rambling 'round the southern bound...

Washington Park was a good place for Andy. With his rugged resemblance to Gary Busey none of the beggars, vagrants, or miscreants would come anywhere near the small patch of grass claimed as the kingdom of Shepherd. He finished a long swig from his trusty five dollar bottle of wine and exclaimed, "For Butter and Cheese!" These cries of war were usually the last sounds heard by those who dared trespass into the realms of Andy's kingdom. Decades of civil war had torn the land to shreds and he, being newly crowned as Emperor, was not about to let another group of bandits rape and pillage his land. "Drunken Kung-Fu is the keenest of all forms," he would tell his followers. "Cheap wine works the best but be sure to eat some bread later... for fear of the rancid purple poo."


For Gabriel, the streets held nothing more than the swift and vengeful hand of justice. Those who dared to cross the streets illegally (known to those on the street as "jay-walking") were soon to find the scarred flat business side bottoms of his walking shoes cracked rightly upon the back of their head. His flying drop-kick had been mastered through hours of diligent practice while carefully examining the motions of a Sunday Kung-Fu Matinee. No longer would the citizens have to fear the criminals of the daylight, for when they heard the cries, "G is for Gustice" they knew that Gabriel was near and the light that pierced through his golden hero's heart would soon chase away the shadows of evil that threatened the poor and the weak. "If only there were some way to wear golf shoes and not get that cement 'crunch' beneath your feet," he often thought aloud. "Then we could really kick some jay walking ass!"

For Bevan there was very little joy with the "New West." He longed for the days where dust devils and shakey hands filled the streets with bloodlust. The churchbells echoed through the alleyways, vibrating a resounding gong for the cries of high noon. These machines called "Trolleys" were something of an enigma. The metal beasts could crawl the rising hills of San Francisco with an ease that mocked the brute force of the modern man. "If only they had these iron beasts as slaves to build the great Pyramids of Egypt! What a feat that would be. The Gods would be proud," he spoke in amazement. Finding enough ammunition at the local shops to take one of these screeching metal dragons down would be an incredibly difficult feat for such a small amount of time for preparation. "I haven't seen a critter I couldn' t blow up yet," he exclaimed with glee.


Christine never understood the complex thought patterns of those that had passed on before her time. The realms of the supernatural were often described as "scary" and "bad-bad." However, as she ate her plate full of chicken cordon bleu balls immediately regretted ordering them. They reminded her of how her pet cow, "Bessie" had suddenly died after being fed a hamburger. Some called it suicide but Christine secretly knew that "The 'Hypno-germs' had eaten away the base of Bessie's cerebral cortex... either that or the aliens had come down and planted an exploding probe in her anus that ate her soul just before tearing her a new ass." She described these details to the sheriff after a wild and exhausting prom night escapade. However, something just didn't feel right as the left Bessie's lifeless body laying there in the field. Somehow she knew that 'ol Bessie's ghost would be haunting the lower hills of Petaluma for decades to come.