For Part I of the Wildmyan adventure, click here. Here's Part II.
There is no relief more relieving than getting back to the 21st Century. Just ask Wildmyan.
Forget Marty McFly, this shit got strange.
Savagely escaping the enforcers of the Southern Sooner land, Wildmyan traveled both North in territory and forward in time to Duluth and 2012. Reprieve seemed near, and settling actually seemed feasible. For once.
Wildmyan's wild ways and random actions wouldn't go for long without rustling up some tussle. And when one finds they can slug back 6 shots of Wild Turkey whiskey without having to access "Liver number two," they're gonna draw some attention. For a nomadic hermit, Wildmyan was developing a penchant for sudden drama. And just like in Oklahoma back in 1889, the drama came at him like a tornado of hot asphalt, and all Wildmyan could say was:
"HMHM... SURE AS HELL DOESN'T TASTE LIKE A WILD TURKEY!"
"You'll feel like a Wild Turkey soon enough." The barkeep whistled between the parallel gap in his teeth.
Perhaps he liked the name "Wild Turkey" because it was similar to his. Either way, within 5 minutes, Wildmyan was dizzy. He had never felt like this. He did have a similar feeling a few years back when he ate the stomach contents of a Cactus Wren, but he never felt exactly like this. He never felt the blood rush to and from his head, his feet get so light, or feel as if the room was slowly tilting against him.
Wildmyan was drunk. 6 shots of whiskey in 5 minutes drunk. On a barren stomach. Drunk.
His flannel shirt and beard were moments away from being saturated with vomit. Death. Taxes. Puke. Onlookers be damned, Wildmyan was a "random hairy electron collider at Cal Berkeley"about to happen. Into most objects inanimate, but one of these objects an animate person, and that person an outlaw.
His name was Geoffrey James, a descendent of Jesse (the criminal, not the womanizing customizer). It was thought that the bloodline of this outlaw had run dry. Turns out, some of it had trickled to Duluth. Spilling the blood of others all over Saint Louis County.
What a situation in which Wildmyan has once again found himself. Odds are he wouldn't remember, and odds were he'd be dismembered. Because that's what Geoffrey James did, he dispatched and detached the limbs of his foes. Being a foe to many made many a foe to him. Wildmyan ostensibly stood no chance. Geoffrey James won every showdown and evaded every lawmaking body by keeping fear his method to live free.
It's just a shame that nobody ever figured out the product of the following chemical equation:
Wild Turkey + Wildmyan
When Wildmyan is dealing fists of Whiskey, there isn't a quickdraw on this Earth quick enough to subdue the imminent and inevitable ass kicking. Approaching Wildmyan is like confronting a caged animal, and like a caged animal, his instincts are just better than yours. He knows you want him dead before you even do, and he'll drop you in wild fury without even thinking. Because thinking has become tertiary in this moment, put on the back burner, and the drunkenness has taken a backseat to rage. He knows every move you're about to make two moves before you make them... he can smell you down to your gametes.
What sounded like meat being tenderized one wall away from a deli-counter, was Wildmyan putting on a display like a meth-head playing arcade Tekken.
James was beaten down so badly that it wouldn't be long before Wildmyan was eligible for manslaughter. So Wildmyan knew he better stumble out of there. And he now knew he had to continue his journey. Drunker than a Roman.
... TO BE CONTINUED
