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| [2006 April 19] Come to think of it, the only thing that really makes a Ford Bronco stand out is the factory-installed shell. Otherwise it'd look like a short-bed pickup truck. And the fuel... yeah, it's nice to sit on top of the world, but not when you're burning $2.50/per gallon in a rig that gives you at best 12 miles per gallon. Yeah, that's a real badass machine. Glad it was totalled by that little Mexican asspicker I should have snapped in half.
I'm not dissin' the idea of having a big truck to drive, but when the thing is about to fall apart and goes through fuel like an SR-71 idling on the tarmac it might be safe to say it isn't worth the trouble. The end of that vehicle did end our string of navy blue with silver trimmed vehicles, though. Three in a row, beginning with a Honda Prelude, then a Buick Park Avenue. I think the Bronco was a result of the continuing meme --it wasn't necessary at all, but it was big, blue, and had silver trim.
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Rudy is drunk, but he doesn't have a lisp. Actually he's using a peculiar accent known in South Texas as 'Czech-Mex'. Don't confuse that with 'Tex-Mex', which is a local style of cuisine, nor confuse that with 'Chex-Mix', which is also a kind of food and pretty much the same thing as Tex-Mex. Czech-Mex is an odd mixture of a Mexican accent, Texan drawl, and a Baltic accent which sometimes makes you think you're talking to a Canadian. | |
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| [2006 April 20] The Bronco wreck was my fault, not the other driver's. Don't forget that. Still, I'm glad we now have less of a gas guzzler, and if I must be honest, less of a "neckmobile". The Bronco got me a decent clerical job with one of the local "neck" family owned businesses, but it's hard to work for your own family, let alone the entirity of someone elses, and especially if they cook books and you're the only non-relative if they ever get audited. The Bronco also brought a lot of unexpected complements from people we never knew, and we got a little "mal de ojo" out of it.
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Tex-Mex, Clinton, can also be used to refer to a variant of Spanglish itself. Not a lot of people speak that anymore around here, they ususally speak entirely one or the other. Czech Mex - well, other than a couple of restaurants located around here, in Mexico and in the Czech Republic, it's something I use to describe the unique variation of dialect isolated to about seven counties in South Texas. I never noticed it's distinction until I left South Texas for ten years, then came back. The Idea for making a comic with "czech-mex" as a millieu came from a flyer I saw in 2000 for a local polka band to be playing at one of our local "Schutzen Verian(s)". | |
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It's was late November. On a Saturday. She waltzed up to me and stroked me like a multi-tendrilled horror. Her eyes gazed at me like a week-hungry tiger -like a caterpillar eyeing a fresh young leaf... drooling all over me like a snail on a twig, wedging me like... it was a sultry night. The lights lit up the steam and faded us into the gray like a pair of ghosts as we walked down the avenue, past the nightclub full of ne'er-do-wells, past the old bum and his plate of... we reached the apartment early Monday. I took off my jacket. She took off her's. Her boyfriend took off his. I put on my jacket. I was in the wrong apartment again. And my wallet was missing.
It's just a stick, folks. You can hit things with it, you can light it on fire, you can even build a nest with it, but in the end it's still nothing more than a stick.
A real man's vehicle, from fuel guzzling to mudding, from hunting to bar-hopping, the Ford Bronco has surpassed all expectations in testacular enhancement. If it isn't its tough looks then it's probably the tough-looking guy or gal at the wheel giving this powerful vehicle its reknown as one of the most sought after redneck vehicles ever built.
Anywhere but here! God! What was I thinking? I hammered on them with my .45 until it coughed up blood, then took out a shotgun and spit buckshot at them until the wall behind them looked like swiss cheeze. I had no option --I jumped the counter and used my spent rod like a club. Over and over I beat my assailants until I couldn't beat anymore! I stood over their lifeless lumps and wiped the sweat off my brow. I half-expected blood all over me, but then I came to my senses. After looking around at the gaping eyes around me I put my hat back on, picked up my exhausted .45, and slowly walked out of the coffee shop. I still wonder if the proprietor will ever find replacements for the cardboard cut-out goons I left laying in pieces on his floor. Or the shattered innocence of the people who had to witness such a vicious display of violence... but that's life. And I'm a P.I.
Rudy Immenhauser
Male
36 years old
Rudy was born in Austria. When he was 14, his parents sent him to his relatives in South Texas. Apart from his ostensive shyness, he appears to be a completely normal everyday boring middle-class family man of the inebriate redneck stock. Looks can be deceiving.
Rudy believes in nothing, has faith in no one, and lives primarily to provide for his family, go hunting on weekends, occasionally loiter with family members he can tolerate, and of course, get drunk. He is, for the most part, also a handyman, cabinet-maker, and inside carpenter.
