Regina Guitar and other Short Stories

By Jim Traylor

Regina Guitar and other Short Stories is a compilation of incarnate capsules: Flavored doses, seasoned with the human condition, and served up on the theatrical masks of tragedy and comedy. Here you will find it all from heartrending drama to goofy buffoonery. The perfect selection for those who love to read but have little time to do it.
The Serpents of the Caduceus: An exploration of the subconscious mind, that dark and foreboding chamber, inaccessible from the phenomenon we call reality. This story deals the terrifying nightmares, psychotic delusions and horrid hallucinations that plummet through the tormented brain of a mortally wounded soldier.

A Fish Story: This is a tongue in cheek tale of a professional fisherman who wins big at a casino poker table, commits 'accidental' murder, and ends up with a Government Patton on a word known product.
Tooter and the Tutor: A brief and funny narrative, revealing just how easy it is for a country boy to fool his summer school teacher.

Humanity's Three Most Unusual Sneezes: A completely insane bit of slapstick comedy. A "documentary" which chronicles a trio of sneezes and the calamity and chaos rendered by each.

Openers: This story offers insight into the "it's not my fault" life of a looser. When a beautiful woman sits down beside a socially handicapped bus passenger, he blames the world for his inability to think of a pickup line.

Cowboy Shootout: A Texas Ramrod on a cattle drive to Kansas must ride his horse backward, and mistakenly herds his Moos to Yuma, Arizona. There, a reluctant cowpoke is forced to protect his lovely lady from Awful Alvin Aggravation, the meanest outlaw and fastest gun this side of the Pecos.

Hector the Pup: The cute and cagy puppy shenanigans of a cunning canine whelp, desperate to find food for his injured father.

Frankie Farone: Frankie had a boyfriend named Johnny and he and Nelly Bligh end up in a very bad way. Does this remind you of an old, familiar song? Don't be fooled. Like the disclaimer says, "any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental". Well, maybe not entirely coincidental, but pretty darn close. You'll see.

Regina Guitar: A teenager transitions from a runaway girl to a young woman in search of a new life. An emotional, twenty-four hour metamorphosis.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jim Traylor
• Release date: Dec 25, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301070763

Jim Traylor

Jim Traylor lives in Chandler, Arizona with his jewelry designer wife Louise and his Pomeranian therapy pup T-La. In addition to writing, jim enjoys music, RV Travel, Guitar and visiting children's hospitals and elder-care homes with T-La. The Monkey Soldiers was his first novel, followed by Regena Guitar and Other Short Stories, and A Poets Passion. and Siam Song is a mystery romance novel. His latest novel is The Spud Gristwall, a Southern story He is a Vietnam era Army Veteran with nine years’ service. A more detailed Biography and information on works in progress may be seen at www.jimtraylorsbooks.com If you wish to contact Jim, please send your email to [e-mail]

Book preview

Regina Guitar

And other Short Stories

***

By

Jim Traylor

***

Copyright 2012 Jim Traylor

Smashwords Edition

***

Cover and Interior Design

By

Jim Traylor

***

This ebook book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please go to smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work and intellectual property rights of this author.

***

Disclaimer

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

***

Note: This work is intended for mature readers who are not offended by sexual themes, profanity or deviant behavior.

***

To My beloved wife

Mary Louise

Sharing short stories incarnate

Before, now and forevermore

Table of Contents

***

A Fish Story

*************************

Cowboy Shootout

*************************

Hector the Pup

*************************

Openers

*************************

Sneezing

*************************

Tooter and the Tutor

*************************

Frankie Farone

*************************

Serpents of the Caduceus

*************************

Regina Guitar

*************************

About the Author

*************************

1

***

By

Jim Traylor

That statue, there on the left, was erected in honor of none other than Oswald Consterdine, from Gold Beach, Oregon. Gold Beach got its name back in the gold rush days when folks found the glittery stuff laying around on the beach. Now this story is sort of about gold of a different kind, but it's mostly about Oswald Consterdine's nickname: how he got it, changed it and the price everyone paid for it.

