Listen here, partner, and listen real good. This town ain't big enough for the both of us, so either you go or I go. And partner? I ain't goin' nowhere.

I'm sorry it's got to come to this, but I think you'll agree that there just ain't enough room in this one-horse town for two strapping grown men like us, especially one with such big, broad shoulders as yours. What are you, a farmhand? Those are bale-bucking shoulders if I've ever seen'em.

I mean, good lord, this is one tiny town! I've been to some small places in my time, like Deadwood, Tombstone, and New Haven, but this is just ridiculous! It's a fraction of the size of what a normal town should be! Look at us! I'm all the way over here on the north side of the train tracks, and you're all the way over yonder on the south side of the train tracks, yet we're so close that we could practically kiss! And I think it's safe to say that neither one of us tough sons of bitches wants that, now do we? Wait, do we? No, of course not! Me neither! That's what I was sayin'!

Say, what do you reckon they were thinking when they built such an itty-bitty town in the first place? Don't get me wrong, I'm impressed that they were able to fit everything into a piece of land no bigger than a tick's turd, but what's the point in making it so dang tiny is what I wanna know? It just ain't practical!

Hell, I nearly impaled myself when I sat on that church spire! You remember that? Of course you do. You were standing right there! And hey, thanks again for not laughing when I started bawling like a baby and jumping up and down. That was mighty fine of ya, partner.

Come to think of it, maybe this ain't a real town after all. Maybe it's one of them miniature scale models that's just made to look like a real town, with little trees and everything. In fact, now that I look around, it's clear as day to me that this here is an Old West museum, and there's a sign right there that reads: “PLEASE DO NOT CLIMB ONTO DISPLAY AND PRETEND TO BE A GIANT IN A TINY TOWN. ESPECIALLY YOU, GARY!” Hey! That's this cowboy's name!

Well, I'll be damned! How long you reckon we've been up here anyway? Five minutes? Is that all? I'da sworn it was at least a fortnight! And you're telling me what now? That you're the law in this here establishment, or what you folks call “museum security,” and I have ten seconds to vacate the premises or you're gonna whoop my ass to high noon?

Well I guess I best be leaving then. But before I ride off into the sunset, there's just one more thing I gotta say –

Oh, nope. That's a taser. Fine, I'm leaving.


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