In a Sow’s Ear 8-2-10
As the feller says, Clyde and Jake are a pair to draw to. Both are in their “golden years” and share a bunkhouse on the X-Bar-A spread. In the evenings, they used to play a lot of cribbage or poker or just sit around telling lies. Then, the intrepid pair stepped forward into the 21st Century and acquired a computer.
It took awhile to tame the critter, but the boys finally got the hang of it and have fallen in love with e-mail. They’ve signed up with a passel of e-mail companies. They’ve discovered My Space, Your Space, Our Space, Face Space, Cow Space, and Twitter and Tweeter Spaces. They collect addresses. They open all person-to-person conversations with the question: “What’s your e-mail address?”
Everybody’s gotta have a hobby – Jake and Clyde now spend evenings sending tall tales of derring-do deeds to everyone on the planet. Any activity is fodder for their imaginations. Fixing fence becomes a story in which they come across six rattlesnakes near the irrigation ditch and are forced to strangle each one by hand (the snakes, not the ditches). Or maybe they roust a cud-chewing lazy bull out of the brush and the tale becomes a saga of saving a damsel from being gored by an enraged Long Horn.
One evening, Jake opened the e-mail inbox and found one of those idiot scam-type messages. Supposedly, it was from Clyde. It read:
Jake, I’m in a deep mess right now. I came down here to London for a short vacation, but unfortunately I was mugged in the parking lot of the hotel where I lodged. All my cash, my credit cards, my cell phone, all were stolen but luckily I still have my passports with me.
I’ve been to the embassy and the police, but they’re not helping at all. My return flight leaves in the next few hours from now, but I’m having problems settling the hotel bills. The hotel manager won’t let me leave until I settle the bills. The hotel manager has been kind enough to take me to a local library to shoot an e-mail to you. I have explained to him that the bills are going to be taken care of by you.
I am freaked out here. Clyde.
“Hey, Clyde,” said Jake. “You ever been to London?”
“Naw,” said Clyde. “Been to Germany once. In the service.”
“Well, says here you’re in London and yer stuck. And I should send you a bunch a money so’s you can git home.”
“Gotta be a different Clyde,” said Clyde.
“Ya think? So you reckon we should answer this here other Clyde?” drawled Jake.
“Why shore. Be the polite thing t’do.”
Jake here. Sure sorry to hear you’re in such deep doo-doo. Kinda messes up yer vacation, don’t it. Did ya git hurt durin’ that muggin’ in the parking lot? I’m real surprised you didn’t pull your .357 Magnum like you done to me the time I run off with yer girl friend.
You asked for money to settle your hotel bill, but you didn’t say which hotel. So I sent a thousand dollars to seven different hotels in London in yer name. Maybe that nice manager who drove you to the library would drive you to them places.
Long as you’re in London, would ya mind lookin’ up the queen at that there Buckingham Palace. Maybe git her autograph? And I wouldn’t mind havin’ one of them tall fuzzy hats them guards strut around in. Our rodeo parade is next week and I wanna have my horse wear it. You shouldn’t have any problem gittin’ a nice souvenir hat cuz I also sent the queen a thousand dollars in yer name. She’ll be lookin’ fer ya.
Lemme know when ya git back to the States.
Yer friend, Jake.
P.S. Yer horse misses ya.
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