing around here—let’s go get that loot, boy!”



It's 100% fun, and appropriate for all ages!

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