Okay, where were we? Oh yeah, sore throat cures and decomposition. In case you have no idea what I’m talking about or you missed something, here are the links for Ezmerelda’s “story”:

I’ll reiterate my warning: It is recommended that a mild state of intoxication be achieved before commencement of reading.

Then one day, Chance spotted a massive dust plume behind them on the trail. “Must be something mighty big and wide to kick up a cloud like that.”

“Oh no…Shannon’s coming!”

They abandoned the stagecoach—which was starting to smell quite bad—and took Chance’s horse, Ezzie settled across his slightly lumpy lap.

Shan: No sex a’horseback, Ez. Not going there.

They rode west, toward the setting sun, but the gargantuan dust cloud still loomed behind them.

“We need to slow her down,” Chance said. “Some sort of distraction.”

Ezzie reached into her bag and pulled out a cloth sack. “I have just the thing. She is fond of these thin corn chips I coat with spices from my home country and fry. I call them Doritos.”

She started leaving a trail of the chips, punctuated with the occasional small mound of them. They noticed the dust plume lingering over each pile, falling further and further behind until not a trace clouded their backtrail.

As the sun set in front of them, Chance wrapped his arms around his little woman and said in a husky—but still manly—voice, “You sure do get my heart to giddy-uppin’, Ezzie. Let’s get hitched and find us a place to settle down.”

Ezzie clutched her book to her heart and rested her head against his broad chest. “Giddy-up then, Chance, and let’s go home.”

Ezzie and Chance were married by the first preacher they came across and made their home in a rough frontier town, which Chance singlehandedly tamed with his lightening fast draw. Ezzie pulled off a hostile takeover of the town’s newspaper (no doubt with a little help from her besotted husband) and increased its circulation tenfold by publishing blind items and juicy gossip about the town’s residents. Her book—memoirs of being held in muse-captivity by a crazy Yankee author—earned her fame, fortune, and the opportunity for a little overnight naughtiness in the Lincoln bedroom.

Yes, Ezzie and Chance lived happily ever after.

Shannon spent the remaining free years of her life seeking out more Doritos. She became a destitute wanderer, traveling from town to town trying to find more of the spicy chips. One night she was caught sneaking into the home of a Mexican woman rumored to have the recipe and was sentenced to many, many years in prison. Her book, The Search for El Dorito was bought by three people, two of whom only gave it one and a half spurs. It is rumored she spent her days writing pleading letters of regret and contrition to her former muse, Ezzie, who would send them back unread—the envelopes dusted with Dorito-orange fingerprints.

Shan: So now that you have this out of your system, can we get back to work?
Ez: You should wash your hands first. Your husband hates when the keyboard keys are orange.