If I could, I’d go back in time and tell the cowboys and Indians to put the weapons down for a minute and think about maybe resolving things peacefully. That way, I could pull out my own weapons and steal all their money.
The sheriff told me 3 cowboys were outside, and they were looking for me. “Three cowboys? Sounds like a fair fight,” I said as I grabbed my hat and sauntered outside. But as soon as the high noon sun hit my brow, I realized the sheriff had made a mistake. Because it wasn’t three cowboys waiting for me. It was three cowMEN – full-grown and ready to give me wallop.
“Welcome to the wild, wild west,” said Stuttering Steve.
I saw a midnight screening of an old western movie last week. At one point, this one guy with a shotgun swung in on a rope, downed 3 people in mid-flip and then mowed down a bunch more without even reloading. The whole thing was so ridiculous that I let out a really loud sigh. When that didn’t work, I turned, gave the guy a real mean look and “shushed” him right in his face. But he refused to quiet down. So I went to complain to the manager, but he wouldn’t even give me the time of day. Apparently customer service isn’t too high on his list of priorities, but applying pressure to his neck wound is.
I think a good name for a store in the Old West is “Sam’s Squeaky Signs.” Because when that lone hero blows into town and the place is deserted, there’s one of Sam’s signs swinging in the wind, helping to build the tension.
After a month, the old man finally gave up on trying to tame the wild stallion. “Go on, get out of here. You win,” he said as he lifted the latch on the gate and opened it wide. The stallion looked at the man and nodded its head as if to say “thank you.” And as the stoic animal bounded off into the hills, the old man finally realized why he couldn’t break the golden beast. Because it wasn’t a wild stallion at all. It was a kangaroo.