Hobo Jungle
As Jon stared straight ahead,he reached down through the empty beer cans and corndog wrappers and picked out a crumpled box of tissues motioning them for Tramp to use between his sobs. Then adjusted his broken blues brothers sunglasses and took a long pull from his beer bottle chuckling to himself.
Running that red block Charlie.
I've added a few new things to the following paragraph. There's one sentence that I'm wondering about. Is it funny, do you get the joke? Obviously this is difficult to present. If I tell you the line, it kinda ruins it. Any thoughts would be a great help. Thanks!
If she was so sure, why didn’t she go out there? He should never have told that old lady on the plane that he was a bull rider. This was his karma for lying, he saw that right away. He inched the door open, trying to recall everything he’d ever heard about bull fighting. All he remembered was that you needed a red cape to distract the animal away from your body. He should’ve asked Pam for that blouse. At least he wasn’t wearing red pants. He approached the bull, his legs lead. He tried not to feel or smell afraid; he knew animals could sense that stuff. At twelve feet away he froze. The bull snorted again, and he almost leapt for the car. Manhood—sent to grapple with one Attila or another as women waited for the victorious return. He couldn’t seem to do anything for a few minutes. How bad did being gored hurt? Infection was probably the fatal part. If he got antibiotics soon enough he might make it. Shit—they were in the middle of nowhere. The bull continued to glare at him from the darkness, the eyes demon malevolent, and he wished he knew what it planned to do. He whittled the distance with pathetically delicate steps, ready to bolt when it charged. At six feet he felt as if he was leaning on the horns. All his concentration was stuck on the points of the goddamn things, watching for any movement. It had to be now or he’d never be able to do it. She better be right about this, though it seemed simply ludicrous to try and anger a wild animal for no other reason than a camping spot. He roared, flailed his arms, beat his chest—being far more menacing than what had scared off the Grand Junction punks. The bull dropped its massive head and his heart all but stopped. He couldn’t move. The bull bit calmly at a clump of grass. He backed up and sat beside Pam, who was in hysterics, gulping for air.
Jon, pic of D tonight? Would you be able to post it?
If she was so sure, why didn’t she go out there? He should never have told that old lady on the plane that he was a bull rider. This was his karma for lying, he saw that right away. He inched the door open, trying to recall everything he’d ever heard about bull fighting. All he remembered was that you needed a red cape to distract the animal away from your body. He should’ve asked Pam for that blouse. At least he wasn’t wearing red pants. He approached the bull, his legs lead. He tried not to feel or smell afraid; he knew animals could sense that stuff. At twelve feet away he froze. The bull snorted again, and he almost leapt for the car. Manhood—sent to grapple with one Attila or another as women waited for the victorious return. He couldn’t seem to do anything for a few minutes. How bad did being gored hurt? Infection was probably the fatal part. If he got antibiotics soon enough he might make it. Shit—they were in the middle of nowhere. The bull continued to glare at him from the darkness, the eyes demon malevolent, and he wished he knew what it planned to do. He whittled the distance with pathetically delicate steps, ready to bolt when it charged. At six feet he felt as if he was leaning on the horns. All his concentration was stuck on the points of the goddamn things, watching for any movement. It had to be now or he’d never be able to do it. She better be right about this, though it seemed simply ludicrous to try and anger a wild animal for no other reason than a camping spot. He roared, flailed his arms, beat his chest—being far more menacing than what had scared off the Grand Junction punks. The bull dropped its massive head and his heart all but stopped. He couldn’t move. The bull bit calmly at a clump of grass. He backed up and sat beside Pam, who was in hysterics, gulping for air.
Jon, pic of D tonight? Would you be able to post it?
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