Brian Coltrane

Hmmm....I forsee a Randy Travis / Jessica Simpson duet comin' outta this. Which means Enos and Daisy will be makin' beautiful music together at last. Soundtrack sales prospects are lookin' good!

Looking through the bars, Brian caught sight of the wounded tiger. "Somebody call a vet !! Or a taxidermist...." (cue anybody)

Meanwhile, inside an old, one-story warehouse somewhere remote, Brian had time to ponder his immediate and unhappy future. Upon Anderson's departure, Fargo had ordered Brian to take a seat at the dust-covered table and to keep his arms above it. Fargo took a seat at the same table, pulling his chair back far enough as to avoid any move the hick was dumb enough to try. Brian had no such plans. Fargo's gun was consistently aimed at his head. The bounty hunter said nothing, asked nothing....but the gun barrel itself, staring at Brian with one hollow, deadly eye, spoke volumes. The lamp burned overhead, it's light the only illumination in the old warehouse. The rest of the place was dark, damp and cold. Without having his jacket, Brian was feeling the temperature and becoming chilled. It didn't help that Fargo was watching him like a rattlesnake, daring him to move. Fargo was taking his time to begin the inevitable interrogation. He wanted the smart-mouthed hick good and scared, ready to speak first, ready to spill everything. Brian did speak first. "Yer buddy picked a helluva time to go call his mother." (cue anybody!)

Brian slowly got up and did as he was told. He turned the key in the cell lock and clicked it open. He left the key in the door and stepped inside the cell, as the other occupants moved back to make room. After pulling the cell door shut behind him, Brian reached through the bars, removed the key from the lock, and tossed it away. It landed on the floor near the watchful tiger. Brian muttered a condolence to MaryAnne and Rosco. "The chipped beef ain't that bad, once ya get used to it...." (Cue anyone!)

"Point...taken." Being flat on his back and pinned down, with sharp claws menacing his throat, Brian didn't push his luck. The idea of becoming a big dish of Coltrane-flavored Cat Chow wasn't appealing in the least. He looked back at the angry cat with an involuntary swallow. "Awright, Morris. You got nine lives...I don't." Brian sighed, then flicked his eyes in the direction of the jail cell. "If you want me in there, tho'...you gotta let me up." (Cue the Cat )

"Awright, awright! I was just savorin' the event, that's all. Keep yer badge on." Brian strolled over to the peg on the wall, and took the ring of keys off of it. "I should make me copies of these. Could come in handy someday." He walked back to the cells, and debated which key was for what door. "Hmm. Guess I got a fifty-fifty shot of gettin' it right the first time. This jailer-type stuff can't be all that difficult...." Choosing a key, Brian stuck it into the cell lock that held MaryAnne, Rosco, and a few other folk..... (Cue anybody! )

Somehow, Brian's entry to the booking room had gone unnoticed by the arguing conspirators. Perhaps they assumed he was part of the gang...or perhaps they were too involved with thier own concerns to care what he was up to. Brian was about to interrupt them and ask where MaryAnne and Rosco were...but then found his question answered by the yelling from the downstairs cells. "That answers that." Brian walked downstairs to the main cells, and found them packed with all of the Hazzard County officials...including his own cousins. He strolled up to the bars, unable to keep the amusement off his face. "Well, shut mah mouth!" He drawled obnoxiously. "I dreamed about seein' this someday...and damn, heah it is! I wish I had a camera! Just wait until you try the chipped beef for yer prison dinner, cousins. It's somethin' special." Grinning, Brian stayed out of reach on the other side of the bars, unable to resist teasing the incarcerated just a little bit. (Cue anybody!)

"Yeah, yeah. Go chase a mouse." Brian picked up the few personal effects he'd been allowed to keep, deposited them back into his jacket pocket, and marched up the steps. He walked inside the courthouse and strode to the double doors of the booking room. As instructed, he entered through the right side of the doors. He stepped into the booking room, cautiously..... (cue anybody!)

