Damned if I know how stuff finds its way to my cruller while doing a morning groundpound, but it does, and the stuff often doesnâ€™t make much sense. Today it was below freezing, but I was wearing a nice woolen cap, so I canâ€™t attribute this foolishness to a lack of cranial blood flow. Being a blogger, Iâ€™ve learned not to fight off ideas, no matter how goofy they may be. So, with that, I will share with you todayâ€™s brain fart:
I got to thinking about Western Heroes (called â€œcowboys,â€ when I was a younginâ€™). That must have fired off the nonsense neuron, because I got to thinking about renaming the gunslingers of yore. Here they are:
The Crisco Kid: Riding the plains in search of the ultimate flaky pie crust.
Wild Bill Hiccup: The gunfighter who had to hang up his shootinâ€™ irons because of intractable spasms of the diaphragm.
Stoned Ranger: Hiyoooooooh â€¦ uh â€¦. Hiyoooooooh â€¦. uh â€¦ dudeâ€
Bong-o: The Stoned Rangerâ€™s faithful
Indian native American companion. â€Hey kimosabe, you ate all the beef jerky? Got any cookies left?â€
Chorro: The masked, caped swordsman in black who carved a â€œCâ€ with his blade and could not suppress the urge to occasionally shake his ass and say, “Cuchi-Cuchi!”
Green Autry: The enviro-cowboy. It was said that olâ€™ Green would never let his horse shit anywhere near a stream.
Flabby Hayes: It is not widely known, but the bearded, ubiquitous sidekick curmudgeon, after growing too fat to ride a horse without injuring the animal, was responsible for the design of an equine sidecar.
Tom Dicks: A famous cowboy, or a subject and a verb seeking a predicate?
Crawlalong Cassidy: After several failed attempts at rehab, and having pawned his six-shooters, Crawlalong nevertheless ended up in the Bowery wearing a battered black hat looking for bad guys.
Goy Rogers: The name given to Roy by his buddy Shlomo Finklestein, the Jewish proprietor of the General Store near the Double R Bar Ranch.
Ya think maybe I need a warmer hat?