Disclaimers: I don’t take myself seriously, why would I take the threat of penalty or prosecution over the use of Twentieth Century Fox’s characters seriously?

Author’s Note:  There is some serious Teresa bashing going on in this story, if that bothers you, hit delete and leave happy.

PG-13 Due to Teresa’s delusions.    

~*~ L ~*~ A ~*~ N ~*~ C ~*~ E ~*~ R ~*~

 

Once upon a time in the lovely green valley of the San Joaquin lived a great big rancher, Murdoch, and his two handsome sons, Scott, a former Lieutenant and Johnny, an ex-gunfighter.  All together they were known as the three Lancers, the men who ended the terrible reign of terror by Day Pardee and his land pirates (obviously men prone to sea sickness, thus relegating them to dry land).

The Lancers lived in a beautiful and large hacienda, surrounded by twenty thousand head of cattle (we assume the heads were attached to bodies, the smell of bovine gas and cow pies support that assumption) but anyhow we digress, which we will probably do a lot in this classic tale destined to go down in the anals (not a spelling error) of literature.

Life after the battle to defeat Pardee was sweet indeed, if you discount the one episode of stupidity when Murdoch let his youngest son Johnny leave Lancer in a fit of independence.  His oldest son Scott, in true big brother fashion, was able to help his little brother see that he was throwing away a chance for all the things anyone could ever want…not to mention he warned him he would be dead by the time he was thirty (HA!  Shows how much he knows, Johnny was actually actor James Stacy in disguise and he was already over thirty…damn he aged well). 

So Johnny came home and life went on and all was good except for one thing.  The family was plagued by the presence a parasite, one that burrowed her way under their skin, like a chigger, and was always underfoot, like dirt, always whining about something.  The pest’s name was Teresa (but we shall think of her as Brownielocks, as in shit brown, for her unremarkable appearance), and they were stuck with her because her daddy died while helping Murdoch (personally, this writer thinks perhaps it was Paul’s solution for how to be rid of her).

One lovely morning the Lancers came down for breakfast and found Teresa had cooked it (there went the whole day shot to hell, everyone knows breakfast is the proper way to start the day). As if the sight of her axe handle wide hips in her tight orange pants wasn’t enough to turn their stomachs then the food she slapped before them certainly did. 

Teresa gave Murdoch a great big bowl of porridge that was so hot the steam from it curled the sparse gray hair on his head (thinking he had a strand of hair for every blade of grass on Lancer was wishful thinking on his part).  In front of Scott she put a medium sized bowl of porridge that was stone cold because it was left over from the day before (she erroneously thought he would eat anything because he was a former prisoner of war).  She lovingly placed a sterling silver bowl of porridge in front of Johnny, it looked terrible and smelled worst; it also repelled flies (silly girl thought dressing it up in a fancy bowl would make it edible).

The three Lancers decided right then and there to ride into town and get something fitting to eat.  Teresa whined, stomped and cried when they refused to let her ride along (none of them wanted to be mounted with her).

While the Lancers were out, Teresa snooped about the house, leaving a trail of crumbs as she was eating the leftovers of Maria’s fine cooking, that she had hidden from them.  She sat in Murdoch’s great big chair and looked through his ledger book but she had to get up before she saw it all because her butt was going numb in the hard seat (now we know why Murdoch’s back bothers him).  Next she moved to Scott’s favorite chair for reading.  She sunk down into the too soft cushions (because her lead bottom weighed more than Scott’s) and felt around the cushions for loose change, finding none she huffed and puffed as she struggled out of the chair, knocking his book off the arm.  Moving to the sofa she stretched out in Johnny’s favorite spot.  She could smell his manly scent (something is wrong with her pointed sniffer because what she actually smelled was the horse apple deposit on her shoe).  Laying there with her head resting on the pillow his head rested on, her ample behind completely covering the indentation his tight butt made and her short ass legs barely reaching past where his knees went, she began to day dream about the handsome, dark haired Lancer…and her hands began to roam about… (commercial break while Teresa’s delusions touch on inappropriate areas).

Glassy eyed and dissatisfied, Teresa emerged from her daydream (or the Lancer’s nightmare) and rising from the couch she went to the kitchen for a snack.  She always woke up hungry (from the looks of her pants, she’s been getting too much sleep or either waking too often). She got a glass of tea, and then pulled the last of the cinnamon twists from behind the bread box.  

Slowly climbing the stairs, gasping for breath, (hey it’s hard work hauling that ass up those steep steps) she made her way to Murdoch’s room.  She grimaced at the large over sized bed, she sure did hate changing the sheets on it, they were so big…and they were even harder to wash.  Turning to leave she didn’t see the crumbs she dropped all over the quilt.  Strolling along to Scott’s room she entered and sat on the bed as she drank her tea, leaving her glass on his night table.  Sitting on his bed did nothing for her; everything in here was too neat and orderly.  She got up and crossed the hall to Johnny’s room.  Entering the room she tripped on his favorite leather pants and fell, landing on her butt (thank goodness it’s so well padded).  She picked the pants up and stroked the well worn leather, fantasizing about the man that wore them.  Shucking her own pants, she squeezed into his (it’s the only way she’ll ever ‘get into’ his pants). The fit was so tight she almost couldn’t breathe. The buttons pulled tensely against the holes leaving gaps between them through which her fatty thighs protruded.  Unable to get up in the tight pants she slithered across the floor and pulled herself up onto Johnny’s bed where she immediately continued her carnal fantasies she had begun downstairs on the sofa.

Meanwhile the Lancers returned home.  Entering the house they were relieved when they realized Teresa had not bothered to burn anything for supper.  Deciding to have a drink, they all poured one and turned to their favorite spots.

“Teresa has been sitting in my chair again, going through my ledger,” Murdoch bellowed as he brushed crumbs off the pages of numbers and swallowed his drink in one gulp.

“Teresa has been sitting in my chair again and she knocked my book in the floor and lost my place,” Scott ground out in irritation.

“Yuck…Teresa has been lying in my spot again and she left horse shit on the couch,” Johnny grumbled in disgust.

They decided to go ahead and turn in for the night so they could rise early the next morning and escape before Teresa could cook breakfast for them. Tromping up the staircase they came to Murdoch’s room first.  Scott and Johnny rushed in after their father when he bellowed out.

“Teresa has been in my bedroom and left crumbs all over my quilt,” Murdoch snapped, grinding his teeth in anger.  “I wonder where she is now and if she’s been in your rooms?”

The Lancers marched down the hall to Scott’s room.  “She sure has been in here and look at what a God awful mess she left,” Scott howled, spying the dirty tea glass marring his neat and orderly room.       

Racing across the hall to Johnny’s room the Lancers were shocked (not to mention disgusted) to find Teresa in Johnny’s bed.  “Oh Hell no…not only has she been in my room, she’s in my bed and she finally found a way to get in my pants,” Johnny whispered in a cold deadly voice, as his hand dropped down to his hip and ghosted over the handle of his colt. 

The click of a hammer cocking back woke Teresa from her pleasant dreams.  She would have pissed in her (Johnny’s) pants at the sight of the gun barrel pointing right between her eyes but alas the pants were so tight her bladder couldn’t work…instead she channeled her extreme fear into action and jumped off the bed and out the window…never to be seen again (poor Johnny lost his favorite pants but it was a small price to pay).

 

The Cracked End

Southernfrau

August 21, 2009