Kiss of Democracy Theatre II

~

MR. CUTIE PIE COMES TO TOWN

by Cloyd Campfire

2008

~

“Nice landing!”

The midget space alien wobbled momentarily. He looked around. He had touched ground-zero in Prescott, a thriving town located somewhere around the Mogollon Rim, in Arizona.

He discovered himself standing right in the middle of the sidewalk. Traffic chortled by. His gaze eventually locked onto a pair of outlandish high heels, inside of which were two beautifully sculptured feet. He could have leaned forward and kissed the big toe of the left one if it weren’t for the transparent bubble around his head. The little alien’s gaze slowly moved up up up a pair of long note-worthy legs, a black skirt a swirl in the wind, an exposed tummy curvaceous & yummy, a flimsy red blouse under which delicately heaved two bilingual boom-booms, and finally the depthless dark eyes of fabulous Jesusita. It was this entity that had complimented him on his landing.

The raven-haired beauty picked-up the midget extraterrestrial and held him at eye level in the palm of her hand, which sent a whirlwind of emotions through the little guy.

“You’re a cutie pie,” announced Jesusita.

“Please take me to Davy Crockett Reincarnated, the editor of the Old Timer Chronicle,” squeaked the earth woman’s new toy. “I have an urgent message for Mr. Crockett Reincarnated from the ancient astronaut, Merlo 7.”

“Oh no, don’t tell me that foolish old left-winger is communicating with extraterrestrials now,” scoffed Jesusita.

“Please. It’s urgent,” said Merlo 7’s midget intergalactic messenger.

“Do you have a name?” inquired Jesusita.

“Call me Mr. Cutie Pie.” The half-pint in her hand winked at her and did a slow-motion mid-air somersault.

Jesusita blinked & was smitten. She smiled. “Call me Jesusita. Let’s go.”

She dropped him ‘tween her warm operatic orbitations in such a way that his head peeked out just above her low neck-line, and he too was smitten.

Jesusita clickity-clickity-ed her high heels across the concrete to her car & hopped-in. They dashed out of town in the late-model Volkswagen convertable with the top up and the heater on ‘cuz it wasn’t quite spring time. Which makes us wonder, does it not? Why was Jesusita attired in such gratuitis attire this winterlude? Wouldn’t she catch pneumonia? Well, let’s remember, she’s one tough right-wing bitch. She’d also deserted the military, in which she had served as a submarine captain. Now, for the time being, she was a belly-dance instructor.

At Hidden Stables she rented a mule. She & Mr. Cutie Pie hit the labyrinthine trail atop this beast of burden for 3 days, ‘til they found themselves precariously up the side of a deep chasm lost somewhere in the Mogollon Rim. Here they wearily rode up to an ancient cliff dwelling only a few mortals know about and dismounted.

The mule snorted.

And I came out and greeted them. I found it quite difficult to take my eyes off the frog-face in a space helmet peeking-out from Jesusita’s valley of no return. “What’re you doing here, Jesusita? And who’s that?”

“This is Mr. Cutie Pie. Where’s Davy?”

“Why do you wanna know?”

“Mr. Cutie Pie has a message for him from Merlo 7”

“The ancient astronaut!” I exclaimed ~ and my mouth fell open.

Jesusita put her hand on her hip & gave me her devastating Chicano-girl look.

I led them inside to where the illustrious editor of the Old Timer was still levitating in a horizontal lying-down position above his cot with his eyes shut in a trance. He also was spouting-off about class warfare to Merlo 7 ~ in some strange one-way-street radio-wave way.

“Go ahead, Mr. Cutie Pie. Do your best,” said I.

The little space alien’s eyes glowed brightly ~ and he squeeked, “Mr. Crockett Reincarnated, Mr. Crockett Reincarnated?”

The floating man quieted down.

Mr. Cutie Pie piped, “Colonel Crockett, you’ve been chosen to drive home this message to the population of America: When Barack Obama is elected president, he’ll end the Iraq Occupation, so then you Americans won’t be so distracted from the extraterrestrial phenomena all around you. That’s it. That’s the message.”

Davy’s eyes popped wide open!

Then he fell out of the air onto the cot, which collapsed under him onto the floor, broken to pieces.

“Amen!” cried Davy.

The Davy Crockett Reincarnated Almanac 2001-2008

http://crockettreincarnated.yolasite.com

~

belly dancer

https://vimeo.com/renabellydancer

~

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About Rawclyde!

I have employed a few pen names throughout the years. Rawclyde with an exclamation mark (!) is the one too sticky to go away... Came of age at Crawford High, San Diego, CA ~ writing sports, a column, & playing football ~ graduated in '68... Attended SDSU for a couple years... Hit the road in a '56 Chevy milk-truck, a "studymobile," filling up notebooks & working as a laborer in the southwest... Practiced the genteel art of fiction for several years in my hometown... Enlisted in the U.S. Army ~ they made me a newsman in Hawaii ~ wrote another column for a while... Attended more courses at SDSU ~ studied novel writing with Professor Charlie Brashers... Sold books out of an '85 Ford one-ton van, a "book mule," in the desert... Did some writing in an old hotel in Prescott AZ... Have written & self-published 9 or so books ~ many of which are hiding out on the cyber highway...
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