You'd think someone named Oswald would have a nickname like Ozzy, but not so with Mr. Consterdine. Everyone in these parts called him 'Fish-n-fish'. That's because he was the best fishermen ever to float a boat along the Oregon coast, second to none. He just loved to fish 'n' fish 'n' fish. Then, one fateful day back in '74, that nickname changed forever, to a name so famous it's known throughout the English speaking world. How did that come about? Well, that's the crux of this story.

That's his fishing boat, or what's left of it, there on the right: The Mossy Miss. It's so wet in Oregon, everything has moss growing on it, don't you know; it's the Mossback State. She may not look like much now, but back in happier days, that little baby would come to port loaded to the waterline with tons of delicious seafood. And there'd be ol' Fish-n-fish hollering from the helm, yes-sir-ree-bob, there's nothing I like better than fishin' and fish. Then he would smack his lips and roll his eyes.

I guess we all heard him say those words a thousand times or more, right up until that ominous day when he moseyed over to the Indian Reservation. He walked into the Youwinum Gambling Hall, sat down at the poker table and said, Deal 'em.

Now, to the best of my knowledge, Oswald had never played poker a day in his life, but that day he won the very first hand dealt. Everyone just laughed it off and called it beginners luck. But then he won the next hand and the next and the next. And before long, a large crowd had gathered 'round to watch him pull in poker chips faster than he'd ever pulled fish onto The Mossy Miss. My friend, as that night drew to a close, the chips in front of Oswald Consterdine were stacked high and wide.

Of course, the game slowly but surely ground to a halt. Consterdine had not lost a single hand, and no one had any money left to bet. He won it all and that included every bit of the wampum in the Casino's till too.

It was right about then that Oswald Consterdine had a profound revelation: low and behold, he'd found something he liked far more than swabbing the deck of The Mossy Miss or kissing the girls or even fishing for fish, for that matter. He liked card fishin' for chips. And, as the first rays of the new morning sun filtered through the windows of that smoke filled casino, he stood up from the poker table, placed his hands on his hips and proclaimed exactly that: Yes-sir-ree-bob, he said as he rolled his eyes and smacked his lips, there's nothing I like better than fishin' and chips. And from now on, that's my nickname: Fish-n-chips

No sooner had those words crossed Oswald's lips, than a ruckus erupted on the far side of the room. There was an ear splitting war-hoop, the crash of glass breaking and a string of Indian profanity that would make even the reddest of Red-Men redder. The fracas was punctuated with a thunderous thud as everyone looked up to see an inebriated Native American fall off his barstool. He held a broken longneck beer bottle in one hand and a fist full of pretzels in the other. You can't say that, screamed the Native, getting up from the floor. I'll cut out your gizzard if you say it again!"

Oswald was startled and stunned by this boozer's belligerent outburst. That's just firewater talking you drunken Indian, he challenged, I'll say what I want, when I want, where I want!

No, hiccoughed the Native as he took a swipe at Oswald with the jagged beer bottle. For many moons I have seen you smack 'em lips and roll 'em eyes. I have heard you speak 'yes-sir-ree-bob; I like 'em fishin' and fish'. Those were first white man's words I learn, he slurred, and by the Great Spirit in the Happy Hunting Grounds, you no change 'um now, pale face. You name Fish-n-fish and Fish-n-fish you stay. Then he threw a punch with the fistful of pretzels.

Oswald quickly stepped back with his arms stretched wide open, trying to show the rowdy Redman he did not want a fight. But suddenly, someone in the crowd slapped a hog-leg .44 in one of his outstretched hands and gave him a hard shove. As he stumbled forward, he accidentally shot the Indian; three times. The first time he shot him, he staggered. The second time he shot him, he fell. The third time he shot him in the ol' tail feathers, and it blew him all too well, it certainly made a mess of things. Oswald just stood there in disbelief, the smoking gun still in his hand.

What folks that ain't from around these parts don't know is this: That blown up Brave wasn't just