The twin stunted napoleons in their bullet proof suits driving out to the ranch to shoot donkeys point blank in the face with revolvers. Having early morning brandy’s round the breakfast table, Blair laughing with a smirk at George’s racist jokes. “Fucking Allah Pakis.”
After lunch they take a quad out to look at some of the cattle, Bush shows Tony the “good strong ankles” of the animals. Tony nods enthusiastically but, doesn’t really understand.
“Tony, I know I got you in a bit of mess back home with the war an all.”
“Really, it’s forgotten about George. Shoulder to fucking shoulder, me and you, all the way.”
“Fuck yeah.” Bush rested his shotgun on his shoulder and looked out to the horizon. “But you know, Tony, it was worth it.”
“I think so.”
George saddled himself on the quad bike, nodding for Tony to get on the back and revving the engine. “Let’s go shoot those donkeys in the face.”

The quad pulled up infront of the donkey stable, Bush slamming on the breaks so it skidded a little before stopping. He laughed and slapped Tony on the back as he got off.
“You gotta learn to ride one of these things,” he laughed, “If there’s a war you’ll need to be able to take Charlie on on his own terms. Those Chinese bastards damn crazy for quad bikes this year, the crazy sons of bitches..." He kicked at some dirt and looked back at Blair, still sat awkwardly on the back of the bike, in his heart he felt love for him. He was his best foreign friend, the only one to really put his neck on the line for their friendship.
"I tell ya Tony, and I swear to God, if it came down to it, I’d take a bullet for you.”
Tony removed his helmet and sat it on his lap. “I sincerely appreciate that George.”
George looked at his shoes and turned towards the stable, “Come on now, these donkey’s won’t shoot themselves.” Tony followed.

Inside the donkeys chewed on hay, contentedly awaiting their execution. “See the thing is, you gotta do it in one shot, if you fuck up. And don’t fuck up. Or else you’ll have an angry bleeding donkey runnin' all over the place and messin up your good suit. Now,” Bush handed Tony the gun, “turn that face inside out why don't ya.” Blair looked at the tool in his hand and laughed nervously,
“You know if this got out they’d have my balls for porridge,”
Bush stood behind him, holding Tony’s hand and arm, helping him aim towards the centre of the donkey’s face. “Don’t think about those sons of bitches, or what’s going on at home,” he spoke softly into his ear, “Be here now.”
With that Tony pulled the trigger and the face of the animal erupted to a deafening bang, Tony fell back as the other donkeys shrieked with fear. He looked up from the smoking gun at the hole where there was once donkey face and eyes and neck. The bleeding, deformed body of the donkey slid sideways against the side of the compound, collapsing on the hay floor. Blair stared into the face, exploded in all directions, wrapped around the body, the floor sticky with blood and bone.

“Well, how d’you like that?!” Bush screamed out of his lungs, “Woo-Hoo! Take that you donkey piece of shit!” He jumped around laughing excitedly, making threats and lunging at the other donkeys while Tony lifted himself to his feet and inspected his suit for blood stains. “That was fucking unbelievable, George. It was like nothing I’ve ever experienced.”
“Not too shabby eh?” George took the revolver from Tony’s hands, spinning the trigger elegantly on his index finger and with one gliding turning movement, Bang. A donkey at the other end of the stable fell forwards, its eyes burst, mouth smashed and bleeding, a perfect shot. George turned to Blair,
“Ah, I tell ya, nothing like it...” He paused. “Coming out here, just forgettin about all my worries, let the country run itself, let all those beaurocratics do that. Come out here, and blast the nose eyes and mouth off a few donkeys.”
They stood and breathed in the smokey air. Tony asked.
“Can I do one more?”
Bush nodded with a smile.
“Let’s do em all.”