Right about now you’re thinking, “I should have taken the blue pill.” I know, I know. Here at the Green Porch the madness never ends. But that’s what makes the crusty stick of gum we call life, taste like Big League Chew.
Most of you have never wondered what sort of alcoholic beverage Death would consume had he the allowance and the inclination to do so. None the less, today I provide the definitive answer — tequila. And not just any tequila, but Casa Herradura, 1878, Reserva. (Could it be a coincidence that Félix López, the founder of the hacienda and distillery, died that same year?)
When you think about it, it makes total sense. Killing people at the fore of the apocalypse is dusty work, and nothing wets the old whistle like a stiff shot of tequila. Anywho, it’s time I bridge over to the official launching of the second complete Reeferpunk prequilla, Fourth Horseman. This little ditty is not so much the backstory on any of my characters, but a harbinger of things to come.
The hubris of mankind during my alternate history of the nineteen-teens and twenties leads to, among other things, the desolation of a large swath of Middle America (like the Dustbowl, but full of plague infected zombies). The southern tip of this dessert extends into the Texas Panhandle where we find a unique character, by the name of Death. Holed up in a tiny Airstream trailer with nothing but his wraith horse and a buzzard for company, Death spills over the failures and regrets of both his life and…, well, non-life.
Fourth Horseman is a human tale of desire and calling that begs us to ask along side Death, “Could I have brought down the sickle all those millions of times just cause of habit? A dadgum habit?” Eerie and poetic, Fourth Horseman sprinkles a healthy dose of grim humor over a slab of satire to create one hell of a short story sandwich, served on rye (of course). So why not kick off your spurs and have a bite? (Where else can you read a poem written by death?)[divider]
Enjoy the show!