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by Tony R. Lindsay

Hungarian-born, Gusztau Szolossi, has been in Philadelphia for three months. But, there’s a problem.

“How’s it going, Gus?”

“Not so vine. Vree months and no nogaswampen.”

I’m not surprised. Look at you. You got all the muscles of a snail. You would sissify a tulip. American girls want he-men. They’re crazy about cowboys and bad-ass bikers.”

“Vever could vide a bike. Vaybe could vide a horse.”

“Give it a shot, Gus.  Learn to ride a horse and you might find a cowgirl. Those girls know how to ride. Know what I mean? A cowgirl can make a man glad he was ever born.”

Another week with no nogaswampen and Gus books a five-day stint at Rip Seaman’s Ranch about an hour’s drive outside of Dry Gulch, Wyoming.


“Howdy, partner. What’s your name?”

“Call me Gus.”

“Yo, Gus. My name’s Rip, and this here’s Thumper. A mighty fine hunk of horseflesh he is.”

“Vay too vig. Don’t vant to go var.”

“Yeah, Thumper  is a big boy, and twenty mile is all you need. It’s rough country. All you got to remember is ‘Go’ if you want to go faster and ‘Whoa’ if you want to go slower. You got it, Gus?”

“Ya, ya, vot it, Vip.”

Rip gives Thumper a slap on the rump, “Off with you, tenderfoot.”

Thumper lunges forward and Gus looks as if he might throw up. His eyes  bulge. “Voh!”

Now ‘Voh’ sounds a lot like ‘Go’ and Thumper moves up a gear.

“Voh, gyakorolhasse, voh!” (Whoa, asshole, whoa.)

Thumper begins to gallop.

“Feltetelekkel nemcsak szakembert.” (Hay-burning bastard.)

“Ya voh, ya  voh, ya  voh, termeszeben egyszerre genek.” (Something about a gluepot.)

Thumper  sprints into top gear.

“Korneyelzetredok termesztesbe figyelmeztettek  mengeljenek.” (A brief impolite reference to questionable breeding.)

Gus drops the reins and holds onto the saddle horn with both hands.

“Bizonytalansagot ugyarakkor.” (Do-do brain.)

“Termelo szervezetukon ulselen.” (Unkind words about Thumper’s mother.)

Thumper races across terrain that would challenge a mountain goat.

“Ya voh, novenyek ennek vagyis engedeesekor.” (it seems Thumper’s grandmother was a horse without virtue.)

Thumper splashes through a shallow creek and charges up a steep slope.

“Kozolte Magyar rovined aszamitasok az gagyobb lakeossagi.” (Gus complains bitterly about his testicular discomfort and shouts his plans for a slow-motion surgical procedure that will have Thumper whinnying in soprano and strutting like a mare.)

Gus hangs on for his life until Thumper finally turns for the barn and pulls up in front of a bale of hay.

At last, the shattered Hungarian with battered balls has both feet on the ground.

“How did it go, partner?”

“Figelembevetelere Hungry. Kotelozi  nogaswampen megmondani hanem nemcsak arra talen valemivel.” (Going back to Hungry. Plenty nogaswampen, and you don’t have to ride a dragon’s ass into Hell to get it.)