I was blowing off steam from work (it's been a long day) and I ended up with a thing I think you guys might enjoy.
He was white knuckle drunk with a fistful of swoon as he sauntered and stumbled from the Foxtail saloon. Meanwhile the Deputy slipped from his room at the Crimson Kiss with Miss Madame La Roux. The two ached toward each other 'neath the weight of High Noon, bound to cross paths as Fate's oft to do. It's take's rot to know rot, so both knew what the other'd do: a lead lined hello from a muzzled how do y'do? The Cowboy's gin grin sang its last whisky tune as it died on his lips, now stern as the tomb while the Deputy's iron, still warm from the womb, stood and delivered its deafening boom. But a drunk can't aim no more than a rake can woo, the Cowboy missed and the Deputy shot true. But here's the real kicker, that stray bullet that flew? There was a second misfire that day for poor Madame La Roux.
Robeatics