Monday, May 6, 2019

Days of my Life

Over the weekend, I thought of so  many things I'd like to post about...deep, observations of life, important things.

Like how come it was okay to shoot the bad guys as they are riding away, but when they shoot back at the posse, the good guys, they die, too.

How accurate they are with six guns on galloping horses, shooting behind themselves, to knock five good guys off their mounts...and die, either from the bullet or the fall?

I pondered this.

Of course, the main good guy, the hero of the story, never ever gets shot, though he has good enough aim to knock off five bad guys.
Then, somehow, he wings the lead bad guy, who falls off his horse, the hero pulls his horse to a halt and jumps down, ties the bad guy up with a rope from nowhere, and all is well.

Nobody ever stops to pick up the bodies of the dead guys.

Are we supposed to think that they get up by themselves and find their horses, mount up and ride back to town?
Unless, they really are dead.
Who picks them up, good or bad, to be buried?

Cowboys never, ever really did this.

The American cowboys of my youth did a lot of killing, except for Sugarfoot, and got away with it because they killed bad guys.

Perhaps we need some cowboys to do some judicious posseing in Washington.


Go get 'em, Roy or Gene or Hoppy.

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