Behind the eyes of this Bad Bucking Bronco awaits a slim barrelful of ready frosted tears, young and bursting with the promise of a swift deliverance. And if my firearm talk is lacking, it’s only ’cause I never did own a piece or intend to know the parts that make it. Sure enough I find those who do rather dorky and fundamentally asleep.

Quiet the chatter, you startled straw hatter. I only mean I’d like to tell you what I’m feeling, and that I’m too terrible a shot to be a real cowboy, silly.