
                                ###     ###
                                 ###   ###
                      ###   ####  ### ###  ###   ####
                      ###    ###   #####   ###    ###
                      ###    ###    ###    ###    ###
                      ###    ###   #####   ###    ###
                      ##########  ### ###  ##########
                                 ###   ###
                                ###     ###

                         Underground eXperts United

                                 Presents...

         ####### ## ##      #######     # #   ##   ## ####### #######
         ##      ## ##      ##         #####  ##   ## ##           ##
         ####    ## ##      ####        # #   ####### #######     ##
         ##      ## ##      ##         #####       ## ##   ##    ##
         ##      ## ####### #######     # #        ## #######   ##

         [  One Night In The Asshole Saloon  ]      [  By Max West  ]


    ____________________________________________________________________
    ____________________________________________________________________



                                        ONE NIGHT IN THE ASSHOLE SALOON


"Check it out," Joe whispered over one shoulder, "Your going to dig this!"
   "OK FOLKS!" The balding M.C. in baggy blue jeans, boots and red checked
shirt bawled from the stage. "Tonight you all know what we got. Yeah, a
real favorite here'bouts at the Asshole Saloon, so I want y'all, umm hum,
even you fuckers down there under the tables, (ripple of polite laughter
from the audience), to put your hands together and welcome Jeb, Ed and
Louise!, Three lean and mean U.S. marshals all the way from Warshington DC!
Along with their technical advisor, Link Large-dong!" The smirking M.C.
turned, flinging an aside to his challengers, "You guys all ready to meet
PECKER!!" he yells out the last word while the crowd erupts into near
ecstasy at the mention of the name, clapping shouting, spitting, coming on
themselves. "THAT'S RIGHT!!" the announcer stokes the willing group. "Joe
Rock's man eating hoss, PEC-KER!!, (more crowd joy), In a duel to the death
with our brave contestants, right here, right now!" It's a barely
restrained group that rips into foot stomping, rebel yells, gags and
whistles, watching the eager approach of the marshals in full riot gear
carrying Uzi submachine guns and electric cattle prods. They step up smartly
to their marks on the stage.
   Loud cheers rip from the spectators when Pecker, clad from snout to hoof
in shiny black body armor with yellow racing stripes, emerges from the
opposite side of the platform, lips rippling back in a patented grin,
showing off a set of teeth that'd make a Tyrannosaurus faint. Logan checks
the strings of saliva dripping off Pecker's fangs by the light of the
colored spots overhead. His thoughts on it: "An excessive display,"
"Nice horsy!" Somebody whooped as the combatants begin to circle each
other. What ensues doesn't please Logan in the least, though it's not
because of the show; it was that damned animal. Meanwhile, the crowd eats
it up: Louise, a whirl of snarling, Dykish fury, leaps forward with
authority trying to poke Pecker under his head armor with her electric
baton. Logan can see that this marshal, a stocky, well muscled, crew cut
fighting law person wants to end this thing as quickly as possible-her
partners spread strategically on either side, leveling their Uzi's waiting
for her to get into it before they start fighting. She's a proud one but
not too bright; In fact, though she possesses the very traits demanded by
her profession, this isn't like beating up a hog-tied Nigger and she
predictably underestimates both Peck's speed and intelligence. The very
first prod that connects is more than enough for this gifted wonder horse.
In a blinding flash, too rapid to follow, Pecker lunges in close and simply
bites her whole face off, skin and bone. The shocked troopers stare, nearly
immobilized at the sight of "one of their own" downed with such efficiency.
Sprays of blood coming from the hole in their companion's skull finally
galvanizes them into action. They panic fire, sending staccato bursts of hot
lead more or less in Pecker's direction but mostly into the audience.
Ricocheting slugs fly in every direction through the bar but the wise
patrons just laugh and duck even though a couple of tourists are killed
instantly. Meanwhile, the normally cool headed Pecker's dander has become
ruffled. It was the cattle prods and their implied connection with fucking
Cows, that did it! He fuckin' hated cows! With a snort he turns crosswise to
the two men, executing one of his favorite tactical maneuvers,
simultaneously kicking the cop behind him with both hooves, crushing his
chest flat, then using his forward momentum to propel his jaws into
position, completely snapping off the other trooper's head at the neck.
It is at about this time that the mutant Mountain Gorilla is released from
the booth backstage where it's been watching the action on a monitor all
along-he replaced Link Largedong who'd decided to cancel at the last
minute. It's a hopeless mismatch. Even though the Gorilla's IQ has been
artificially boosted, it still can't handle the chainsaw or the automatic
shot gun it's got for weapons, so almost immediately it cuts off one of
it's own legs and let's fly with both barrels into the exposed ass of the
