Given my true age, and how long I’ve lived, I had plenty of time and plenty of persons to choose from. After much consideration, I have come to the conclusion the one person I would like to bludgeon with a trout above all, even more than George III, would be Wyatt Earp.
The problem is, I do happen to like his brothers, Morgan and Virgil. I even somewhat like his ‘best friend’, Doc Holliday, in that each of them has manners where Wyatt completely lacks them. Neither Virgil, nor Morgan has e’er failed to tip their hat to me in acknowlegement, nor failed to rise from their seats when I, or any other lady enters a room. My being a Wytch, ne’er mattered to either of them. But to Wyatt, since he was a ‘deacan of his church’, thought that the same rules did not apply. I have eén known him to mutter under his breath, yet loud enough so that I could hear, “Thou shalt not suffer a Witch to live…..”
I have known that son-of-a-bitch, Wyatt, since I visited my uncle Angus in Arizona when I was fairly young. Wyatt was always a blustering, arrogant ass. He was a bully then and he is a bully now. He thinks nothing of buffaloing someone with the butt of his pistol, if he thinks that is the fastest way to get his point across. He is an alley cat, a philandering popinjay, a two-faced, lying, tight-lipped, stick up his arse pompous pimp. Slapping him with a dead fish, preferably one that has been left off ice for about two or three days so as it can stink him up just as much as his holier-than-thou stench stinks to high heaven would be the mildest of punishments that I could think of for him. Come to think of it, even keelhauling him across the barnacle covered belly of a ship would be merciful compared to what I want to do to him.
I donna suppose you can tell I intensely dislike the man can you?
Muse: Fanny Fae
Fandom: Original Fiction / Folklore & Mythology
Word Count: 345