The Stapler

They called him The Stapler.

There were lots of tales about the origins of the name though no one knew for sure. Legend had it that he once hit a man so hard that the poor guy fell backwards with sufficient force so as to impale himself on a coat hook mounted on the wall. He just hung there as if stapled into place.

Others claimed the name came from a snake head that sat on the hood of his car. The opened mouth and fangs made it resemble a stapler of sorts.

Like I said, no one knew for sure.

One thing we, “we” being the townsfolk of Hungjaw, Louisiana, knew for sure was that he was big; big and mean as any gator ever to set afloat in the thousand acre bijou that bordered our small town. He was a Cajun through and through, a man without fear, and also, I might add, a man of modest intellect.

One day, a stranger stopped by the local saloon and had the misfortune to park in the spot outside most favored by The Stapler. That didn’t sit right with our local ruffian who was quick to challenge the interloper to a fight right then and there.

Now the Stapler was about twice the size of this city boy, which made him an easy target when a gun suddenly found its way into the hand of the man in the suit. The Stapler’s walnut brain instantly made the wrong decision and he charged.

The gun fired over and over. In the end, The Stapler succumbed to the bite of a two-pound Smith and Wesson.

The stranger, decided he liked our little town. He hangs out down by the swamp. We have a name for him as well. We call him Sheriff.

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