Which is why I love the American West.
There the men don’t wear curly white wigs, or tights, or shiny shoes with gold buckles and read poetry to their buddies. They wear blood stained shirts with rolled up sleeves and leather chaps that make their butts look awesome:
And then they shoot each other.
It’s horrible. It’s evil. It’s awesome.
(I just saw Cowboys and Aliens. The alien part was a joke. But the cowboys were AWESOME.)
One time in middle school I read this book called Shane and fell in love. I can’t even remember what it was about, other than Shane is this mysterious lone ranger who comes to town and falls in love with some man’s wife and then kills some people. There were a lot of horses and cows too, a saloon, a lot of dust and smoke and shadows, some creaking doors and whiskey drinking, and one or two duels. There was a whole lot of shooting, but barely any talking. Because in the West, you only say something if you have something to say.