AcmeShorts

Kyle climbed down off his horse and took a shit in the sagebrush. A rattlesnake bit him square on the ass so he picked it up, tied a knot in it and threw it at the screaming mountain lion flying at him from above. He rolled behind his horse as the snake exploded on impact, bits of en-venomated puma splattering the trees. He kept rolling right down into the valley, deftly dodging the talons and rabies of a half-blind encephalitis stricken eagle-bat as he bounced down the incline on his snakebit ass and landed in a heap in the middle of an encampment of three hundred violent, sex crazed, renegade Indians who were all on a break. They were sitting around with penises flaccid, smoking cigarettes, drinking coffee, and cleaning their bows. None of them paid him too much mind until the whistle went. Suddenly they were on their feet and wearing their terrifying game faces, erections blazing, but lucky for Kyle, with bows still unstrung.

He waited while they armed themselves, puffing on a discarded half-butt, his impatient toe tapping up a little cloud of dust. When they gave him the signal that they were ready, he flicked the butt, picked up a rock and threw it at a conveniently unstable pile of boulders at the top of the hill and ran for the river as the landslide erased the entire sex crazed renegade tribe from history and the valley filled with rubble.

Kyle started back up the dammed river to his horse when he heard the earth shake and move behind him. OH FUCK, ZOMBIES! In a flash Kyle ordained himself a priest. Fr. Kyle knelt in the water and blessed the forming lake, the sex crazed, renegade Indian zombies that were closest to him had only enough time to groan the barest of sex crazed indian zombie whoops before they were disintegrated from the knees up in the holy water. Kyle dusted off his hat, turned around, sucked the poison out of his ass, spat twice, found his way back up to his horse and pulled a baggie out from behind the saddle. He bent down in the sage, found his poop, scooped it and whistled on down the trail looking for a receptacle, moonbeams and lovesongs drifting playfully out of his asshole.