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By Robert Coover

From Hollywood B-movies to Hollywood classics, an evening on the video clips invents what may need occurred in those Saturday afternoon matinees. Mad scientists, vampires, cowboys, dance-men, Chaplin, and Bogart, all flit throughout Robert Coover's riotously humorous reveal, doing issues and uttering strains which are as surprising to them as they're humorous to the reader. As Coover's software publicizes, you'll get Coming sights, The Weekly Serial, experience, Comedy, Romance, and extra, yet became upside-down and inside-out.

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Well, it was a washroom, there were probably mirrors. "Put the blame on dames," I proposed, arousing a general disgust. " Perhaps he meant well, but hadn't I just saved his life? Or somebody's anyway, it was not clear (more like shadows on the wall). Nothing was clear except for the danger I was in. I was breaking into little pieces, and not all of them seemed to be my own. " What? I felt haunted. Who was this man who frightened me so, the one hiding in the stall behind the louvered door? I knew he was watching me through the slats, because I could see myself through his eyes.

Still, the bastard offered no resistance. Harmon drew the Mex's six-shooters out of their moldy holsters. Rusty old relics. One of them didn't even have a goddamn hammer. He pitched them away. Easy as that. He grunted. Old fraud after all. He turned to signal for Flem and the others to bring the rope. Heard a soft click. Hand flicked: holster was empty! Henry Harmon the Sheriff of Gentry's Junction spun and met the silver bullet from his own gun square in his handsome suntanned face. (Don Pedo the grand Mexican bandit away he is riding on his little pinto into the setting sun, the silver star of the Sheriff" pinned on his bouncing barriga like a jewel, his saddlebags full to the top, his gold teeth capturing the last gleams of the dying red sun.

The roan turned down a side street off the main run. Hank swung up in front of Gentry's Junction Hotel, unmounted, hitched the horse. Inside, he walked on past the clerk with a brief nod -the Sheriff was well known in the hotel -- and up the stairs. At room 1210 he hesitated, then walked on in. Belle, that sweet taunting virgin, lay naked on her broad four-poster, scratching herself idly. "You mighta knocked," she said dryly. Hank flushed. "Sorry, Belle," he gulped, but he couldn't help staring at her.

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