Monday, March 06, 2006

True Western Truth #112

In the Squinty-eyed American Old West, twigs had a tendency to snap in the darkness, somewhere just beyond your campfire's dancing glow. Now it's true that not every single twig snap signaled a bandit's deadly approach or the circling of hungry wolves, but honestly, why take the chance? Go ahead and blaze away with every gun in reach. You sure don't have to worry about accidentally killing a family member--cholera claimed the last of your children a month ago and you buried your young wife somewhere out on the prairie, maybe a week or two out of Saint Louis... remember?

5 Comments:

At 12:24 AM, Blogger greta said...

Dear sir,
I have this problem in that I enjoy humming Minnie Ripperton's Loving You. I'm fine with all the "la la la la la's". But when I get to that famous F6 right after the "do do do do do-oo" a strange thing happens - my oesophagus contracts in a sudden spasm and produces a noise eerily like that of a twig snapping. Should I stay well out of the squinty-eyed west?
Or just whistle a bit of Foreigner instead?

 
At 2:59 PM, Anonymous TMC said...

yeah...it was...um...cholera. I've been seein her sister since, though. Just to get me through the tough times.

 
At 1:21 AM, Blogger Latigo Flint said...

Dear Greta,
I've spent so long trying to translate what those damn birds are chirping in the background that I can't even hear the F6 anymore. And I weep for my soul if that's forever the case. Anyway, I highly recommend outlaw-country singer, Steve Earle, a fifth of something strong, and the utter absence of anything that even remotely resembles a whistle.

It was the savagest of times TMC. A man did what he had to survive, and never worried about what the neighbors would think. (Especially since the neighbors had probably all recently succumbed to pneumonia.)

 
At 3:28 PM, Blogger Lightning Bug's Butt said...

You should make a calendar of these Western Truths. I'd buy one.

 
At 7:29 PM, Blogger Cad Grublygold said...

Remind me to hail your camp fire from the relitive saftey of a tank MR.Flint.

 

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