José was aghast. He'd been aghast before, but he'd never been this kind of seriously huge ghast.
The dame in his office was telling him a story too awful to be true. José poured himself a shot. He tossed the bourbon down his throat and then poured himself a second one because the first one had clearly been just a warm-up. The bourbon had made him a little less ghast and he was ready to proceed.
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Clanton. Can we back up just a moment? This orange-faced creep..."
"Danald."
"Right. So Danald has threatened to have you thrown in jail...why?"
Mrs. Clanton's eyes turned moist, like that weird sponge you used to use at the post office to wet stamps. She pulled a handkerchief from her purse and dabbed her eyes. "That's the thing, Mr. Amador: he never has a coherent justification. He just keeps babbling and making up nonsense reasons."
"Right." The next part made as much sense to José as ghost pepper lubricant. "And, and he has people who listen to this horseshit?" José really felt like a third shot might be the ticket here.
"Many," Mrs. Clanton responded. "Enough that I am getting nervous."
"Mrs. Clanton, this guy sounds like the biggest piece of shit since King Kong ate tainted clams. What can I do to help?"
Mrs. Clanton's eyes turned steely, like a ball-peen hammer you'd use to crack someone's skull open. "Beat the crap out of him."
So José beat the crap out of Danald and felt much better about everything and slept like a baby. Seriously, if everybody could beat the crap out of this guy, the whole country would feel a lot better. Yup.
Happy Birthday, Beigey!