fattest whore in the house whose trying to take a shit on her boyfriend's
face as a sort of tribute to the magnificent wonder horse. Pecker advances
on his lonely prey to bite off the other leg and one arm at the shoulder,
leaving for later the clumsy ape howling in it's own fluids. Yeah, our old
maneater has become very agitated by this sport, the four feet of straining
equestrian cock emerging from it's sheath testifies to this fact nicely.
Pecker further amazes the fans with his agile teeth and flexible snout,
ripping the uniform pants off the slaughtered marshals, flipping them onto
their stomachs and nudging their legs apart. Fires of roguish desire has
done lit up the turgid pits of his eyes and now the indomitable Pecker will
have his desert. The audience has waited for this moment, some have maybe
waited all their lives; the looks of rapture and glee on their otherwise
slack faces tells it's own story loud and clear.
   The handicapped Gorilla watching the fate of his comrades in arms, let's
out a hoot while it tries to crawl away, it's one good hand clawing
splinters out of the stage floor, stubbornly trying to save what's left of
it's dignity. A very horny Pecker reaches over to hold him down with one
hoof while he finishes buggering the endearingly dead officers. When he's
done all he can, he tears most of the meat off their skeletons and eats his
fill between huge mouthfuls of twelve year old Scotch from a nearby bucket,
generously provided by the management.
   "My God!" Logan whispered, amazed, "The son-of-a-bitch's appetite is
unbelievable!"
   A few of the rowdies down front could hear the Mountain Ape praying in
heavily accented English to whatever worthless god apes worship, while
above it the inflamed hoofster prepares to mount. By this time the crowd
has gone crazy. Mosh pits form down front of the stage after Joe signals
the loud and boisterous house band, The Poppin' Boilmiesters, to rev up to
full volume. Half naked men and women, drag queens and shaved goats start
screaming and hunching on anything or anyone that moves; Some of the
nightclubbers just grab bottles, brooms or walking sticks, jamming them
into all proffered holes. Dogs bark and snap at the shadows while cats wail
in heat, spraying the patrons. On the counter the mascot hamsters rut in
their bed of wood chips, blending their squeaks of maddened lust-joy with
the shouts of victory from the winning betters. But it was when Pecker
decided to regurge onto the back of the unlucky Gorilla's head preparatory
to fucking it, that Logan figured he'd just about had all he was going to
take. In a flash he pulled his silenced 9mm Gobstopper free and sent a slug
across the room unerringly straight to the open eye slit of the War-horse's
helmet through his brain and out the other side dropping the animal where
it stood. Poor Pecker's hose didn't get the message for at least fifteen
seconds, flopping unguided against the sagging buttocks of it's sobbing
victim. In the hush that followed, right before the general outcry, Joe
Rock belched, "Nice shot man!"
   A ripple of booze and dope soaked electricity was frazzling up the
already tweaked patrons as more and more of them got the idea that this
wasn't just part of the act. Somebody upchucked like Old Faithful in the
dimness close to them-Pecker was cold cocked! The word was spreading -
"C'mon, we better get upstairs-my office-shottin' down the only real
celebrity we had 'round here was pretty risky, pardner." They moved like
ghosts against the background of heavy metal Surf coming off the stage,
through a tenebrous night tableau of smoky shapes and bleary white smudges
of faces lit by the occasional match flair over a Bong pipe or the
reflection off blue steel razors and guns. They were heading toward the
elaborate Rococo staircase in the back. The room was so charged up with
outrage and malice that nobody was watching them - a few fights had started
by the stage and the blood bath would soon be in full force. Even though
nobody was watching them, they stayed close to the walls anyway. Passing two
Dykes carving Pecker's name with a Bowie knife onto a passed out drunk's
back, Joe commented, "They loved that hoss!"
   "Ah, Hell! Sorry, man" Logan shot back halfheartedly.
   "No, no pal, don't get me wrong," Joe reassured him, "I loved Pecker like
a brother, but that animal was getting' too damn mean, ya know?" Logan shook
his head. He didn't really know and didn't really want to. They'd been up in
that Arroyo pulling some deal Joe'd cooked up-he was so proud of that sick
pony-half it's hide was falling off, looked like it survived Hiroshima or
some shit; It was all fucked up but Joe assured him that it had potential
and he was going to call it, Pecker. "Got to where he was eatin' down two,
three cops a week," Joe rambled on. Logan was still sifting around in the
sewage of his memories: After that shit had fallen through in a way he'd
rather not recall, he'd blacked out and when he came to, it was just him,
his dead horse and the ever brutal Pecker. Joe was no place in sight. When
the disgusting creature had started vomiting those human hands and half
digested heads, he'd been outta there.


---------------------------------------------------------------------------
 uXu #467              Underground eXperts United 1998              uXu #467
                                http://uXu.org
 ---------------------------------------------------------------------------
