Granary County - extracts -

Granary County by Dominae Primus is a story that straddles action adventure, western and humour. This entertaining composition can be enjoyed by a diverse audience. As an independent piece of work, Granary County has taken an angled shot at the western genre by turning it on its head with a combination of humour, imagination and all out action.

Granary County is literally an edible tribute to the spaghetti western genre, where the good sheriff and lawmen fight the evil villains. The characters in this imaginative satire are delicious with a deadly attitude to boot!

GRANARY COUNTY

ISBN 978-967-5785-02-3 ( international)
ASIN: B004W82M70 (Amazon.com and all Amazon digital stores)
By Dominae Primus

1

In Granary County, a peaceful, well at least most of the year, place with a population of intelligent grains, immigrant bread and pasta born law keepers live in dietary harmony. By all grainy means, Granary County has a nice mix of roughage, living in a civilized manner in a place where everybody kneads each other in a food chain of co-existence. At least pasta, grains and bread type dwellers talk the same language and may we say they sometimes swear too in the same language. But we shan’t be quoting any examples else we might have our topping chewed off by censorship’s cutting boards.

Sheriff Spaghetti is the chief law keeper of the county. Sheriff Spaghetti was made in Pastaville, a county some rolls away, but found acceptance as Sheriff in Granary County, mostly due to an overwhelming support from law abiding citizens of well baked origins and inevitably from pasta born and not breaded population. Like Sheriff Spaghetti, they had acclimatised themselves to the life in Granary County.

In the town square on a fine day, we find two adversaries arguing. They are Beefy Ravioli and Oat Bran.

“You don’t deserve to stay here, you meatbag, Beefy Ravioli! I’ll show you what a good oat can do!”

“Talk is grainfully cheap, Oat Bran. I’m related to the Mayor of Pastaville and lastly you forget who’s the law here.”

“You mean that lumbering piece of spaghetti? I’ll cut him down to bite size!”

“ You talk real big Oat Bran. I guess when oats are swollen, they all talk like this.”

“ Draw, you meatbag, and we’ll see what your guts contain!”

“I can draw real well swollen oat. You’re just a mouthful of empty calories.”

The two combatants, faced each other, the distance of ten hotdog buns apart. The town’s onlookers were transfixed. No dough, grain or pasta would have missed an altercation like that. Bets were secretly made. It was one of those contentious origin issues being brought out to the open. A sensitive subject in Granary County, as touchy as half-baked dough.

Beefy Ravioli turns to look at Oat Bran squarely in the face. Oat Bran does the same. They draw their overcoats back to reveal their handguns. Beefy Ravioli with grain

bursting peashooter and Oat Bran with his pasta buster. Tense moments, as both prepare to reach for their weapons. There can only be one survivor in this edible duel.

Just then, two shots rang out. An onion ring lands on Oat Bran’s upper body. Another onion ring ends up on Beefy Ravioli’s upper body. Both have their hands, restrained and unable to draw. Striding confidently with a tilted hat, Sheriff Spaghetti and Deputy Macaroni appeared between the two characters.

Sheriff Spaghetti declared in a loud pasta heavy accent, “There’ll be no duels in this square, if I can help it. Go back to your business people and book them both Deputy Macaroni!”

“Yes Sheriff. Time to go to the Oven Lock Up Station, Oat Bran and Beefy Ravioli.”, said Deputy Macaroni.

Beefy Ravioli and Oat Bran had to pay the penalty, of staying the night at the Oven Lock Up Station and having to give up their handguns. They also had charges filed against them for combustible and disorderly conduct.

2

That night at the Muesli Bar, a notable drinking outlet in Granary County, while resident band, Crispy Chips played their crunchy and calorie laden hit songs to the crowd, thick cigarette and cigar smoke swirled around the saloon’s interior. Patrons talked animatedly without aid of animation. A mixture of origins can be seen, from grains, breads, snacks and pasta bred types, livening up the smoky bar room atmosphere.

For some patrons, after a few drinks, everyone looks the same in the bar, every song marvellous to their ears and all said are praises to spirits in the bottle, just before plunging into euphoric sleep.

Some notable characters left the place as things were brewing up nicely without coffee.

Wild Oat, Wilder Oat and Wildest Oat, left the bar, after a few drinks of malt spirit. They had serious looking eyes and long coats that hid peashooters inside. This place just isn’t their pick of the day for a fight, so they left as stealthily as they came. It seemed that they had some cereal business to attend to.

Some patrons aren’t used to all peace and talking. They are the types who love to have their opinions heeded and if they’re not, they’ll just use a few shots to convince, ballistically.

An exchange between Hotdog McSauge and Corn McCob that night…

“So you’re saying that Beefy Ravioli could have spilled Oat Bran to bits? Bah! You don’t know what these oats can do, sausage face!”, exclaimed Corn.

“Oat Bran had it coming for him and if he hadn’t got it today, he’d be milksop some other time. Don’t give me corny reasons otherwise!”, countered Hotdog, clearly steaming with conviction.

“Really? Maybe I ought to show you what I learned from hanging out with oats all these years. Maybe a few pokes on you will brand your fleshy self nicely!”, said Corn, clearly showing off its maize like temper.

“You threatening me, you of corn parentage? I’ll make roughage of you, just you wait!”, Hotdog retorted.

Standing up, Corn McCob, puffed out a ring of cigar smoke and with corny pride, “ I’m waiting Sausage brain!”

