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After Hours...


Comments (14)


That ain't no clown...That's my Uncle Sam, & he used to be an upstanding dude.

You see, these rotten legislators & executives came to town, & they brought this giant porcine with them. I'm tellin' ya--that thing makes Hogzilla look like that danged Taco Bell dog.

They've been fattening it up for years on hotdogs & apple pie, & it's appetite (along with their lack of discipline) seems boundless. They've started to supplement its diet with fish & chips, truffles, rice, kimchi--even sausage, bacon, & ham. More recently they've been paying crazy prices for kebabs, hummus, olive oil, & black-market falafel.

Uncle Sam was a sharp looking cat when they started putting lipstick on the pig. However, that pig was so greasy from all of the bacon fat flowing in D.C.--& they got so carried away slinging lipstick first one way & then the other--that before you know it, Ol' Sam was danged near crushed to death by them pork-mongers, that there hog, & what appears to be $11 MM in debt they've incurred feedin' that...THING...& in the shuffle, Sam is covered with enough red greasepaint that he looks like Ronald McDonald with a bad case of sunburn.

Sam is in such bad shape that he can't talk to you right now...there's an election in progress now where they're gonna pick a mouthpiece for him, but judging from the looks of those two slickers, you're probably better off talkin' to me.

Flinchy racks the slide on his Barrett .50...He isn't foolin' with that DE pea-shooter any more...

How can I help you?

Flinchy would have liked to have dealt with those scoundrels & that big ol' hog on "The Hill"--but he simply can't carry enough ammo for that job...


Uh OH!


Meanwhile, back at the ranch.....

Flinchy was having second thoughts. Yeah, he liked living life on the edge. Known for drowning his sorrows in rotgut, he was also an adrenaline junkie. But even junkies know there are limits, except Flinchy. McMurphy was no push-over, like those hicks from Shankville, or even those has-been morons in the carney. McMurphy was the avenging angel, with death sitting on his shoulder like a parrot on a pirate's. Murph asked no quarter, gave no quarter. Flinchy felt the tremors starting from his size 16's begin to move up his legs. In passing he thought that now he knew how Chris Matthews felt, but quickly put that aside. Murph was here for only one thing, blood. Flinchy's blood! There are some things you don't do in life, and Flinchy the adrenaline junkie had pushed the envelope of life once to often. Murph slowly began cracking his knucles as he moved towards Flinchy, sounding so much like the kernels of popcorn banging against the kettle that would soon be Flinchy's skull. Damn! Why hadn't he sent that lousy alimony check to his ex when that divorce lawyer warned him that there would be 'consequences'?


I'm starting to get a Spillane vibe. Nice.


...Suddenly, Flinchy lifts up his left #16 and removes the heel. Ooops that's the phone. Lifts up his right #16, removes the heel and rolls a small clay looking ball into his white puffy hand. With a quick toss, the room suddenly fills with thick white smoke and choking gas...BANG! BANG!...two shots are heard...then....CLOP CLOP...Clop Clop...clop clop...clop clop fades into the distance....


Hey GF,

Loved the Chris Mathews reference


Flinchy tore thru Skankville, probably risking a 'speeding ticket' from the local fuzz. His pickeled brain urging him to safe ground. Flinch roundedd the corner on Main, glancing in the mayor's window to see if he was in as he headed for the front door of City Hall. Rats! Was that Keith Olberman on his knees 'interviewing' hizzoner? Flinchy's grey matter was short-circuiting with all the input coming in from his tortured body. Why was he born with such big feet and such small lungs? Maybe a good time to ditch the fag...nah...man needs 'air'. The Carney! The answer screamed out in his head like a train whistle at a road crossing at 2am. Flinchy changed course, his knees still pumping as he high-stepped out of town.


Oh now we have Olberman. That's really good!


Funny stuff! I'd like to jump back in, but I'm afraid I'd kill the buzz. Keep goin', GF!

Suggestion: Can you work in "Dame Couric, madame of the hacks" waiting in ambush? I've never heard of a VEEP candidate having to list Supreme Court decisions like she was at a media "bee" before.

Steve M:

So when should we expect "The Flincy Ultimatum" graphic novel to hit shelves?


We're still working on this episode...stay tuned....


Flinchy had had a rough day, but it was about to get even rougher. Kicking back in his tent, with his 16's up on his trunk, he was 3/4's of the way thru his dinner of rot-gut. A movement at the tent opening caught his eye. Just outside the yellow pool of light from the lamp, the figure emerged slowly, haltingly. "Well, well, looky at what we got here" Flinch murmured. "Hi ya Kute Katie" he said, then belched.

