i've traveled through the yucatan with a circus, popping false eyelashes off a trained monkey with a bullwhip. when i ate peyote one night and had a vision. niwetükame, the mother goddess, came to me on the back of a doe, hummingbirds sipping the tears she was shedding, crying 'delores, you must lead my daughters against their natural enemy. you must come to the rubber rose ranch and prepare for your mission, the details of which will be revealed to you in a third vision' that night i whipped the shit out of my black lover and ran away. for a while i drove around, making a living selling peyote buttons to hippies, until i made my way here.
me neither.
right. i don't know about you but i'm sure not sweet enough to melt.
my sacred crocodile! she's flipped.
i'm aware that tad lucas rode broncs until her ninth month, but i don't think pregnant cowgirls are going to be any asset on this ranch. i hope you itchy clits who are sneaking down to the lake every night are taking precautions. it's bad enough we've got cranes coming; we don't need storks. i feel that those film makers should be removed from the rubber rose as soon as possible. men can cause nothing but trouble here. i also feel that our guest should be excused while we discuss this matter further.
he's here.
look at him. perverse as a pink pickle.
he's in a snit. he wants to see you right after the barbecue.
and make sure at least one of them is female, and you better do as we say or there may be trouble.
it isn't for ourselves that we take this stand. it isn't for cowgirls. it's for all the daughters everywhere. this is an extremely important confrontation. this is womankind's chance to prove to her enemy that she's willing to fight and die. if we women don't show here and now that we aren't afraid to fight and die, then our enemy will never take us seriously. men will always know that, no matter how strong our words and determined our deeds, there's a point where we'll back down and give them their way.
i'm prepared to win! victory for every female, living or dead, who's suffered the temporary defeats of masculine insensitivity to their inner lives!
the sun's going down. let's those of us not standing watch get some sleep. in the morning we'll plan our fight. tomorrow afternoon those of you who'd like can join me in the reeds, where the cranes and i will be sharing the last crumbs left in the peyote sack.
it is woman's mission to destroy as well as to give birth. we will destroy the tyranny of the dull. but we can't destroy it with guns. or whips. violence is the dullard's breakfast of champions and the logical end product of his or her misplaced pride. violence fertilizes that which we would starve. no, we will destroy the enemy in other ways. the peyote mother has promised a fourth vision. but it won't come to me alone. it will come to each of you, to every cowgirl in the land, when you have overcome that in your own self which is dull. the fourth vision will come to some men too. you will recognize them when you meet them, and be their steady sidekicks in equal and ecstatic escapades of poetic behavior and romance.
first thing, you must end this business with the government and the cranes. it's been positive and fruitful, but it's gone far enough. playfulness ceases to serve a serious purpose when it takes itself too seriously. sorry i won't be with you at the conclusion. as you know, i've been sick and stupid for a long time. i have a lot to make up for, a lot to accomplish, and there's someone important that i've got to see. now.
you know, podner, you can tune a guitar but you can't tuna fish.
god, but it's good to be a cowgirl.
wow, you sure have a way with words.