THE TOILET FLUSHES.

THE BATHROOM DOOR OPENS.

IT'S A FUCKING COWBOY.

HE GIVES A QUICK TIP OF HIS HAT TO THE CLAYMORE-WIELDING REDHEAD AND DRAWS ONE OF HIS REVOLVERS, FIRING SIX SHOTS IN SUCCESSION INTO THE BACK OF THE UNRULY TEENAGE CLOWN STOMPING WHATEVER HORRIBLE SCALEY THING LAID BEFORE HIM. WHATEVER IN TARNATION THE MANLIKE-LIZARD MAY BE, ITS NAME AND SPECIES ARE LOST ON THE COWBOY, WHO ONLY KNOWS OF ONE KIND OF ANIMAL: THE COW. THE COWBOY SPINS HIS REVOLVER AND BLOWS ON THE SMOKE LIKE A FUCKING G.

NOT WAITING FOR A RESPONSE FROM THE CLOWN'S CLOWN-FRIENDS, THE COWBOY GIVES AN ADDITIONAL TIP OF HIS HAT AND CLOSES THE DOOR, AUDIBLY LOCKING IT. HE STEPS TO THE SIDE AND DRAWS HIS SECOND REVOLVER, WAITING FOR SOMEONE TO AVENGE THE CLOWN OR NEED TO PISS TO ENACT FURTHER BLOODSHED.

HE WHISTLES A SAD COWBOY WHISTLE AND ADJUSTS HIS ASSLESS CHAPS.