I woke up in the middle of a gun battle last night, my lounge was filled with screaming and yelping Apache Indians, burning arrows swished above my head and twanged into the furniture around me. I was terrified as I tried to figure out what was happening through the smoke and fire. I got a glimpse of a burning wagon train surrounded by whooping warriors.
True to the that period, all Apache horses had legs of different lengths, the left front and back leg was six inches shorter than the right front and back leg allowing them to attack a wagon train in a circle with no difficulty. You’ve seen it in all the movies, some Apaches would attack the train from a right to left direction and some from left to right, which lead to many head on collisions, not without fatalities.

Apaches were renowned for dropping out of ‘horse whispering’ college and would shout at their horses at the top of their voices trying to draw their attention to the fact they were riding in a circle. After a lengthy attack the warriors would become dizzy, lose their balance and fall off their horses, much to the delight of the cowboys who thought they’d shot them.
It is a known fact that Apache Indians were either gay or cross-dressed on the weekends. They wore very bad make up and outrageous hairdos, some of the very butch numbers wore calfskin minis for God sake, would you believe?.

The young Apache braves rode their squaws bareback until 1720 when the Chief Mangus Coloradus suggested they ride the horses bareback as well. He called a meeting. ‘It is written in the wind’ he said, addressing 500 young Apache braves at a ‘Cowboy –On -The-Spit‘ barbecue.
‘One day when the night hawke and silver deer cross babbling brook – there will come a big burning and swelling of your munga blatcha. This evil spirit is white man’s disease – many will die. When rabbit and tortoise run behind sun to start a family, great medicine Chief Chihuhahuha will bring mongoose foot to rub against munga blatcha. If it does not fall off after the first moon passes the buck – evil spirit will go’ he pauses to adjust his headdress ‘but at all times, you must be brave’.
‘We are brave’ 500 shouted in unison.
‘Don’t get f&%## smart with chief’ he mumbled as he rode off dragging his wives behind him.
The war cry of the Apache Indian was a chilling sound to any frontier man– it made even the toughest adventurer’s blood run cold.
There were two types of war cry, a high pitched yell for the younger warrior and a much deeper ominous gurgling whoop for the older Apaches.
Many historians believe this whoop was tribal and was handed down by their ancestors but the records prove this to be untrue - riding without a saddle was the cause.
The older Apaches would sit on their testicles releasing a blood curdling scream that echoed across the Savanna - enough to instill the fear of the Lord into anyone’s heart.
The life of a frontier pioneer was a daunting one. For months on end they would forge a trail across inhospitable uncharted territory, facing hazard after hazard on a daily basis, according to the records they would give birth, kill Indians, cook up baked beans, rotate blow jobs, milk cows, breast feed, swat flies, bury the departed, organize young women for peaceful gang bangs, dunk bread rolls in the heads of Lepers, dance in freshly slaughtered grizzly bear skins - and all of this without taking a bath.

For you folks who didn’t know, General Custer was a famous singer song writer around the period of 1735 and wrote a famous song called ‘The Ballad Of Rancid Crotch’ it was a big hit and reached number 5 on the Little Big Horn top twenty. The lyrics described the anguish and human trauma that existed amongst the unwashed frontier people and the unfortunate Apache tribes situated down wind.

Now wait for it – listen up here! Not even the New York Times has this information.
Subject to popular belief, Apache Indians at the time were not politically driven, they were not anti-white, and were not protesting about losing their land, it was simply the smell of the approaching cowboys that drove them crazy, they were in a frenzy, some being forced to hang Buffalo turds in their Wigwams, as air fresheners. So desperate were they that many warriors placed bay leaves under each armpit, so they would smell like Minestrone soup.
It was hectic. Try to imagine the abject horror of smelling a bunch of cowboys that have been on the trail for five years, without a bath - shoooot you’d also want to burn them.

The only option left open to the Apaches was to declare war on cowboys and destroy all the wagon trains.
Tensions rose, more and more pioneers where attacked and killed, some of them permanently. Sadly on a wagon train in the spring of 1736 Marshall Wyatt Baxter and his wife Juliet were overcome by a swarm of deadly genital fruit flies emanating from her philopian tubes which lead to their demise. Juliet the poor soul had not had a bath since they embarked on the trail 5 years earlier - although she regularly gave birth to twins she would, without fail spread maple syrup over her pubic area once every fortnight to disguise her weeping foot rot. Alas, Hank Marshall was buried on a rocky rattle snake infested outcrop next to his beloved wife.
As a last minute request from the dying Juliet they were buried back to back in separate graves because of Hanks debilitating halitosis and galloping anal thrush.

The sad part of my story is, for generations we blamed the Apaches.