As the sun strolled over the earthen crust and the mountain peaks shone brightly, a strange air permeated the Awesome Valley. The town was bustling with the usual business. The trade post clerk was sweeping the wooden slats that made up the porch. Horses were hitched to fencings around the main strip, swiping the flies away with their tails and the occasional shake of their heads. Women strode along with their baskets carrying goods as children ran past screaming and snapping their pop guns at each other. Men sat at the saloon bar with their glasses of whiskey wetting the countertop with perspiration as the pianist swaggered about his craft with a stirring rendition of Gnarls Barkley's "Crazy." The sheriff sat at the end of the bar. His guns were hostlered but loomed outward to warn the patrons that their shift wasn't over for the day. A thud echoed through the room and the sheriff looked to see Bob Stallion slumped against the wall, giggling like a schoolgirl with the saloon's premiere marm, Lusty One-Eyed Pearlie. Stallion noticed the sheriff giving him a wary look."Sheriff." he tipped his hat as he stood up.
The sheriff nodded. "You keep your poontanging to a hush, Stallion, it's still daylight."
"Yessir." Stallion took his cyclops prostitute by the arm and hustled upstairs to negotiate some land trade.
The pianist was about to emulate Montell Jordan, breaking into "This is how we doooo ehhhht...!" when the saloon doors swung open. The deputy stumbled through with sweat and dirt sticking to his shocked face. "Sheriff! Sheriff! He's here! He's in town!"
"Gulldammit fuck, Brucie, what's all this mamma jamma?" the sheriff exclaimed.
"It's HIM, sheriff," Deputy Brucie bellowed, "it's CHIEF AGGRO!" A record somewhere in town scratched to a halt.
The noise and banter froze at the mere mention of that name. One patron pulled out his pistol and shot himself in the head out of desperation, yet everyone else stared down the sheriff for an answer. He hopped off the barstool with his glass still in his hand.
"Well, I guess we better get this over with."
As the sheriff, deputy, and other patrons walked outside, they saw that hell itself made a housecall to this small community. The clouds covered up the sun to protect it from shining down on damnation, and most of the townsfolk had sought shelter in their homes or peered through the shop windows like scared rabbits. A lone tumbleweed rustled down the main road, moving along to stop at the feet of what had caused all this ruckus. Chief Aggro looked down at the spherical foliage and with one swift movement crescent moon kicked it into splinters and a fine red mist. Only Chief Aggro could make a tumbleweed bleed to death.
"Blue blazes!" Deputy Brucie choked. "D'joo see...?"
The sheriff held his hand up to silence his partner. He sat his empty glass on the porch railing and walked down onto the dirt path. His eyes met Chief Aggro's, but not wanting to let his cool down, he unlodged a cigarette from its pack and lit it. Only the sound of a muffled Stallion negotiating his terms with his lady friend could be heard as the upstairs curtains shifted about. The sheriff scoffed. "What's your business here, Chief?"
Chief Aggro spat a gob of chewing tobacco onto the street. "I'm in the business of doing business, Sheriff Fuckface." He enunciated his reason by smacking his fist into his cupped palm.
The sheriff took a drag off his cigarette. "Sheriff Fuckface was my father. Now I'll only ask you one more time; what are you doing in this town? These folks have done nothing..."
"I want my rematch!" Chief Aggro stomped on the ground. "I want the rematch against Pancho Enchilada el Bacala! That motherfucker still owes me fifteen dollars!"
"Pacho's dead, Chief." the sheriff replied, "'Fraid your punch upset his colon a little too much. Done shit himself to death."
"FAAAHHH! HYAAHHH!" Chief Aggro sent a Siamese Diamondback Fisticuff soaring through the air, sending a waft of sand and dirt across the road. "Then send me your second greatest warrior, that man from the Africas, Mbootie Akimbo."
"'Fraid he skipped town, Chief. Right after Pancho took his last poo."
"He is scared of me?" Chief Aggro folded his arms in protest.
"Nope. Jury duty." The sheriff finished his cigarette and flipped it to the ground. "Look, you've made your point time and time again. All of our best, well, you've beaten them in one way or another. There just aren't any more challengers left in this dusty town."
"Did Manuel McKinley's head ever return to his body after I destroyed his chance at the Best of the West Championship?" Chief Aggro asked.
"We could never find it after you done socked it off. I think the buzzards stole it by now." the sheriff replied.
"Then I shall fight that buzzard!" Chief Aggro shot his fist into the air. "I shall fight any and all buzzards who lay claim as the best fighter of this, this tired, ratty village!"
"They flew away."
Chief Aggro's face contorted into disappointment. He shot a glare at the sheriff, still standing calmly with a look of pity across his weathered face. Chief Aggro pointed at him. "Then I will fight you, Officer Asshat Pissypants."
"Well, if that's how it's gotta go." The sheriff unbuttoned his shirt and removed it along with his jeans to reveal a pair of regulation UFC fighting trunks, sponsered by Subway. He walked down the main road toward Chief Aggro as a beautiful blonde woman in a bikini strutted between them holding a "Round 1" sign. Chief Aggro looked smugly at the sheriff with his arms still folded. Stallion could still be heard fucking the whore.
The two squared off in the middle of the street. Horses began to whinny and some of the onlookers circled around them, cheering and whooping. As the fight was about to commence, and Deputy Brucie was about to ring the bell, a look of concern wiped across Chief Aggro's face. He stopped and stood up from his Brazilian Tai-Jitsu Detroit City stance.
"Wait. Hey, wait." He held his hand up. "What the protocol for having the sniffles?" Another record scratched to a halt in the distance.
"What in the name of fucking shit are you babbling about?" Deputy Brucie exclaimed. "The sniffles?"
"I have a temperature now." Chief Aggro wiped his brow. "I refuse to fight with any advantage given to my opponent." The crowd gasped in dumbfounded confusion.
"What's going on?"
"Is he actually serious?"
"He's not going to fight?"
"Fuck your common cold!"
Chief Aggro shot back, "Hey, fuck your own ass." He pulled out an ocarina and played it. Over the horizon, a Tyrannosaurus Megazord lumbered across the desert toward the town. The townsfolk shrieked and ran around as the mecha lurched to a halt right behind Chief Aggro. With one mighty bound, he lept into the fictitious beast and drove off into the sunset.
The sheriff won. Or so it seemed.
"Sheriff, you won!" Deputy Brucie slapped him on the back. "He was about a pussy lip away from digging your grave, too."
The sheriff shrugged and pulled out another cigarette. "He'll be back. He always comes back."
Suddenly, a loud crash came from inside the saloon. Something heavy stumbled down the stairs and rolled out the swinging doors. It was Stallion, dazed and crumpled with a pair of pantaloons on his head. He looked up at the sheriff and his deputy, grinning ear to ear.
"Boy, but if that wasn't the second-best birthday I done ever had!" he cheered as his bowtie spun in circles.
Everybody laughed, and the sheriff and Deputy Brucie high-fived.
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