"Trigger To Ride" [HONKYTONK SUE #3; 1980] is easily the cruelest of all the stories to be found within Bob "Boze" Bell's HTS canon.

It's also (in my opinion, at least) the falling-down funniest.

An amoral and avaricious local nightclub owner by the name of "Smirky" is arranging for a one-shot "on stage" musical reunion of the disbanded Beatles. Sue, however (along with faithful companion Donna Jean), overhears the aforementioned louse discussing his real, ultimate plans for the Once-Fab Foursome with a professional sniper, whose services he's retained in order that the Mersey Moptops' upcoming concerted reprise might be their final one.

In the days which follow the two cowgals having stumbled upon this most unwelcome knowledge, the television evening news is filled with breathless, minute-by-minute accounts of the mind-numbingly picayune and inane "negotiations" between the disbanded band members, preparatory to their all agreeing to share a stage with one another once more.

("In a last ditch effort to save the national economy," one talking newshead solemnly intones, "Jimmy Carter flew to Camp David this morning to meet with three ex-members of the Beatles, to negotiate a reunion."

("Evidently" [we are later informed] "the negotiations are taking their toll. At one point, the President reportedly jumped to his feet and screamed: 'Stay out of this, Yoko! I think you're a lousy artist and can't sing for diddley-squat!' ")

"Why all th' fuss over th' Beatles, Sue?" a perplexed Donna Jean inquires of her friend. "They don't even have a steel git-tarr!"

"Beats me, Donna Jean," a calculating Sue responds. "I didn't understand it th' first time 'round... but, one thing's fer shore: there's gonna be big trubble if we don' git out to thet ranch and warn 'em!"

After a difficult search (it says here), Sue and Donna Jean manage to to track down Paul and Linda McCartney on their ranch in Nebraska; where the two cowgirls are flabbergasted to discover that the aforementioned "Smirky" has obtained -- through arcane legal chicanery of a rare, high order, doubtless -- control of the deed to the McCartney's beloved home!

"To get the deed back," a dolorous Paul confesses to Sue; "... this bloke says the Beatles have to play at his club next week for free!"

"Are you gonna do it?" Sue asks.

"This ranch means everything to us," Paul manages to sob, bitterly. "With the exception of twenty or thirty million dollars... a couple of estates in England... and the rights to everything Buddy Holly did while he was alive... it's all we've got!"

"Hey," Donna Jean consoles the angst-ridden artiste. "Don't worry. We can work it out."

(No... see... the joke... it's, like... one of the Beatles' old songs was entitled "We Can Work It Out," all right?)

(Stay with me, people.)

The typically "take-charge-in-times-of-crisis" Sue arranges for a face-

to-face, no-outsiders-allowed (other than herself, I mean) meeting between all four Beatles at a flyspecked and non-descript motel somewhere in south Tucson; in order that the foursome might resolve their various and long-simmering personal animosities, once and for all.

"Of course" (as the attendant caption provides) "there is still bad blood between Paul and John, but Sue puts the two in line..."

("Git up off the floor!" an exasperated Sue bellows at them, at one point. "You can both be the Walrus!" Goo-goo-ga-joob.)

(One of my very favorite "bits" occurs on the very next page, when Sue takes the four Brit balladeers to the corner cafe for a much- needed lunch break, and asks them, point blank: "Alraht... do you know of anyone who might not want to see th' Beatles live to perform again?"

("Yes, luv," a cynical Ringo responds. "The Knack, the Cars, the Rolling Stones, and about fifteen hundred other groups." kaZING -- !)

Having finally settled accounts amongst themselves, the boys retire to a secluded area (again, accompanied by Sue) to in order to rehearse their old musical standards of yore.

"Yew guys ain't half bad," a grudging Sue admits, upon hearing them play. "Why don't yew drop thet acid rock stuff and trah sum real music?"

"To make a long story one frame shorter," Bell cheats; "... the Fab Four thought it was a great idea. They never did like the reunion stipulation that they play exactly like they did in the '60s." And -- in appropriately short storytelling order -- Sue gathers the foursome under her shapely wing and [Pick One]:

A.) ... takes them to various country'n'western honkytonks, juke joints and roadside gin mills, inculcating them in the mysteries of the steel guitar and the dobro.

B.) ... teaches them all the lyrics to "Sugar Sugar."

C.) ... re-stages the photo shoot for the cover of the ABBEY ROAD album cover. With a nekkid Donna Jean in place of Paul.

D.) ... tarts them all up in tube tops, mini-dresses and platform shoes; and spends the following eighteen or twenty pages refereeing a bitter, internecine squabble between Ringo and George over which one gets to be "Posh" Spice.

E.) ... convinces them all to don matching ninja garb; return to New York, under cover of darkness; and beat the holy living crap out of Yoko. Twice.

Well... as it turns out, the correct answer is "A" (although I'd have willingly paid double cover price for "E"); and the newly-reconstituted Fab Foursome takes the stage, the day of the concert, and -- as ordered by the smirking "Smirky" -- set about to playing all of their old, familiar tunes...

... re-written and re-composed as honkytonk songs (!!)

(Examples: "Back In the U.S.A. Bars"; "The Long and Grinding Chew"; "Maxwell's Silver 30-30"; "Lady Manana"; "While My Stock Tank Gently Leaks"; "Nowhere Van"; and so on, and so deliriously on.)

An enraged Smirky -- livid over the fact that the boys have seen fit to defy him -- walkie-talkies the command to Fire At Will to his hidden sniper (remember him?); and a startled Ringo is the first to pay the penalty, as a single shot smashes into his sternum and sends him backflipping bonelessly off the stage.

