Omega 3 Vitamins Zoom Zoom Buster

Arty was a fine man. He could really get things started. Arty would take up surfing, or dog sledding, canaloping, and in a month he’d be one tried and true seasoned, dog surfing canalope mama.

If Arty decided to play his recorder on 3rd street on Sundays for a little cash and jollies, within a week hippies and yippies and yuppies and puppies would be joining in with the recorder jamboree and in a month or two channel  3 news would do an expo on the “recorder craze” going on all over Los Angeles. That’s how charming Arty could be.

But the man was as violent as he was likeable. He once broke a whole set of Ikea livingwear just because the instructions came with the wrong hexagonal wrench. I once saw Arty embarrass his boss at a board meeting, calling the stodgy gentleman, a “glue sniffing radial bastard.” I don’t know that the boss was either radial or a bastard, but it was no secret that he sniffed glue, and everyone played hush hush until Arty came out and said so. That Arty, I wouldn’t cross him with a gaggle of elephants at my back.

Arty was reknowned for his good health. He had the stealthiest abs on a high fat diet, he took 45 omega 3 supplements with his breakfast, and rumor has it he even found the best multivitamin there ever was. But, I wouldn’t believe everything about Arty. People know the best multivitamin will bring about the end of the world. The world is still here, so I’m betting Arty hasn’t found it yet.

Slamming into the flagpole is a speeding Camel Bandit forty feet up and twenty feet tall. He’s a mean camel bombardier and he steals from the children and scares his camel brethren with his mighty snort.

I met him once near a samovar on the high plains of El Paso. He brayed at me a throaty camel bray and told me of his bandit years. You see he wasn’t always evil. A true bombardier by birth, flying in the soapy skies of London, casting shadows over children in long green fields and trembling with dehydration returning from the front. He could slip a daff bomb down the chimney of a dutch hovel and rake a field of raiders in the winks of an afternoon. The mighty camel bombardier he was, and not the only mighty one, but certainly the only camel one.

The camel bandit chewed a flake of dried prickly pear and spit in the dust.

“No time for air raids these days,” he muttered and pulled out his .35 caliber. He broke the barrel and showed me the glimmering malachite handmade bullets inside. I’d never seen a malachite bullet and didn’t believe it would shoot. He buffed his barrel, replaced his locking and eyed me down.

“I could prove it works to you, but then you’d be dead.” So I did believe him.

The next I heard of the wild camel bandit bombardier was years later and miles from the edge of the Sargasso sea. Somebody had called him out with his crazy malachite, and the man lay dead on the floor boards of a parked eel vessel. You’d not think much of the average camel, but I say again, Zeus even could not fell such a brimstone beast. I bet you could even watch the camel while he would buy vitamin stuffs, or as he would explain the best multivitamin. But then of course, you might be dead as well.