That was when Hotdog gave it a swing, hitting Corn on its side. Corn hits back with a blow to the salad side of Hotdog’s body. Hotdog grapples with Corn at close quarters and pounds it with a foot long sausage whip. Corn grabs a barstool and swings it at Hotdog. Hotdog is thrown off balance as the barstool lands on Charlie Sandwich. It was a painful landing and Charlie who wasn’t expecting trouble, was dented a bit. Now Charlie was

clearly hurt and that sent the Sandwich family members flinging a barstool back at Corn, who side stepped it. That barstool instead hit Bucky and Toothy Bagel, the Bagel brothers. Toothy grabs hold of an ashtray and launches it at any Sandwich clan member within sight. Bucky does the same but with a half-finished bottle of apple wine. The saloon explodes into a free for all brawl and anyone there will agree with you that it was a clash of food types. The resident band, Crispy Chips, being veterans of rowdy saloons can never get their spirits chipped easily. They just carried on with playing their in house special, ‘The Bar Room Brawl Crawl.’  Even with pieces of grain, bread and pasta debris falling on stage, soil weary Crispy Chips musicians lunged with more aggression at their spud fiddles, potato boards and jacket drums. It would have been last food group standing if not for Deputy Fettuccine who was expecting to fetch a drink at the saloon, walked in and saw the lively scene unfolding.

He thought to himself, “This is much too rough for a dance!”

Upon saying that, removed his peashooter from its holster and fired two pea shots at the Muesli Bar roof top, that put the skids on all the commotion and any other hostile motions that night at the bar.

3

While across town, at the sober Salad Bar, patrons nibbled on salad orders, while taking every now and then to gulp down fruit and vegetable blends. The Salad Bar has never had a record of drunken patrons simply because when the mush gets to your gut, you just bloat it all away with content stretches. Patrons at the Salad Bar, have traditionally been the quiet deep thinking types, who excel at philosophising over a cut of carrot, theorising on the merits and demerits of salad dressing, speculating on the drip trajectory of spilling cream, rationalising the depth of thousand island dressing, dissecting the patrician nature of Caesar’s salad dressing, scrutinising liberty, fraternity and equality of French style dressings and close studies on the density of portions disproportionate to their crunchy intellect. Soft tinkles of cutlery against bowls and cocktail glasses, the higher registry of civil noise, low murmurs of ruminations and whispered notions can be heard from corner to corner. Such a contrast to the spirited breaths, bravado and rough edgeness exuded by frequenters of Muesli Bar alongside their clumsy grips upon drinking glasses and goblets.

Even if they had a resident band it will usually rotate among sober bands such as Square Roughage, Caesar’s Salad or Crunch Munch. Being a discreet lot, Salad Bar staff hardly queried their customers, just to avoid any miscomprehension that beget further elaboration that could spoil the noise level above the norm.

Just across the clean cut Salad Bar, you have a gaming outlet called Changing Fortunes.

A place known for its gambling tables and betting. Many had wagered and lost their wages. Right in there, seated in a private meeting room we find Wild Oat, Wilder Oat, Wildest Oat with other scruffy characters, in need of grainful processing. Among them we have Billy Barley, Brute Bran, Con Corn with a guest, notorious hired gun, Tough Cookie. A meeting hosted by King Pin and Madame Needle, schemers of crooked means.

Between thick puffs of cigarettes and mouthfuls of moonshine…

“So what do you want me to do in this sleepy place eh?”, asked Tough Cookie.

“Just to straighten out some things. Which we’re sure a few pea shots can settle”, said King Pin.

“You know I come with a price, so what is it this time? Think you can afford it?”, Tough Cookie pressed on further.

“ We offer you, Tough Cookie a chocolate chip hill and a dozen jars of raisins as wages.”, replied King Pin.

“Not bad. Not bad at all. So it must be someone big eh?”, queried Tough Cookie.

“ Actually we’d make a little mess in Pastaville, a few rolls away. Then we get back here with you in here at Granary County and get rid of Sheriff Spaghetti and his Deputies. We hear you’re the fastest peashooter in the west, east, north and south of here.”, said Madame Needle, eyes sharply focused at Tough Cookie.

“So you want me to take on this Spaghetti character. “, Tough Cookie said in a mock crunch manner.

“You’re the fastest and the best hired gun. Yeah, you handle Spaghetti, we’ll handle some of the Deputies.”,Wilder Oat said while exhaling.

“What’s the raid for at Pastaville? Surely you’re not going to waste any peashots or casually waste casualties for nothing.”, Tough Cookie asked.

King Pin, flicked a light and said, “Let’s just say that if we raid Pastaville, it will send the Pasta born but not breaded Deputies to Pastaville, leaving you a better chance to handle the Sheriff and Deputies. Getting rid of Sheriff Spaghetti will make business roll easier to my operations at Changing Fortunes. Not easy at all to have Sheriff Spaghetti running a county where my business is. I tried offering the Sheriff a deal, but it seemed too saucy a deal for the Sheriff to take.”

“The Sheriff refused your generous deal, eh?”, asked Tough Cookie.

“It always pays to have a partner, but unfortunately the Sheriff refused.”, said Madame Needle, sharply.

“Dear, dear, let me handle this. So you see Tough Cookie, when a Sheriff is dumb enough to refuse me, I figure it’s time for a replacement.”, said the King Pin.

“So it’s settled. Pay me the raisins as advance and you’ve got a deal.”, Tough Cookie said.

The night’s shady deal was concluded with toasts as guards of King Pin and Madame Needle stood outside, sharply surveying everything and everyone at the gaming house.

Changing Fortunes, so far gave Sheriff Spaghetti no reason to raid the place. As long as their hands remain clean, there was nothing the sheriff or deputies can do to cease them from operating. There had been rumours of rough handling but no one ever stepped forward to prove anything.  

END OF EXTRACT