i want to be a cowboy. or rather, i used to want to be a cowboy. i've had a change of heart and now know what a flawed and filtered impression i had of the life of these wild bills. in my youthful daydreaming mind i envisioned the romantic days of the cowboy lifestyle. this adolescent portrayal may have been mildly antiseptic. antiseptic because i did not take into account things like the wicked stench and body odor and sooty filth and dirty clothes and early mornings and crapping in the woods, without a toilet and without any toilet paper and without a bidet and even without the flushable wipes i have become so hopelessly addicted to.

and this only speaks to the hygiene factor and doesn't even get into the routine poundings or robbings or killuns out in the middle of unchaparoned nowhere because there are no authorities or parents within shouting distance and given this detail and my testosterone-absent presence, i'm confident i'd be giving up my lunch money more than i'd be using it if not worse, meaning my dinner loot as well.

and, not to mention i'm real certain my thighs would sweat profusely under those goofy chaps deals which would certainly earn me bonus beatings because i'd then smell both bad and funny and since seeing unforgiven i know that the meaner and more typical cowboys didn't go in for a whole lot of funny. but, then again, who does?

i'll be over here revisiting the whole "i wanna be a cowboy" deal.

(photo compliments of the now regular d. lienemann).