Sweet Billy and the Always Online Kid


Back ‘round my parts used to be a babe in the woods outlaw; went by the name o’ Sweet Billy. Now, Sweet Billy was just a naive kid at heart, his eyes opened by the gold one could make from rustlin’ sheep, cows and jimmies, and he used ta be mighty good at the latter. Best in the county some said, and ain’t no one like rustling jimmies better than the sheriff. It was his job after all. Now, this sheriff was a mean old bastard by the name o’ Henry.

Round abouts when, this here sheriff caught Sweet Billy rustling up some jimmies like they was tinfoil, and gave Sweet Billy a choice: an old fashioned stretch in the clinker, or say goodbye to his days o’ outlawin’ and start rustlin’ jimmies for the right side a’ the law. Sweet Billy wasn’t no thirty two bit thinker, so with eager eyes took ol’ Sheriff Henry’s offer into consideration, and decided it be better than a bathtub sodomy stint in the clink.

And all was peaceful and good in the county for a few years yet; Sweet Billy and Sheriff Henry made a good team together, rustling up hustlers and livestock rustlers’ jimmies like no tomorraw, until one fateful day the Always Online Kid came to town.

The Always Online Kid was one mean sonuva a bitch; he ain’t never need ta sleep. Used ‘ta spend the whole day boozin’ and whorin’ it up in town, and them poor barmen and whores just ain’t able to keep up with that sorta service, and so it ain’t be long before the Always Online Kid had made ‘is way through every whorehouse and watering hole this side’a the border. But that wasn’t enough for ‘im, so he marched up t’the mayor whose daughter, Paula, were the only untouched cherry left in town—still innocent to the public’s eye as it ain’t for them’ta know what she been doin’ with daddy’s slaves while he asleep—and it ain’t long before Sweet Billy’s chasin’ ‘er round the house, fingers searchin’ for ‘er sacred corset straps an’ all.

So the mayor, man by the name o’ Fellows, sends for Sheriff Henry and Sweet Billy, but by the time both done arrived, the lady’s been already bedded an’ all but married, and the Mayor Fellows seen the opportunity for ‘imself first hand: If The Always Online Kid could have so much energy for whorin’ and boozin’ why couldn’t he have just as much energy for workin’? If only he were to give up the lollygagging. An’, more to the point of fact, for ‘is daughter’s hand in marriage, The Always Online Kid was happy to give up the secret to his boundless energy—a mixture of peptides, Viagra, soda water and Red Bull. A formula which the Mayor Fellows and Sheriff Henry both thought they could use to turn this ol’ dusty town into an industrial wonderland; they’d be rich.

Now what the Mayor Fellows wasn’t reckonin’ on was the Sheriff Henry’s guile, an’ soon as the plan was all written up Sheriff Henry made sure Lil Paula’s newborn bub was well tanned enough to get ‘im kicked outta office. Now I know what you’re thinkin’, but The Always Online Kid ain’t never marry her neither; he didn’t give two shits ‘bout that filthy filly soon as he were done with her. The marriage talk was only so the Mayor Fellows ain’t shoot ‘im dead then and there.

With the mayor outta the way, Sheriff Henry set about putting his plans in’ta effect. As well as fluoride, he planned’ta spike the town’s water supplies with the potent treatment as described by The Always Online Kid; that way the townsfolk’d never be short of a dose, and never’d need rest from work even’ta get all medicined up. But so excited ‘bout this was Sweet Billy that one night when on the turps he let the ‘ole plan slip to all, an’ even sundry too.

Now then, the townsfolk knowing they was about to be nothin’ more than a fancified factory line didn’t take too kindly ta Sweet Billy’s words an’ so set about runnin’ ‘im outta town. Sheriff Henry ‘ad a act quick, but not to save Sweet Billy. Nah, Sheriff Henry and The Always Online Kid lynched that boy like a common carpet bagger, an’ six months later came out with Dingo Piss; a new drink to give one an’ all energy and vigour like never before, and now…well, we can’t see the sky round here no more for all the factory smoke.

My legs ain’t what they used to be, neither; the bones all gone to the races, only without ma’ legs. So the next time you be sippin’ on your Dingo Piss, spare a thought for poor old Sweet Billy.