Well, looky here. Seems like we got ourselves an out-of-towner here in Los Domingos. I’d bet my ten-gallon hat you thought you could walk right into town and we’d all just roll out the red carpet, didn’t ya? Well, buster, you got another think comin’. Because this town just ain’t big enough for the both of us, on account of my torso mysteriously growing larger every time I say the word “ain’t.”
See that? Right when I said that last bit? My torso just expanded. Thicker and taller, like the Devil himself is puffin’ hot air right into my umbilicus. I know you noticed—I saw your eyes widen when you first got a good look at me. “Tarnation, that puncher’s got an upper-body fit to wrassle a bar, but arms and legs that are pretty normal-sized.” Well, all I can tell ya is you’re more or less correct. And that means you better hightail it outta here, buckaroo, because this puncher ain’t no pushover.
Actually though, please don’t push me over—I’ve become extremely top-heavy. Considerably more so after that last thing I said about not bein’ no pushover.
None of your business how it started, or why my lot in life is such that I can’t hardly fit through them big swingin’ doors down at the saloon no more. All you gotta know, hombre, is that we don’t take kindly to new faces ‘round these parts, since I need a huge radius of free space around me at all times due to my ever-growing size and shape.
Why don’t I come over there and teach you a lesson, you ask? Well, here’s the thing. Any other day I’d hop on Blackjack and run you out of town, if not for the ol’ Appaloosa havin’ started to rear his head and foam at the mouth whenever my gruesome form comes near. I’ve lost my best friend due to this mysterious affliction and gained… What? Distractingly puffy pectorals that make my arms look like corn cobs? That there’s a mean bargain, pardner. Wouldn’t even wish it on you.
Or best believe I’d at least take a swing at ya, like any rancher worth his salt. But it must be your lucky day, since although I’m probably the biggest man alive by now, my strength somehow ain’t increased proportionally.
Dad gummit, you made me say it again. Now I’m DEFINITELY the biggest man alive.
Oh, you’re really askin’ for a shootout, huh? I’d actually argue that a shootout’d give you an unfair advantage, given that you’d be aiming at a target roughly the size of a two-story house, whereas I would have a hard time reaching my six-shooter from all the way under my enormous midsection. You’re a clever sonofabitch, ya know that?
Look, pal, lemme shoot straight with ya: I wouldn’t have a problem with you hanging around Los Domingos if not for the physical issue of my rapidly growing torso. It’s simple, see: the more people clog up the streets of Los Domingos, the more people I unintentionally clobber with my massive shoulders when I’m walkin’ down Main Street. It’s a space thing. Not to mention my wife would never let me in our home again, partially because I’m too big to fit but more pertinently because I couldn’t even run a greenhorn like you out of town. Man to man, can’t we reach an understanding?
Los Domingos is my town, Jack, and there’s only room for one terrifyingly proportioned cowpoke to keep an eye on things here. Reckon you better turn right around and skedaddle.
It’s time for my bath.