The Murray Wilcox Chronicles

A crash sounded as two shadowy figures broke down the front door. Hearing this noise a decrepit old man hobbled down the stairs to check what the commotion was. As he saw the first of two thieves rounding the corner he calmly gave the vagabond an elbow to the temple instantly killing him. He then easily corralled and disarmed the second thief and tied him up on his ostrich-leather seat. The thief was pleading for his life, but the old man said " Shut up already, I'm not going to kill you, Just settle down and let me tell you a 'Lil story first"

"Now if only I had the voice of Morgan Freeman to narrate this story to you it would be that much better" said the feeble old man " but anyway lets get on with the story." *fade to black*

The wind was blowing harder then a slut on Friday night and it was rattling the inside of my cappuccino colored 340 duster as i barreled down the dusty expanse known as route 66. Then out of nowhere a telephone pole crashed onto the hood of my beloved duster. I scrambled to get away from my wrecked car, and only just got away before the engine blew up causing an awesome ball of fire. This left me with just the clothes on my back, and a single cigarette, but no matches. Seeing no way to reassemble my destroyed duster I started walking west down the middle of route 66 when I saw 23 tough looking hombres, and by hombres i mean Mexicans. These compadres had a tough disposition, but I had no fear and casually asked for a light for my cigarette. "Got a light fellas" must not translate well into Spanish though because they started circling around me and yelling at me in a language i understood but couldn't bother listening to. I finally got tired of these immigrants yelling at me so I broke all but 1 of there necks in a matter of 8.3 seconds. Leaving the last one to tell his other friends what had happened here. I then took a lighter from one of the dead bodies lit my cigarette and continued walking down route 66.

As I slowly meandered down the dusty highways of route 66 I saw a truck stop/rest station/classic American diner on the side of the rode with a big red Semi parked in the lot. I barged into the dusty little diner and the two occupants turned to stare at me with eyes like icy daggers and stares that could make a persons eyes bleed. A trucker in a brown flannel shirt with a big walrus mustache and a squat waitress with mousy brown hair. The trucker spit out some tobacco and said " whats a pretty lil thing like yer self doin way out here?" now I didnt quite like the tone of his voice or the hand motions he was making so i picked up his spoon and stabbed him in the chest with it, then to quiet his screams i stabbed him in the trachea with his fork, letting him writhe in pain on the tiled floor. I then went to the waitress, who I found out was called Joanne, from the name tag on her chest. I said " Joanne, hows about some coffee" she reluctantly agreed. I finished my black coffee and went to the still warm body of the trucker picked up his keys and went to his Big Rig. I got in turned off the CB radio and started rolling on down the highway with In the air tonight playing by Phil Collins and Genesis on my radio.

As I drove my stolen Big Rig down the barren highway I saw a sight that would make Jesus weep in pure awe-stricken envy and fear. A man in only a leather jacket driving a gigantic pink motorcycle at about 278 mph down the highway. This man almost made me crash my Semi as I turned around to watch this awesome stranger ride out into the horizon. All i saw was "DDD" embossed on the back of his leather jacket.

As I recovered from those 100 cc's of awesomeness that had just flown by, I noticed that my big Mac truck was running low on pure diesel fuel. Luckily enough i saw a restaurant/bar called the Sharks Tank coming into view on the side of the highway. As i pulled into the driveway i noticed a row of several awesome muscle cars that I couldn't help but stop and admire. I walked up to the bar which doubled as a shark tank with a glass top, I ordered the biggest steak they had, a 20 oz. Porter steak. I immediately went to town on this imposing piece of meat when a priest and a rabbi walked into the bar. The rabbi stood up on the shark tank/bar and the priest went around to the tables. They both yelled "CLOSE YOUR EYES, AND EMPTY YOUR POCKETS AND THIS WILL ALL BE OVER SOON" so I finished chewing the piece of steak in my mouth, went over to the rabbi and gave him a pile driver him into the glass fish tank, the priest was fast on his heels flying into the shark tank where the sharks quickly devoured the two holy men. After this I finished my steak, walked out without paying and hot wired a '71 Hemi Barracuda that was sitting outside of the restaurant.

With my new Hemi engine purring in time with Cake's Going the Distance I drove for about 48 minutes until i came upon a Native American Village/Health Spa/Casino. I fishtailed into the center of the village and dove out of my car. I then speared a little Indian boy and for some reason his face would not stop hitting my fists or elbows. After the boy was dealt with I noticed that the rest of the village seemed to share the same quirk as the boy. All of their faces could not stay away from my fists. Soon enough there was but one person left in the village, a man who called himself Chief Squatting Dog. He tried to say something to me but it only infuriated me more So i gave him a jumping judo chop to the neck, quickly ending his squalid existence. Apparently me single handily defeating an entire Indian village with my bare hands made some noise because someone had alerted the cops, and I heard sirens in the distance. I jumped back into my 'Cuda and thundered down Route 66 with The Joker by The Steve Miller Band blasting through my speakers.
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