Given my true age, and how long I’ve lived, I had plenty of time and plenty of persons to choose from. After much consideration, I have come to the conclusion the one person I would like to bludgeon with a trout above all, even more than George III, would be Wyatt Earp.
The problem is, I do happen to like his brothers, Morgan and Virgil. I even somewhat like his ‘best friend’, Doc Holliday, in that each of them has manners where Wyatt completely lacks them. Neither Virgil, nor Morgan has e’er failed to tip their hat to me in acknowlegement, nor failed to rise from their seats when I, or any other lady enters a room. My being a Wytch, ne’er mattered to either of them. But to Wyatt, since he was a ‘deacan of his church’, thought that the same rules did not apply. I have eén known him to mutter under his breath, yet loud enough so that I could hear, “Thou shalt not suffer a Witch to live…..”
I have known that son-of-a-bitch, Wyatt, since I visited my uncle Angus in Arizona when I was fairly young. Wyatt was always a blustering, arrogant ass. He was a bully then and he is a bully now. He thinks nothing of buffaloing someone with the butt of his pistol, if he thinks that is the fastest way to get his point across. He is an alley cat, a philandering popinjay, a two-faced, lying, tight-lipped, stick up his arse pompous pimp. Slapping him with a dead fish, preferably one that has been left off ice for about two or three days so as it can stink him up just as much as his holier-than-thou stench stinks to high heaven would be the mildest of punishments that I could think of for him. Come to think of it, even keelhauling him across the barnacle covered belly of a ship would be merciful compared to what I want to do to him.
I donna suppose you can tell I intensely dislike the man can you?
Muse: Fanny Fae
Fandom: Original Fiction / Folklore & Mythology
Word Count: 345
Crossposted to
Fanny Fae 
*Senset tips hat* Ma’am
” But to Wyatt, since he was a ‘deacan of his church’, thought that the same rules did not apply. I have eén known him to mutter under his breath, yet loud enough so that I could hear, “Thou shalt not suffer a Witch to live…..”
Well, since the pre-james version of that quote is more accurately translated as “Thou shalt not suffer a POISONER to live.” You would think a so-called religious man would know that. Especially because his best friend (who is an educated man) knows how to read and speak fluent Latin.
Barring that you could always retort with “Don’t they hang horse thieves in Arkansas?” *wink/evil grin*
Re: *Senset tips hat* Ma’am
*scoffs*
Like anything else, Wyatt only sees the things he wants to see. And let’s face it, Sir…I am a poisoner. For no Wytch worth her salt can heal if she cannot hex or eén kill if the situation warrants it. I assure you, I’ve done plenty of both, and I am not the least bit apologetic for it either.
That man was not a hero by any stretch of the imagination. That he drove his common-law wife, Cecelia Ann to addiction to laudnum and eventualy to her death, is no surprise.
My satisfaction comes from the fact that he died tied to that fast piece of baggage he took up with Sadie Marcus, and in a great deal of pain. Though I am sure it was nothing compared to the pain he inflicted upon others throughout his life.
He might have done very well to have had a poisoner around to help ease him on his way. Though I doubt I would have obliged him with the favour.
Re: *Senset tips hat* Ma’am
About the only thing Erp had going for him was that he was good at P.R.
Lets face it, if Erp was alive today about the only thing he could do is be a used car salesman. He would have to change his last name though because it sounds like the noise that someone makes when they are chokeing on a chicken bone.
*grin*
It should have to be a really large trout, then.
*Fanny smiles at Jareth*
Aye, large enough to conceal that anvil I was talking about! 😉