Well, well, well. Looky what we have here. Fresh meat, I reckon. You ain’t from ‘round these parts are you, partner? I could tell from them fancy city clothes. Welcome to Carson City. Or not!
Woop. Sorry, I dropped my gun. Ahem. Can you move your stool a little so I can pick it up? Yeah. Thanks.
What blows you into town, stranger? You a lawman? Good. Me and lawmen don’t get along too good, if’n you know what I mean, pard. Dadgummit– Dropped my gun again. Shit, I’m sorry. Yeah, if you could move it a little left for a sec that’d be great. Got it. Thanks.
I’ll tell you this about Carson City, pard: if’n you wanna survive out here on these wild plains, best thing you can do is subscribe to my newsletter. If you subscribed, you’d know we don’t take too kindly to drifters 'round these parts. Makes us mighty suspicious.
You plannin’ on makin’ yer bed here, pard? Oh, a rancher, eh? Well, well, well. I reckon yer fixin’ to work up on Ol’ Ben Perdy’s land. Ol’ Ben’ll work ya hard but pay ya fair. Hmm? Oh, my breath? Sorry. Guess I am a little dry.
Barkeep! Another whiskey. Yes. Sorry fer yellin’.
As I was sayin’, pard, you best keep one eye open at all times 'round Carson City. We can be a rough-and-tumble bunch, make them steers up on Ol’ Ben’s ranch look like puppy dogs. That’s why it’s important to know what’s goin’ on, ’specially at high noon. My newsletter’s full of updates about Carson City living. I also do restaurant reviews, which is probably why it’s takin’ this barkeep so long to get my whiskey. Gave this joint a four-star rating. Hmm? No, out of five. It’s easy to subscribe and there’s all kinds of subscriber benefits, like raffles ’n such.
That’s the best thing about it, stranger: there’s tiered costs for subscribers, and the first tier is free. That’s right, ain’t cost you a dime. But if’n you like what I do and wanna support my work then you can pay for one of them tiered levels. Paid subscribers get more benefits, like their comments get published in the newsletter, and they can suggest topics and stuff like that.
Yer standin’ on my foot, pard. I says, Yer standin’ on my foot! No, it’s OK. It’s half my fault. No sweat. You got big boots!
Yessir, the newsletter ain’t my full-time job but I reckon it’s my passion. And if I can get enough likes and subscribes it helps the dadgum algorithm or somethin’ like that. You listenin’, partner? Oh, really? ’Cause it looks like yer talkin’ to that lady. She botherin’ you? Want me to tell her to scram? OK, sorry, pard, just checkin’.
I ain’t no stranger to a saloon fight. That’s for dang sure. Probably have a shootout once or twice a week, maybe three times if it’s a major holiday.
Sometimes I include my thoughts about them in my newsletter. Respect in Carson City is earned, ain’t no shortcuts 'round that, not even fer a cowpoke like yerself. Hmm? My trousers? Dadgummit. Thanks, pard. I guess I forgot to button after using the privy. Dang.
Hey, what’s yer address, partner? I says, What’s yer address? I wanna sign you up for this here newsletter. Free of charge. What’s there to think about? If you don’t like it you can unsubscribe. It’s easy. But I think yer gonna like it, pard. Like I says, it’s my passion. And it’s a great way to keep up with what’s goin’ on with me n’such.
Huh? Oh. Yeah, I’ve heard of him. He runs another newsletter in Carson City but I’m thinkin’ about burning his house down. This town ain’t big enough fer two content creators. And the Pony Express is so saturated these days, people don’t hardly sit still and read no more unless it’s one o’ them snappy Wanted posters that ain’t got no real substance.
Ah, here’s my whiskey. Hm. That look like spit to you, pard? Yeah. Shoot. Might have to change my rating fer this place. Gawd geesus-beezus, I dropped my dang gun again. And there goes my hat! Fell right on the dirty floor. Dangit! I’m havin’ a hell of a Monday, pard. Can I have yer address or what?