A coldly implacable Sue quickly confronts and disables the would-be assassin before any further damage can be done; and the fallen Ringo is rushed to the nearest hospital emergency room, where it is revealed that a fortuitously pocketed drum key deflected the fateful bullet, saving the laconic Beatle's life in the process.

The back-up story in this issue -- a rather labored and disjointed time- travel story entitled "Jumpin' Black Gas" (look... don't ask, all right?) -- really isn't worth more than the most cursory of notice, in all honesty; although the sequence in which a chronally-displaced "Doc" Holliday manifests in the present day, in the middle of a Led Zeppelin concert, really is pretty frickin' funny.

That brings us to the fourth (and -- sadly-- final) issue of HONKYTONK SUE; and the full-length saga entitled, simply: "The New Guy."

Grab hold of your saddlebags, cowguys and gals: here comes the heartbreak.

"There's a new guy in town," the opening caption informs us; "... and all the gals agree on one thing..."

"He's so handsome," one miss (who -- clearly -- is, oh, just t-h-i-s close to a high-level and well-compensated position within the Hallmark corporation) opines, "he gives new meaning to the term 'gang rape.' "

"He's so handsome," a second ventures, "he wears a tear-away jersey on dates."

"He's so handsome," a third reliably informs us, "he's a walking paternity suit." (Clearly, the "Dorothy Parker" of this particular prairie clan.)

In brief, then: we are (obviously) NOT talking about your standard, rock-jawed, barrel-chested, hung-like-a-freakin'-pack- mule weekend cowpoke, this time out.

What we are talkin', in this particular instance, is nothing less than Grade-"A," USDA certified Adonis On the Hoof.

Naturally, Our Sue makes it her blue-eyed business to investigate the source of these hormone-laden rumors her own bad self.

Equally naturally: this involves recruiting the services of the practically guileless Donna Jean.

"Alraht," the cellulite-chocked sidekick yodels one evening, in the very same honkytonk wherein The New Guy is quietly nursing his beer alone, in the far corner. "Who wants ta cum over ta Sue's house an' play Spin-

th'-Bottle?"

Moments later -- after the entire male portion of the greater Southwest has assembled in Sue's parlor -- the plucky and ingenious ingenue has manuevered The New Guy into a position of having to exchange labial favors, via a not-entirely-unplanned "spin" of said bottle.

"Ma'am," the chisel-featured cowpoke murmurs, advancing towards Sue. "Before we kiss, I must forewarn you... my lips are registered with the police."

"Your lips?" an incredulous Sue queries. "Why?"

"They're dangerous weapons," is the unabashed reply.

"The kiss," a blushing Mr. Bell later informs us, "lasted fifteen minutes."

Well, now: Your Filthy-Minded Unca Cheeks is not yet so aged and decrepit that he can not remember (however dimly, or haltingly) how things of this sort lead, invariably, to things of yet another (not wholly unrelated) sort, in their turn. (There's a slide show scheduled for later this afternoon, in Auditorium "C," for the more whey-faced and innocent amongst you. Bring a signed note from your parent or guardian.)

Nonetheless: it still comes as nothing less than a profound shock to the system when the flint-hearted Sue -- after spending a marathon three-day weekend a-wrinklin' the bedsheets with The New Guy -- coyly lifts those delicate, elfin features towards his craggy own and breathes:

"Marry me, or ah'll kick yer ass."

Tragically, however: Cruel Bitch Fate drives a big ol' emotional tenpenny nail betwixt The Prettiest Cowgirl In the Whole Wide World and her one true love, in the form of a vengeful beer distributor. (The news of Sue's... ummmmm... "retirement" from the romantic field of play, you see, causing such massive and unrelieved depression within the cowpoke community of the tri-state area that they all simply [*gasp*] STOPPED GOING TO HONKYTONKS AT NIGHT -- !!!

(... okay. I'll stop, now.)

We take our leave of the inimitable Sue, then, with a quick essay entitled: "The World's Most Mediocre Lover"; in which the long-suffering desert blossom is afforded, at long last, the opportunity to exact the requisite pound of flesh from none other than her cruel and manipulative creator. [See page reproduction, below

His voice pitched in shrill protest even after Sue offers into the evidentiary record "live" testimony from "one of yer girlfriends from Kingman High" (the latter offering, blandly: "Hi, Boze. At best, you were an obnoxious wimp."), Bell dares the smug cowgirl to dredge up some conversational topic -- any topic, if you please -- which he (as A Totally Secure Modern Male) will be unable to handle, emotionally.

"O.K.," Sue counters; a thin, cruel smile creasing her features. "Have you ever had homosexual feelings towards another man?"

Mr. Bell's answer to this pointed query is recorded for posterity, on the page below.

HONKYTONK SUE was never, God wot, a particularly "slick" comics series, as these things are reckoned nowadays; nor (plainly) was it a strip concerned overmuch with whether or not it fit comfortably within the constipated creative constraints of the tireless (and tiresome) "P.C." crowd so self-aggrandizingly evident in fannish circles today.

It was just damned funny, is all.

... and: it provided Your Grovelingly and Eternally Grateful Unca Cheeks with a much-needed reason to keep reading comic books, during a period in which scarcely any other title(s) and/or creator(s) seemed either willing or able to take on that particular assignment, themselves.

If for no other favors granted than these, then: I remain -- now and forevermore -- in the not-iinconsiderable debt of one Bob "Boze" Bell, Esq.

Thanks, Bob.

HonkyTonk Sue: PAGE ONE