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April 12, 2007


Today's theme is the word "cowboy."

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Dave: Perspective

"So!" I said, excited, clapping my hands together.  "A real ranch!  And you, a real cowboy!"  I laughed.  "Yippee-ki-yay and Lonesome Prairie and harmonicas and Marlboros and all that, ha!"

The man turned to me, every inch a stereotype of weathered skin and boots and hat and denim.  He looked me over.  "Mostly not enough sleep an' too much sweat an' blisters an' sunburn an' rain an' snow an' pretty piss-all for insurance or a pension, 'an' all that,'" he commented.

"Um -- oh."

He turned his back, facing the glowing orange horizon.  "Sunsets are damned fine, though.  Makes up for bit of it."

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David: Because That's Just Gross

Amy felt self-conscious walking into the club for the first time, wearing her mouse ears and tail.

A woman wearing a giant papier-mâché squirrel head came over to her. “SqueakyGirl?” asked the voice inside.

“Fluffernutter?” Amy replied.

The squirrel-headed girl squealed and hugged Amy. “Yay, you’re here! Let me show you around.” Fluffernutter grabbed Amy’s hand and led her forward.

“We’re divided by species right now, but it’s early yet. But I should warn you: watch out for those guys by the wall.”

Amy looked, saw men with bovine-themed outfits, including large udders.

“Gay, cross-gender beefs. We call them ‘cow-bois’.”

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Michele: I've Seen A Million Faces And I Rocked Them All

You're going to mug me? Do you know who I am?

Just the toughest cowboy ever. Fought off Indians that would break your little knife in half with a one move.

I'm Sparky Jones, that's who. Maybe you don't know me but, your parents would. And they'd be ashamed of you, trying to take an old cowboy's last dollar bill.

Don't you laugh at me, boy.

Stop waving that knife around.

My movie guns were props, but this one ain't.


....well damn it, boy.

Don't you know that when Sparky Jones says back off, he means it?

Course not.

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Ted: A Slice in Time from Bareback Mountain

"I tol' you, I'm a wantin' some new spurs. T'other punchers is gonna talk behind my back, otherwise."

"But, sir, that is quite impossible."

"T'aint neither, you eastern, fancy boy. I seen some like that in Kansas City when I was there. At a shop called Mister Dude's."

"Sir. I wouldn't be surprised that you could find that at THAT shop. But I am a respectable purveyor of fine leather and harness. The kind for coaches. Not for bush ponies and ruffians.

"How else am I sposed to stand out in San Fran at the end of the cattle drive?"

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Jeff R.:IX: The Hermit

The Marlboro Man was introduced in 1954, the same year that Americans nuked the Bikini Atoll, spawning Godzilla in film if not in reality, and the same year that "under God" was added to the pledge. The same year the Lone Ranger went off the air and Elvis Presley first went on it. This is no coincidence.

The Cowboy, somehow quintessentially American as if nooody in any other country ever herded cattle from horseback, is a walking contradiction: humble arrogance, vuglar eloqution, but most of all being a part of something much larger while at the same time utterly alone.

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