"That's how it is, eh....." Brian said softly. He knew now that his cousins were in obvious trouble. And if he fought the watch-tiger, there was no gaurantee he'd make it too much further, even if he won. It would haven taken more than an oversized siamese to render the law silent....and the big cat was probably just one chess piece on the board. Running from the tiger wasn't a good option, Brian realized. Especially as he had been cooking with hamburger just an hour before. "Awright." Brian held up one palm, and slowly reached into his jacket pocket with the other. He removed his gun, and tossed it down on the step. He took out his knife and did the same. Then he removed a black pen, a small notebook, a rubber band, a pack of cigarettes, a lighter, a pack of gum, and sixty-three cents in loose change. "Satisfied?" Brian held up both arms halfway. (Enter the Tiger )

Brian's demeanor immediately changed. The easy drawl and friendly banter faded, replaced by a hard look and a low, edgy voice. "Oh, I remember you. No matter what form you take, ah'll always know you. Just like you'll always know me. Now then....either you move aside, Morris....or I take a page out of the Jungle Book on yer hide." (cue Catman )

Brian had seen a lot of strange things in his life; so therefore the talking, 800 lb tiger didn't phase him like it would a normal person. "Hello, Kitty. Ah'm just heah to see what's keepin' MaryAnne n' Rosco. 'Scuze me, I need to get through." With that, Brian went to walk around the big cat..... (cue Hello Kitty ! )

Blissfully unaware of the events in town, Brian's big concern thus far, was keeping a hamburger casserole warm while his kin was late for dinner. "Where the hell are they?" He made a call to the Sheriff's department and tried the CB. No answer. "@#$%&*." Brian turned off the oven and grabbed his car keys. Maybe Boss Hogg had MaryAnne and Rosco out on parking meter duty and they'd lost track of time. Though deep down inside, he was worried....nothing kept cops from a home-cooked meal. Especially when they weren't the ones cooking it. He set food out for the dogs and left the house. He roared towards town in Diablo, putting the black Chevy into high gear. He careened into the town sqaure in a matter of five minutes flat. Seeing that MaryAnne and Rosco's patrol cars were out in front of the courthouse, Brian felt some relief. Maybe county business had them in a meeting or something. Feeling less concerned, Brian parked Diablo behind a patrol car, and walked up to the courthouse. His black jacket hung upon over his shoulders, and his stride was casual as he approached the steps. ( cue anyone!)

Brian murmured an answer without opening his eyes. "Mmm. If...you charge by the hour for this....ah'm gonna go broke." He gave a small grin and let out a long sigh. His sobering mind knew that he'd have to get up soon, test his strength, and deal with the aftermath of the shootout. But he expected he'd only have to hit the outlaw trail, and catch up with Alex somewhere. There'd be cash enough from the stolen horses for both of them to be on the lam awhile. Thus were the thoughts that kept Brian resting in comfort.... (cue anybody in town...Garrett? Val? Or anybody else)

Mufn, ol' buddy ol' pal ol' cousin.....like MaryAnne said, we'd nevah forget that you own the place. We respect yer benelovent Commander-ness. We're just not above a little jest once in awhile, tucked away somewhere on the boards to see if you're paying attention. Tho' I have no explanation, nor excuse to offer, for MaryAnne's ongoing antics. I think that's an individual matter that is best taken up with her directly. (MaryAnne, it's been nice workin' with ya.) For myself, I pledge to resolve my computer problem. This old one I'm workin' on now is too stubborn to die - tho' it's unstable and doesn't work half the time. I'm gonna arrange for it to have an unfortunate accident. Then I'll feel justified in getting a new computer. Brian ( a/k/a "the other one" )

Waaaal, that all depends on how long this computer holds out, ya see.... I'm workin' on it! My newsletter notes blew to kingdom come with the last computer crash I had. So I have to start over. And then we were all distracted by the hacker. And before all that, I went through a sustained episode of sheer laziness that took me weeks to recover from. Tell ya what, we'll sort this all out durin' our next moderator meetin'. Rather than air our petty jibes here, we'll privately settle any internal issues with our usual decorum and professionalism, sparing the public from any display of strife. That is, until we post the meetin' minutes. Brian

MaryAnne, I'm flattered, but you are the Mistress of Disaster and I can only hope to aspire to your skill for destruction. Blowin' up individual PC's is nothin', compared to wandering up to HazzardNet and finding the whole place leveled to the ground. Now THAT is talent. And you never accomplish it the same way twice! I stand in awe. Brian

Start any topic ya want! Remember, we nevah object to somethin' unless it's objectionable, and we won't know what's objectionable 'till we see it. Heh heh. Anyhow! The item in my own collection that I'm most proud of, is a Dukes of Hazzard electric slot racing set, still factory-sealed in the box. Made by Ideal and I believe it's circa 1981. I picked up this gem at a car show. And of all things, it was from a toy vendor that dealt in die-cast toy tractors, who had this. Just a tip for ya'll, I've found some my best DOH items at the bigger car shows and swap meets. I've also done well in antique/collectable stores, where I've picked up old Dukes matchbox cars, drinking mugs, tv trays, John Schneider records, and the like. Another collection I have involves bootleg merchandise that was never authorized by WB. Don't get excited, I personally don't sell bootleg stuff and never will. But I collect it - sometimes as evidence, other times because the items are kinda funny. I remember finding one t-shirt in a smarmy teenager's store, that had Bo/Luke/Daisy on it, in one of their trademark poses, with "TRAILER TRASH" written underneath. It offended me so much, I had to buy it. Brian

