That Damn Mule...

As an executive of a Chicago paper company , I was doing quite well. They make your print paper, your notebook paper and even (ahem) your toilet paper. After working my way up from intern to executive VP, I thought I was the "Cat's Pajama's." Or in today's vernacular: I thought I was the s---! My delusion continued well into 30 years on the job when a private equity firm decided to 'fix it." Uh..oh..." I thought as I met my new boss, a 32 year old MBA from Yale, with eyes as big as the hubcaps from my '49 Hudson. " Before he could give me the 'good news' I acted proactively and told him about my new business opportunity in Colorado. As I said goodbye, it took all my years of professionalism, moral upbringing, and good judgement to keep from flipping off the little fucker as I walked out the door. You see, I had purchased a Colorado Guest (Dude) Ranch with a small inheritance, and I had the staff all set. When people come out west, they expect to see cowboys. Well I had a rogues gallery of ex-convicts, felons and general miscreants all duded-up to look like Jesse James, Wyatt Earp, and big-Nosed Kate. (She was my girl wrangler with a story longer and dirtier than this one.) You knew this was going to happen, didn't you?... First summer flooded out the main lodge, with water asshole deep to a TALL Indian. I thought I could go on until...you guessed it: Big-Nosed Kate beat Pete, my head wrangler to death with a weathered hackamore from one of the dead horses. Now all of this I could handle, I thought... until my partner and ex best friend Shep showed up with the town constable and a grin on his face like a mule eating ice!...(to be continued)...