Sunday, March 19, 2006

The Team of Horse and Man

You knew right away in the Squinty-eyed American West that you'd just picked a fight with a true team if as you went to pistol whip a cowboy for cheating at cards/bumping your drink arm/smiling when you didn't feel like being smiled at--his enraged horse charged the saloon and tried to tear your spine from your neck with frightfully large teeth.

"Dang!" You'd mutter from behind the piano as you watched it trample musicians to reach you. "I need to get me a horse as loyal as that."

"Call off your horse." You'd holler. "I'm sorry for trying to pistol whip you."
"I reckon you'll have to do better than that." The cowboy would reply, nonchalantly inspecting his hat. "I've never seen my Stormy quite this riled."
"Okay, okay." You'd grumble. "I'm very sorry for trying to pistol whip you. Now call off your smelly horse."

Which was a big mistake of course.

"What the hell did you just say?!!!" He'd scream, lurching to his feet and grabbing a bottle.
"I said I was very sorry and would you please call off your horse."
"No, you distinctly called her smelly!!!"

"Did I?"
"Don't you ever call my horse smelly!!!" And then the furious cowboy would heave the bottle at your face.

Not one to let such an insult stand, you'd bound across the room with a roar and try to pistol whip that cowboy--completely forgetting that when you did, his horse was going to pin you down and try to tear your spine from your neck. And then the whole vicious cycle would start over again.

"When I heal," You'd mutter some time later from your twisted repose on the bloody floor. "I'm gonna get me a herd of loyal burros and they're gonna swarm you and Stormy like crazed velociraptors on a quivering mountain of meat."

"Big talk from a dying man." The cowboy would sneer, rubbing Stormy and feeding her pretzels.

(But you didn't die; you survived, and followed through on your plan of a burro cavalcade. When you tracked down that cowboy you set your burros on him--but they were distracted by Stormy and then the first mule was made.)


At 7:01 PM, Blogger OldHorsetailSnake said...

And the second mule, too?

At 7:14 PM, Blogger Amandarama said...

I need a pack of burros that loyal. Hell, I'd settle for a burrito that loyal. Preferably with salsa verde and a little queso.

At 6:59 AM, Blogger Ghost Dog said...

I rather like my spine intact and in it's present location, so thank you, Latigo. This warning is selfless public service at it's squinty-eyed best.

At 10:33 AM, Blogger Isaac said...


At 11:31 PM, Blogger Latigo Flint said...

Not relevant Old Hoss, mules can't reproduce.

We should all be so lucky to have a herd of burros that loyal, Amandarama. Hell, these days we can't even keep burritos from breaking apart between the plate and our mouths.

Ghost Dog, you are most welcome my friend. I stand here on the razor edge of squinty-eyed reason for you Sir--for you!!! Do you hear?

You are a man of great mirth and humor Isaac. I understand this now.


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