FLASHBACK: Katie Couric's mother wanted her daughter's 14th birthday to be memorable. She even hired a local clown 'Uncle Bubbles" to entertain. Katie had spent much of the party on Bubble's lap. Without being sordid, let's just say that Katie's party had indeed been "memorable", leaving her with a 'thing' about clowns.

"I've missed you, Flinchy", Katie breathed heavily. Her voiced laidened with desire so thick it was like gravey on buscuits; syrup on pancakes, butter....well you get the picture. Katie was definitely in heat! Flinchy, ever the ardent paramour, put his 'dinner' aside leaned back, dropped and spread his legs...and farted. "Ya bring the gelt?" he asked. Katie hesitated then reached down and pulled a long white envelope from her blouse. "Yes, yes" she said, "It's all here". "Then get on your knees and crawl to me baby" Flinch responded. "Please, Flinch, don't do this to me, I need you, you know I need you" Kute Katie wailed. Flinchy returned her pleas with a stoney glare, shoving his right hand into his oversized striped trousers. Fumbling briefly, he found what he was looking for and began to stroke it. A large tent appeared, lifting the front of his pants. "On your knees, baby" he said tersely. Knowing she had no other option, Katie got down and began to crawl into the pool of light. On reaching his knee, she offered the envelope, which Flinch quickly snapped from her hand. Flipping it open with a dirty thumb, he riffed thru the greenbacks with a crusty and broken finger nail. "Yeah, looks like it's all here, I'll count it later" he said. Katie's right hand was now on the clowns right knee, slowing moving upwards on the inside of his thigh. "Please Flinchy, give it to me" she whimpered in a sultry tone. "Need it bad, don't 'cha babe" he responded. Eyeing the tent in his trousers, Katie moved forward some more, her hand going higher on his thigh. "Yes, yes" she replied. Suddenly Flinchy moved forward slightly, grabbing the back of Cute Katie's head with his left hand while simultaneously pulling his right from his pocket. Katie's eyes widened in shock as she saw the barrel come up, pointed right between her eyes! "Eat this!" Flinchy screamed.

Like waves breaking on a rocky shoreline, the blast rocked Katie back on her haunches, dissolving her facial features in a white, foaming bath of selzer water! "Oh, Flinchy, YES!, YES!, YES!! she cried in ecstasy. Flinchy looked down at her and leered, the cigarette sliding from one side of his lower lip to the other. "Now get out" he said. "Yes, my darling" Kute Katie murmured, "Yes, thank you Flinchy, you're the best, I'll leave now, thank you" she said as she backed away and then suddenly disappeared thru the tent opening and into the blackness of the waiting night.

After a few moments Flinchy stood, his gaze following her into the blackness that characterized his soul. Turning and picking up his shot glass, Flinchy began to wax philosophical, "Women" he said with a shrug, "Go figure".


...Finally able to relax for a bit and with his large yellow peds plopped on the trunk, a fresh shot of Old Overholt wobbling in his fat white puffy hand, his makeup horribly smeared and cuddling in a beat-up old fedora, Flinchy's eye lids finally begin to squint...and then close...a slight burble from behind and then a quite "Burp" from deep inside....he begins to snore...

phone ringing endlessly

"What What"....Finchy shoots up like a wriggling liberal crying social injustice. With fogged over eyes, smeared in blue and white, he lifts up his right #16 and removes the heel. Ooops that's the smoke bombs. Lifts up his left #16, removes the heel and...

"Ya"..."Ya Chief"..."Cone of Silence"..."No we don't need that here at the Carney"..."Uh Huh"..."Ya, I took care of the falafal ring but haven't figured out who's backing 'em"..."Ya I know why I'm here"..."What's that?"..."I'm just a lousy drunk?"..."Sir I"..."Sir, some ass holes are on to me"... "they sent that thug Murphy..BELCH..to hit on me"..."What's that"..."Ya I took care of 'em."..."Sir Wait"..."Im on to something here"..."Ya".."and I think MSNBC is in the middle of it"..."maybe even CBS...uhhhhhhhhhhh...except for Katie"...Ya another Rather type thing"..."What's that?"..."the Mayor"..."hizzoner?".."uhhhhhh he's ok....uhhhhh"..."Give me another week"..."Ya"..."Bye Sir"

Sigh..."Upper Mangement...Marvelous"!


Dialogue is the essence of story telling. Neat development.


John Cox is a painter, cartoonist, and illustrator for hire. For information about purchasing existing work or commissioning new work, contact him by e-mail at john555cox [at] hotmail.com.

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