The Blazing Gun Saloon

[Dr.IllBane]

This is the place for the hired gun.  The bounty hunter.  The lone cowboy.  The Drifter.  A port in the storm for the disenfranchised.  In the West there are no smoking jackets, no ports.  This is a place for cards and whiskey. 

Come in, wash down the dust from the road, and find what you're looking for.  Even if that's just the bottom of a bottle.

Feel free to inquire of the services of those inside. 

Dirk "Doc" Illbane- Steam Cowboy/Bounty Hunter

[Judicator]

I do grow tired of all these fantasy-orientated posts in which the posters think they have some kind of exciting life byond sitting at home watching TV.....

[Sgt.Major Thistlewaite]

  Speak fer yerself, Jud....an' smile when yuh say that!


Sarge

[Dr.IllBane]

Now now Jud, this isn't the place for putting down our peers.  It's merely a way-station for a cowboy to hang up his hat.

[Judicator]

There are no cowboys on this forum.

[Sgt.Major Thistlewaite]

Yer dead right...I ain't no cowboy...I'm a gunslinger. I hate cows.
Sarge


(note: Multiple Personality Disorder.... )

[Dr.IllBane]

You do have a point, even if it was a figure of speech.  I am a Steam Western Bounty Hunter

[lilibat]

I do grow tired of all these fantasy-orientated posts in which the posters think they have some kind of exciting life byond sitting at home watching TV.....

I am going to go start a club for party poopers, you can be the president. 

My advice is if you don't like these kind of threads, don't read them.

[Dr.IllBane]

Quote from: Judicator on Today at 12:46:20 AM
I do grow tired of all these fantasy-orientated posts in which the posters think they have some kind of exciting life byond sitting at home watching TV.....

I am going to go start a club for party poopers, you can be the president.  Wink

My advice is if you don't like these kind of threads, don't read them.

Hear hear lilibat.

And by the way Judicator, it would be wonderful if you knew what kind of people that you were talking to/about.  Instead of just trying to look down your nose at others. 

[Judicator]

Jesus Christ!!It was all a joke.Dont get all serious on me now!!

[Dr.IllBane]

Alright, alright.  All is forgotten!  Hmm, I do get swept up in the moment don't I?

[Sgt.Major Thistlewaite]

If'n nobody minds, I'm gonna lighten up th' mood an' play ya'll a song I wrote nigh onto twenty years ago...

*Sarge produces a steel resonator guitar, and seats hisself on a stool over by the piano*

The Ballad of Cody McCoy
(lyrics copyright 1991 J.T.Tuten,Jr. The Rootin' Tootin' Cowboy Band, album Gypsy Road)

In the days of the Depression, when my Daddy was a boy,
Lived a local living legend name of Cody C. McCoy.
He was grey and he was grizzled, but the star pinned to his chest,
said he'd been a Texas Ranger in the days of the Old West.

He was tough as saddle hide, red, white and blue as poker chips,
Wore two great big Colt revolvers slung down low upon his hips,
He was getting close to eighty, but he never had retired,
Though the local desperados had all long ago expired.

(chorus)
He was Cody C. McCoy, he was the last one of his kind,
and in the little Texas town, folks didn't mind...

If he was a bit eccentric, after all he was the last,
And they let him wear them pistols as a tribute to his past,
But little did they realize, they'd soon have him to thank,
When three gangsters out of Kansas came to town to rob the bank.

They came in fast and hollered, "Everybody on the floor!"
Then two went to clean the bank vault out, the third one took the door.
And it's likely they'd have robbed it and made good their getaway,
If ol' Cody had not happened to be walking by that day.

(chorus)
Folks said it was a thing they would remember all their lives,
He faced three Thompson submachine guns with two antique forty-fives!

Cody yelled out "Drop yore guns, this is the only chance you'll git!"
And the gangster in the doorway like to had a laughing fit.
And he went to raise that tommy-gun, when much to his surprise,
Ol' Cody drew like lightning, shot him right between the eyes!

Then the gangsters by the bank vault, they both quickly whirled around,
And they fired them submachine guns trying to cut ol' Cody down.
And they chattered and they roared and they spit out a hail of lead,
But Cody's Colts spoke thunder, he shot both them gangsters dead!

(chorus)
Folks said it was a thing they would remember all their lives,
He beat three Thompson submachine guns with two antique forty-fives!

But if you want a happy ending, well it don't work out that way,
Ol' Cody caught five bullets from that deadly leaden spray.
And a teller held his head up as he spoke with his last breath,
Said "I've waited forty years to die a Texas Ranger's death."

(chorus)
Yes, he died there with his boots on, and they took him up the hill,
And they erected him a monument, and it is up there still.

And my Daddy read the words to me, when I was just a boy,
"Here lies a great heroic Texas Ranger, Cody C. McCoy!"

Well, I hope ya'll liked thet...now somebody gimme a whiskey, this here singin' is thirsty work!

Sarge.

[Dr.IllBane]

*slides Thistlewaite a shot of Glen Fidditch*  Well than you sir!  I definitely enjoyed that and it was definitely what I had in mind when I started this Saloon!  And that is the only reason that you got a nip from the special under the bar bottle.  I even put it into a clean glass for you.  HAHA

*offers a salute*

[lilibat]

Jesus Christ!!It was all a joke.Dont get all serious on me now!!

If you intend to make an inflammatory statement in jest, I recommend the use of a  ''. Otherwise it will be interpreted as serious and treated as such.

[helios]

Like so;
"Yer all cattle-rustlin, milk-swillin, boot-lickin, no-good sumabitches.  "
See how it just lightens the mood?
Also, anyone got a harmonica I could borrow? I ain't any good, but I'll make you all seem real thankful for the Sarge's fine talents.

