King Of The Hill Porn Story: tale of the dang ol golden arm man Chapter 1

ever wanted to learn
how to speak “boomhauer-ese” (which is my term for his
mumbing)? well, the trick is to say what you’re trying to say, but
repeated throw in the phrases “talkin’ ” and “dang
ol'”, and end it with “man”. which is how you can
translate his story.

reviews wanted, flames
not. enjoy!

“All right, that’s
it.” Dale aimed carefully and squeezed the trigger, sending a
bullet in the direction of seemingly nothing.

“The government
thinks they can send mosquitoes equipped with microscopic spy cameras
to keep twenty-four-seven surveillance on me,” he said proudly,
mocking the government that in all honesty didn’t give a hang
about him. “Well they’re wrong.”

“Dammit, Dale,”
Hank sighed. “Don’t waste our ammo.”

“You wouldn’t think
it’s such a waste if the FBI came to drag me off for knowing too
much. I take out their trained spy bugs, and they have nothing on
me.”

Hank shrugged–it was
pointless to be the voice of reason when Dale was so obviously deaf
to it–and went back to trying to de-tangle the fishing lines, which
had knotted about three of the fishing poles together. He should
never have left it up to Bill to put the camping gear in the truck.
By merely laying them in there, he’d managed to hopelessly entangle
them.

Then again, leaving
anything up to Bill was a bad idea. Including starting the
campfire.

“Come on… come
on… D’oh, why can’t I start a fire?” Bill laid the sticks
aside and hung his head in shame at his own stupidity.

“Dang, man, talkin’..
try usin’ dang ol’ matches, man,” Boomhauer advised.

“That’s a good idea.
Say, toss me that matchbook on the log beside you, Boomhauer.”

The matchbook sailed
through the air in a perfect arc, and Bill backed up a couple of
steps to catch it.

Thus tripping over the
edge of the fire pit and falling backwords into the wood.

“Ow! Splinters!”
Bill ran circles around the fire pit a few times in a blind panic,
before slipping and falling back into the pile of wood. Weakly he
held up the matchbook. “Found ’em.”

Bobby and Joseph sat on
the log adjascent to Boomhauer’s, bearing witness to this without
even a slight stirring of amusement. They’d become immune to Bill’s
stupidity

“I’m bored,”
Bobby complained.

“Yeah, me too,”
Joseph added.

“Tell you what, man,
tell ya ’bout, talkin’, tale of the golden arm.”

“I never heard that
one before,” Bobby said, nudging Joseph. “Have you?”

“No. Tell us.”

Boomhauer cleared his
throat, which wasn’t all that necessary, since the boys only
understood about half of his incoherent mumbling anyway.

“Tell you what, ‘s
like this. Was this man, was lookin’ for this treasure. Looked,
talkin’, maybe twenty years.

“Then he looked in
this ol’ dark cave one night, tell ya, an’ found him that treasure
chest, sittin’, man, right there on the dang ol’ floor o’ the cave.

“An’ he hears this
noise, man, talkin’ looks up an’ there’s this dang ol’ huge grizzly
bear. Talkin’, bear rips off his arm, ‘fore he shoots it an’ drags
off the treasure.

“Talkin’, now the
guy’s rich, an’ he buys him a dang ol’ golden arm. Then he dies, man,
an’ night ‘fore he gets buried, dang ol’ grave-digger steals it and,
talkin’ starts walkin’ home.

“An’ all the way
home, he hears this voice, right. ‘Whoooo stole my golden arm.
Whoooo stole my dang’ ol golden arm?’

“‘Whooooooo stole
my golden arm, man?’ An’ then, right by his dang ol’ ear, says real
loud, man,

“IT WAS YOU, man!”

Startled, Bobby fell
backwards off the log.

Weakly, as he struggled to
get his clearly overweight self back onto the log, he said, “That
was a great story.”

“Yeah,” Joseph
agreed. “I bet it would be even scarier if I knew what he was
saying.”