THE ADVENTURES OF REX THE WONDER ENGINEER:
(And his numb-nut pal, Joe the Boomer)

Mayhem at Crusty's

Rex shuts down the monster 460 motor '68 Ford Bronco outside of Crusty's Place, and notes that Joe's wore-out '96 Chevy is parked, somewhat skewed, in his normal parking spot. Normally, this would piss him off, but he is happy to be alive after the 5 hour local he just got finished with, and Joe will probably by him a beer, since he owes Rex seven hundred bucks from when he bought the last motor for the Chevy. Rex opens the door and enters the dimly-lit, smoky, odiferous bar......

He sees Joe right away, sitting there gulping a Milwaukee's Best, with the hideous Large Marge at his side. Rex speaks. "Hey, shit-stain, get your stupid cabin queen ass off of my Goddamn bar stool." Joe looks around, surprised to see that Rex has survived another 5 hours of terrifying flight time. "Why Rex, you old sperm-burping Jizz-bag bastard! Glad to see you made it through again, have a seat and tell me some lies. Crusty here was just finishing up a war story, he was..so sit yer ass down."

Crusty eyes Rex suspiciously, and draws him a pint of Meisterbrau draft. Crusty, the owner, bartender, and teller of completely horseshit war stories, a retired loadmaster, a veteran of the reciprocating engine Air Force, a highly skilled bullshit artist of distinction, starts to re-tell the story........

"Well, it was 1967, ya see, we were coming out of Cam Ranh Bay in the old A model tube, at about 360,000 pounds, loaded with 198 deader-than-dogshit Army dudes, all dead and stinkin' and leaking formaldehyde and shit all over the Goddamn floor, and we lost a mother-fuckin' engine at 40 knots and the AC says fuckit-boys-we're-a-goin' and...

"Jesus God, Crusty! Shut the fuck up!" Spews Rex, who has heard the story about six thousand times. "That's enough, I want to drink in peace, asshole, shut UP". Crusty looks hurt. "Hey, Fuck you, you Goddamn glorified flight mechanic, this is my bar and I can tell any story I want." Crusty sniffles a little bit, then leaves to take a shit. Rex helps himself to ten bucks from the register. Just then the door opens and in walks the BoneCrusher.

Rex greets the infamous Major like a long lost buddy. "Hey, ya big fucking dick-cheese bastard! What the fuck are you doing in the sweatie bar in a Goddamn flight suit in the middle of the day? You trying to get yer ass kicked? Ha Ha Ha!!...Here, pull up a stool, and have a beer, on Crusty!" The Major, a scary-looking dude in the best of light, reaches over and grabs Joe's alcohol-inflamed nose, and gives it a good twist. Joe yelps and falls to the floor, and the BoneCrusher takes his seat. "I thought I would find you and Joe here, Rex. Here's the deal. I just gave little Skippy Whitcomb his initial AC check and the boy passed; he's so fucking happy that he's coming over here to buy me and you dirt-balls a beer. I hope the little piss-ant brings his American Express. I gotta powerful thirst after today's local. Goddamn, I hate locals. I hate'em even worse than you and Joe." The BoneCrusher looks strangely thoughtful for a minute, and then orders up a round of swill. Looking over at Crusty, who is digging at the crack of his ass, he commands: "Innkeeper, get some fresh whores and whiskey for these men, the biggest Goddamn bottle you have, and oh, here comes young Skipper, with his credit card. He'll be running a bit of a tab this evening, ain't that right, Mr. new AC dude?" Skippy looks a

little dazed from the darkness of the bar and the Major's booming voice, but recovers nicely. "Yes, a round of Sierra Nevada for all concerned and break out the fried Zucchini, boys,..you've a got an new AC in town and he's buying." With that, The new AC dramatically whips out his American Express Optima card and the juice begins to flow..........

Three hours later, Skippy is ripped to the tits. The BoneCrusher is showing off his new .44 Magnum revolver to the crowd, waving it wildly and calling for more whiskey. Rex and Joe have just gotten fininshed breaking pool sticks over the heads of some asshole hippies that came in and tried to take their bar stools. Rex downs a shot of Jimmy Beam and gazes stupidly at Skippy, who is dancing on the bar and screaming, "Free dick! Free dick to all bitches in the area! Come and get it!!" Joe finally gives up and passes out underneath the pool table amid the crushed beer cans, cigar butts, and dried puke.

"HEY!! EVERYONE SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!" It's Crusty, on the phone, and he looks a little concerned. "OK, ma'am, I'll get him ready. Hey, BoneCrusher, that was Mrs. Whitcomb, and she's a'comin' to get the fucked up new AC to take his little happy ass home" With that anouncement, Skippy starts to remove his flying suit, but is stopped by Large Marge, his new best squeeze.

A half hour later, with the Juke box blaring "All my ex's live in Texas", Mrs. Skippy Whitcomb strides into Crusty's with the Squadron Commander's wife in the lead. Rex falls off of his bar stool at their feet. "Good afternoon, ladies, I hope you are having a nice day. Can I buy you a fucking drink?" Mrs. Commander is not amused. With a swift shot from her foot to Rex's nuts, he is put out of action. Then the entire bar goes quiet with alarm as Large Marge starts screaming: "AAAEEEEE!! YOU FUCKING PERVERT!! AAAEEE!! You little fucking bastard" She is literally screaching with rage at Skippy. "The fucking bastard stuck his finger up my ass!!! REX, JOE, KIIL HIM!! KILL HIM!!" Joe looks up from his place under the pool table and pukes. Rex rolls in pain under the bar. The BoneCrusher has quietly holstered his weapon and is sneaking towards the door. Mrs. Whitcomb is wielding a five-iron from Skippy's bag.

Skippy is fucked. That is clear. The rest of this sordid tale is too bizarre for words. It will be retold many times over the years but never believed. Until Rex tells it at the Squadron Dining In. But that's another story.

NEXT: REX AND SKIPPY GO TO THE DESERT