[Mercury Wells]

*Enters the saloon, my dust coat flapping in the wind (oops excuse me!), an orphaned tumbleweed following in my wake*

Ma spider has jus' thrown a leg outside town. Is thar a blacksmith aound this 'ere parts? A glass of your finest gut rot barman *Looks down at the tumbleweed*, an' you can git goin' too.

[Dr.IllBane]

*Enters the saloon, my dust coat flapping in the wind (oops excuse me!), an orphaned tumbleweed following in my wake*

Ma spider has jus' thrown a leg outside town. Is thar a blacksmith aound this 'ere parts? A glass of your finest gut rot barman *Looks down at the tumbleweed*, an' you can git goin' too.

*slides mercury wells a shot from an unmarked bottle*  This saloon is just a saloon pardner, unless a blacksmith sets up shop outside a'here you might be sheeit out er luck.

[Sgt.Major Thistlewaite]

*Sarge downs his glass of Glenfiddich*
By gum, that thar's some mighty fine likker! That's Scottish, ain't it? I ain't got no Scottish songs, but I got one called "The Irish Drinking Song"....anybody wanna hear it?

[Dr.IllBane]

I might be fit to hear an Irish Drinking song good sir, I believe Ive got some Jameson around here somewhere.

[Sgt.Major Thistlewaite]

*Sarge puts the steel resonator guitar in its case, and takes it back outside to his pack mule. He re-enters through the batwing doors carrying a small button-box accordion*

The Irish Drinking Song
(copyright 1996 James T. Tuten, Jr. Album "The Bearbonz Hoboz Live at the Hodge Podge Lodge)

I will always remember
That day in September
The day that me father
Come home from the war.
"Jamey," he told me,
"Come here let me hold ye,
I don't want to fight anymore."

"But if somethin's not right
You must fix it!
If it comes to a fight,
Then you mix it up well!
Come here, let me hold ye,
the Captain has told me,
We've got to go back to that Hell."

He was brave as a lion,
and though I was cryin'..
me father, he kissed me
and walked out the door.
An' if this were a ditty
To make you feel pity,
I'd not see me Dad anymore.

But the ending instead is quite happy!
He was wounded not dead,
We saw Pappy that Spring!
And his wound, don't you know,
T'was his right little toe,
which was blown off
For Country and King!

Now, I know what you're thinkin'...
Perhaps he'd been drinkin'
And took up his rifle
To cause his own loss.
But his mates all relayed,
How he'd kicked a grenade,
And he won the Victoria Cross!

And what's more than that, he was Knighted!
His courage was cited,
for bootin' that bomb!
And he lived out his days,
To unanimous praise,
And he feared not a soul...
but me MOM!

* The accordion wheezes into silence...*

Ehh...that 'uns from The Old Country...Jameson's I think yuh said? A man could git spoilt around h'yere..this whiskey's a sight better than the popskull 'm used to...

[Dr.IllBane]

*Sarge puts the steel resonator guitar in its case, and takes it back outside to his pack mule. He re-enters through the batwing doors carrying a small button-box accordion*

The Irish Drinking Song
(copyright 1996 James T. Tuten, Jr. Album "The Bearbonz Hoboz Live at the Hodge Podge Lodge)

I will always remember
That day in September
The day that me father
Come home from the war.
"Jamey," he told me,
"Come here let me hold ye,
I don't want to fight anymore."

"But if somethin's not right
You must fix it!
If it comes to a fight,
Then you mix it up well!
Come here, let me hold ye,
the Captain has told me,
We've got to go back to that Hell."

He was brave as a lion,
and though I was cryin'..
me father, he kissed me
and walked out the door.
An' if this were a ditty
To make you feel pity,
I'd not see me Dad anymore.

But the ending instead is quite happy!
He was wounded not dead,
We saw Pappy that Spring!
And his wound, don't you know,
T'was his right little toe,
which was blown off
For Country and King!

Now, I know what you're thinkin'...
Perhaps he'd been drinkin'
And took up his rifle
To cause his own loss.
But his mates all relayed,
How he'd kicked a grenade,
And he won the Victoria Cross!

And what's more than that, he was Knighted!
His courage was cited,
for bootin' that bomb!
And he lived out his days,
To unanimous praise,
And he feared not a soul...
but me MOM!

* The accordion wheezes into silence...*

Ehh...that 'uns from The Old Country...Jameson's I think yuh said? A man could git spoilt around h'yere..this whiskey's a sight better than the popskull 'm used to...

Well good sir, when a man such as myself finds the time to rest m'dogs, I do it with the best.  Considering that the patronage is bounty hunters, smugglers, bank robbers and other such well paid bad men, doesn't hurt the selection of good hootch, sheeit no.

[MWBailey]

There are no cowboys on this forum.

No sir, there ain't any cowboys, but there's us texians. be nice or I 'll rope yuh to mah land 'clad! Yeeee haaaww...



What...

[Marrock]

I might be fit to hear an Irish Drinking song good sir, I believe Ive got some Jameson around here somewhere.

Last I heard the Irish don't do drinking songs... takes time away from drinking.

[Sgt.Major Thistlewaite]

"Drink is the curse of the working class"- Karl Marx

"Work is the curse of the drinking class"- Groucho Marx

[Dr.IllBane]

I might be fit to hear an Irish Drinking song good sir, I believe Ive got some Jameson around here somewhere.

Last I heard the Irish don't do drinking songs... takes time away from drinking.

From what I know, the Irish make the women folk do the singing, that way there's a rhythm to drink too, whooo haha.