The Weasel Remains Stuck, And There Are Footsteps Approaching... (End)

(Originally by DanceDanceImmolation)

Texas tries as hard as she can, but that bull ass had gotten her practically vacuum-sealed to that mud. Despite all her wriggling and writhing, she wasn't able to dislodge herself one inch. Thankfully, she knew she wouldn't be stuck in the mud for very long, because she could hear heavy-hoofed footsteps thundering behind her. A pair of meaty hands grabbed ahold of her and peeled her off the ground before shaking the mud off of her like she was a doormat

"Well well well, lookee here."

A shiver ran up Texas's pancaked spine when she realized who it was. Annabelle, the owner of the tavern and long time criminal, had her in what may be the most compromising position of her life. This was going to be six kinds of awful. Annabelle looked her over, checking both sides of her, then laughed out loud.

"It's that dang ol' welcome mat I ordered from the catalog! It's about time too, my last one got trampled into tatters a week ago!"

Texas's eyes turned to pinpricks. She wanted to shout something foul, but her mouth was painfully pasted down from her flattening.

"Well let's get this sucker situated. Jus' need a little something to keep the wind from blowing it away!"

Annabelle grabbed a bottle of paste and smeared it up and down Texas's back half, then splatted her against the ground right in front of the door. Then, just for good measure, she stamped her hooves over and over on top of Texas until she was absolutely certain that the little weasel wouldn't be budging anytime soon. Then she stomped on it a few more times just because she felt like it. Then Annabelle grabbed the dinnerbell hanging right beside her door, ringing it loudly,

"Heeeey y'all! The Crushed Weasel's got a free 'round for everybody who gets inside in the next minute!"

Annabelle wisely ducked inside of the bar to avoid the coming chaos, but poor Texas could do nothing but sit there and whimper as the storm of footsteps drew closer. In one brutal, loud, painful instant, Texas was trampled upon by at least two dozen pairs of muddy boots, torn shoes, and even bare feet. She was left in such a miserable state by the end of it that it made that coating of glue seem redundant. Texas wasn't going anywhere anytime soon, she was now The Crushed Weasel's namesake.