Some say I’ve shot fifteen men. Others say twenty. I say fifteen women.
I strolled into town one night, lookin’ for trouble. Some say I was completely hammered. I like to think of it as just right. I went up to every woman I could find, tellin’ them how just right I was. How many shots of Dr. Winkleton’s Vitality Tonic I could stomach at once and also how just right I was. They were all super into me but I knew they weren’t, so I shot them down.
Some say it was just a flock of pidgeons I was shooting at, and that I wasn’t even shooting at all rather just fumbling with boxes and other objects left in the street overnight adjacent to the saloon’s garbage dump. But I like to think of it as shooting women. Pigeon women. I was just right.
The next night I woke up in that very garbage dump and went back inside the saloon and ordered a drink. Only it wasn’t the saloon, it was the bank. And instead of ordering a drink I shot a teller, then demanded his lifeless body open the vault. Only it wasn’t a vault so much as an empty whiskey crate in the dump I was still sleeping in. Some say I was just right. I like to think of it as shooting women.
When I finally did wake up I actually went to the bank to get money for a drink at the saloon. Some say I carried in an empty whiskey crate and said I had a replacement vault for the bank and they should give me theirs for mine. I like to think of it as sleeping in a garbage dump. The teller told me I was just right and he gave me the vault. Only it wasn’t a vault so much as the same whiskey crate in the garbage dump I was actually still sleeping in.
Some say I slept in that dump for fifteen days. Others say twenty. I say fifteen women took me back into the saloon and bought me drinks until I was just right again, then I shot them all down. I like to think of it as shooing pigeons away while fumbling with boxes. Later that day I robbed the bank, burned down the saloon, and shot all the pigeons in the town. I like to think of it as lookin’ for trouble.