Chapter 21: Indecent Proposals.

After our marathon lovemaking, which we conducted by running twenty-six miles around the perimeter of the ranch joined at the crotch, we collapsed, spent as the federal government. "Jack," I asked, as he popped his glass eye back into its socket, "did the earth move for you, too?"

"Yes," he answered. "You see, the earth is always slowly rotating during the course of its twenty-four hour day. In addition, it also follows a circular orbit around the sun, which itself orbits our galactic center." He went on to explain that his brother had died tragically while operating a home-built time machine, since he materialized in a section of space where the earth no longer sat. I was alternately fascinated, confused, and drunk.

Colonel Quanders continued his efforts to drive me from the ranch, offering to take me into the woods and abandon me, or bury my mutilated corpse on the far end of the property, where the hogs feed. I politely declined his offers, and set about earning my keep on the farm to endear myself to him. Any thought of leaving and continuing my quest to reclaim the throne was being drowned out by my lust for One-Eyed Jack and his quivering muscles, which some speculated were caused by Parkinson's disease. I was going to stay there on the ranch and make a new life for myself. Land spreadin' out so far and wide! Keep West Belgium, just give me that countryside!

It was on day four of my stay that Sleevus pulled up in his powder-blue pickup truck, the windows covered in "Support the Troops" ribbons and the radio blaring Country 103.5 (America's Country, with Today's Best and Yesterday's Classics), and waved an important-looking letter in the air. He looked troubled and concerned, like the way I feel about PBS before changing the channel.

"They's takin' the ranch!" he yelled. "They's gonna foreclose on our mortgage!" I immediately realized he was talking about They Bank, the lenders who had financed his dream here on this dusty patch of Indian burial ground all those years ago. I interrupted my passionate coitus with Jack, much to his chagrin, and went to investigate further. Jack indicated that he'd be out in a few minutes, and fumbled under the mattress for something.

"Oh, Sleevus," Roberta wailed, "we can't lose the ranch! This is where our hopes, dreams, and chickens live! We done painted our name on the mailbox! Who's gonna pay for a new mailbox or for paintin' over the words on this one?"

"'Berta, I'm gonna fight this in court," Sleevus said, his eyes crossed with fury and poor genetics. "They ain't takin' our home from us. But we need money to fight back with, this ain't like our feud with the neighbors where we could just shoot 'em and plead illiteracy."

Their eyes slowly turned toward me, the wealthy European heiress in their midst. Since they were staring, I put my clothes back on. It had dawned on them that since I was imposing myself upon them and going through $170 in alcohol nightly, perhaps I should be willing to put up the money to save their home, and maybe pick up some McNuggets and a Biggie-Size fry on my way back.

I heard Jack scream from the other room, something about his mommy. But that didn't take their attention off of me.

"I'd love to help, really I would, but all of my cash is tied up right now in funding guerrilla revolutionaries to overthrow my arch-rival Sergio," I explained. They furrowed their unibrows at me. "What? They're expensive and the diamonds keep falling off their uniforms!" They remained unconvinced by my testimony. "Sure, I could make some phone calls, but think of the hefty long-distance rates you'd be stuck with! But I do have an idea. Colonel, get your shotguns. One for everyone. We'll meet up behind the barn in ten minutes."

My plan had been to have us all shoot randomly into the ground, until a bubblin' crude erupted forth, and then use the oil money to pay the mortgage and maybe that of the orphanage down the road. But the Colonel and company misunderstood, and assumed I was in favor of an armed standoff with the authorities. Oh well. If you're going to have any type of standoff with the authorities, an armed one is best.

I returned to the kitchen and sat at the table, next to Granny's mummified remains. I wasn't sure if Granny was going with us or if she was considered one of the fixtures. Outside, I could hear the family taking target practice against the massive propane storage tank. Eventually, Jack came sweatily out of the bedroom, much less impressive and turgid than when I last laid eyes and groin on him.

"Katrina," he muttered, toweling off his hands, "I... I think I might know a way to raise some money. When I first came to town I swore that I'd never bring up my sordid background of vice and Miami Vice, but these are unusual circumstances. Circumstances beyond my control. You see, before I came here I was known as Liquid Chocolate, or the Purple Dandy, and I was the most blinged-out mack daddy to ever smack a ho upside her bitch-ass head."

My eyes widened. "Liquid Chocolate?" I asked.

"There's a long story behind that name, and I'd rather not get into it except to vaguely suggest it involved Taco Bell and leave it to your overactive imagination. But anyway, Katrina, I think I could turn you out ten times a night and have the money we need in days. Nevermind that there are only a dozen adult men in the county, and three of them are flaming homosexuals."

"I don't know, Jack," I said. "This is an important decision that will affect our relationship, my feelings about staying, and my cooch." I paused and looked out the window at the rolling wheat fields and quaint covered bridges of the Covered Bridge Museum. "I need to have wild monkey sex on it."

And so we did, and I thought intently about the proposal during those three and a half minutes.