Rumblitis--Chapter Nineteen (Bonanza Jellybean DIES)

 
   As always--my books:  King's Books! 
  
   NINETEEN: 
   The holiday season had wended away, and Montana became the frigid monster of awe-inspiring isolation that it was--a Libertarian's Dream, boasting of medical cannabis and the individual ability to freely carry large caliber weaponry, like a single action .44 Magnum capable of smiting the most Brown of Bears, or take the head off of a wandering pronghorn for practice.
   Anyway, Doctor Basil Loveflesh had visited Ray Rumble's incarcerated crazy, offering pedagogish pragmatism, giving the former Saskatchewan Punter a near mint copy of Tom Robbins' Even Cowgirls Get the Blues.  And Robbins be waaaaaay more better than this drunken Blogger of Bullshit; regardless, Ray was euphoric during the read, made magnanimous from the might of opiate-derived drugs consoling his physiological system.  And as he devoured the novel, Ray appreciated ObamaCare even more, in all its insanities, knowing that the Federal Government does provide the galloping mercury of the Postal Office; plus, a mighty military backed up by the 2nd Amendment, meaning that neither Russia nor China could ever invade and usurp our freedoms, for the African-American citizens in urban areas mixed with the bucolic-dwelling rednecks are all armed to the teeth, driving away any damned determination to soil our liberty or land, unlike England, easily able to be overtaken by such Barbarism that was the culmination of the Roman Empire.
   So, Ray, weeping for the death of the superlative cowgirl, her name:  Bonanza Jellybean--aglow with tits divine; specifically, firm, symmetrical breasts, just like the Genetic Revolution will offer all women down the evolutionary road, trumping the aesthetic aspects of ObamaCare.  And yes, the Federal Government killed Bonanza Jellybean, thieving away her cries of Hindu Theology and eternal wardrobe of Dale Evans; anyhow, Ray knew paradise promoted the weird, elevating slackers and the unsophisticated to Saints and Sages.  For as the Christ Man concluded (KJV) Matthew 20:16:
   "So the last shall be first, and the first last:  for many be called, but few chosen."
   "Amen Jelly."  Ray Rumble thought; next, pondered why his own author wasn't so slick with the vernacular--whatever dude; there's always Twilight for the soccer Mothers dreaming of having adolescent sex with someone other than their husbands.  Thus goes life . . .