Don't worry about what the speedometer goes up to. Here's what you can do to figure out yer top speed. Start with a full tank of gas. Then take your car out for a spin on the local Interstate highway. Get in the fast lane. Hammer it. Put it to the floor. Keep it there. At some point, the friendly neighborhood State Patrol will kindly inform you of how fast you were going. And then you'll know your top speed. Always worked for me! Brian

Glad ya'll enjoyed the Meetin' Minutes. That's pretty much how we work around here, too. MaryAnne and I had some reservations about sharin' that on the boards, because we're not sure that our illustrious Commander would be as amused by it. So we just kinda snuck the Meetin' Minutes category in under the FanFiction section, figurin' she'll nevah notice. Muahahaha! It's equally true that we've brought the roof of this place crashin' down over our own heads, several times, without any outside assistance whatsoever. Call it a learnin' curve. MaryAnne has an aptitude for creatin' wholesale structual collapse, while I have a personal knack for destroyin' every computer I touch. Hence, we get a monthly newsletter out 4 times a year, and that sort of thing. Meanwhile, the Commander can fix darn near anything with duct tape, so we make a good team. Seriously, MeadowMufn is the brains of the outfit, and therefore shouldn't be blamed for the stuff that doesn't work, or disappears, or doesn't make sense. 9 times out of 10, something works just fine until MaryAnne gets ahold of it. Anyhow! We might consider havin' an open town meetin' in the future. Would be a change of pace from us squabbin' amongst ourselves. ( We could squabble with everybody ! ) Brian

Darrell, thank YOU and all Hazzard folk for bearin' with us durin' the downtime. We now resume shenanigans as usual! Brian

Darrell, the Unofficial Companion book was a good groundbreaker, in my opinion - while leavin' plenty of room for more to be said. I'd like to see the book followed up by even more books about the show, the reunions, and the fandom itself. Not sure why there haven't already been more books on it. Unless Dukes fans, as a whole, are too laid back to get into the whole publishing thang. ( if the lazy moderators of HazzardNet serve as any example, there ya have it. ) Brian

Dee, you're more than welcome to show your stuff under the Story Ideas/Fics in progress section, if you'd like to show your story as it unfolds. Otherwise, there's the DOHFF.com site, where you can submit completed stories. And if you have an unruly muse, feel free to elbow your way into the Round Robin stories. I'm not even gonna attempt to explain the shenanigans that go on over there. It's not very orthodox, as many of us have been squabbling amongst ourselves for years in one guise or another. ( It's MaryAnne's fault, when ya get right down to it.) Brian

> Also, what's the policy regarding beta readers? Dee, we ain't much for policy in these parts. You can put out a call for a beta reader, and there's a good chance that one of the HazzardNet locals might take a look at your work. Kinda curious that you're lookin' for exact dialogue for the eps. Some of us have seen all the eps so many times, we can quote 'em verbatim. Heh heh. But if you're doin' episode rewrites, I'd say just go for it. So long as you convey the meanin', and the inflection and feelings behind the character's statements, you won't lose points for phraseology. Happy writin'! Brian

At the light touch to the forehead, Brian gave a smile. His dark eyes were heavy-lidded and drowsy, and he had no objection to the idea of more sleep. With a sigh, he shut his eyes and let his mind sink back into the fluffy cotton of drowsiness. A few stray thoughts, half-coherent and sodden, stumbled around in his head as conciousness sought the exit. There was nothing to worry about now, Brian told himself. He was safe in a backwoods hideout. Alex was probably halfway to Atlanta with the stolen horses, and would soon be a wealthier man. Meanwhile, Chet Duke was probably getting introduced to a shovel and a dirt blanket. Yep, nothing to worry about......Zzzzzzzzzzzz..... (cue anyone!)

Brian lifted his head to look over at Min and Daisy, seeing them animated in conversation. Even with whiskey-blurred vision, he was able to recognize the saloon girl and barmaid. He had no idea what the hell they were doing here, but there were worse things to wake up to...and finding himself surrounded by three lovely females, he had no complaints. He lowered his head back to the mattress, and his eyes flicked to the lady gambler. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, fussing with his bandage, one delicate hand resting on his waist. The touch was not unkind; and for a moment, Brian simply watched her. Finally, words escaped his lips, his voice low and raspy from weariness. "Seems ah owe you a debt, ma'am." (cue Chance, or anyone)