Ronnie and Donnie Turtle were the Romulus and Remus of Turtle County, brothers who bought all the county’s water, killing anyone who could not afford it. When it turned out no one could afford it, they found themselves in the awkward position of having killed their profits and neighbors simultaneously.
Regardless, they had accrued an impressive amount of wealth in the process and felt they deserved to build a monument to their success - one that they could live in - and so they began to build their mansion on 1818 Turtle Street. The Turtle Brothers were too proud to travel across county lines to hire people who might make snide remarks about all the dead bodies liquefying in the sun and so they began to clear the land alone.
Every tree worth its lumber was chopped to the ground, every stone worth its hardiness was quarried from the earth, every shock of tallgrass was sliced clean from the turf, and soon all of the land around 1818 Turtle Street was reduced to a barren and threadbare state. By duties end Ronnie and Donnie sat down on a pair of tree stumps to admire what they had accomplished. The view inspired pride and thirst. As if on cue, a woman appeared from the southeast clutching a large jar of pink liquid.
The Turtle brothers clapped their hands as she headed their direction.
“Man, that sure as heck looks like lemonade,” Donnie said.
“That’s what I was thinking,” Ronnie said.
“I’m getting thirstier and thirstier just thinking about it,” Donnie said.
They quickly agreed that they would pay any cost to drink her lemonade. When the unknown woman arrived they were quick to make a deal.
“How much you selling it for?” Donnie asked.
“Yeah, how much you want?” Ronnie asked.
The woman gave no answer but she had fire in her eyes and wind in hair.
Ronnie said, “Well shoot! You are a tough negotiator but it’s a deal.”
And Ronnie pulled out a stack of fifty gold bills and she handed over the glass jar. The woman turned to leave and the brothers were alone. Before Donnie could’ve asked to have maybe half of the jar of lemonade or even a sip-Ronnie guzzled the only shebang in one big gulp.
Donnie said, “Ronnie you old spider dick- I was going to want to have me some too!”
Ronnie said, “Sorry brother, but trust me on it - that the lemonade was disgusting but it sure was sweet.”
Donnie said, “You really know how to toast a dog turd.”
Ronnie coughed and said, “You would’ve done the same thing you jackwad-but probably ten times fas-.”
But before Ronnie could finish his line, his eyes began to swell up and bulge out of his eye sockets, and the straining blood vessels all over his head turned his whole face purple.”
Donnie began to scream, “What do you want me to do? Tell me what to do!”
Ronnie said nothing but his hands began to grip around his throat.
Donnie said, “Oh okay, I think I get it! You are choking so you need me to do a tracheotomy.Now hold still - if you squirm it’s only going to make it worse!”
Donnie pulled out a long knife and stabbed at Ronnie’s throat, Ronnie tried to dive away but just far enough to get stabbed in the wrong part of the neck.
Donnie said, “Am I going to have to tie you down? What’s the dealio here? Do you want help or not?”
And so Donnie got out an ax and gave Ronnie a couple of chops on the legs so he wouldn’t squirm so much.
Donnie said, “Finally you are holding still for three seconds. Sheesh!”
And Donnie perfectly threaded the knife into the windpipe and air finally escaped out of his windpipe. Ronnie’s eyes receded back into their sockets and the blood vessels were no longer bulging in his face but as Ronnie regained movement in his hands he was quick to point to his legs. Ronnie’s legs-severed just above the knee were pouring a massive amount of blood onto the grass.
“Doggone it and rat dabbit, if it’s not one thing it’s another!” Donnie said. “You are bleeding all over the place! Sheesh, what are we going to do with you?”
Ronnie motioned towards Donnie’s belt suggesting a homemade tourniquet.
Donnie said, “You are friggin loco Ronnie, this leather is legit Italian. How’s about this instead?”
And Donnie began to press several paper napkins against Ronnie’s massive leg wound. Within seconds Ronnie bled through the napkins.
“Well shucks,” Donnie said, “Ronnie would you quit burning my bongos and stop bleeding for once?”
Ronnie’s hands went lax against his body and his eyes rolled up to the clouds. Donnie continued to press the napkins against his brother’s wounds for several minutes, at times pounding against his chest in a repeated fashion, but it was too late, the green grass had turned red and one of the kings of Turtle County was friggin dead.
Producer/Engineer: Bill Pollock
Editor: Sarah Rendo
Cover: Rob Mitchell