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2/13/02

STRAPPADO WRACK

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Every story has three sides. Yours, mine and the facts.
Foster M. Russell

One Bad Guy Down, Three More Coming Up

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In this part of the bad lands, we mete out justice with guns in hand. One hombre on the run, now bring on those other guys. Clantons and McLaurys may look strange in their towel head garb, but the coming shoot-out at this OK 'Iraqi/Iran' Corral will bring law and order back to town. Wyatt, Morgan, Virgil and Doc will tame these cowboys without the help of sheriff Johnny Behan - for we are the law. We'll walk them down and make them pay.

So goes the next round, that Johnny Ringo is still on the loose. Western style - keeping the peace - will never be the same. This territory will become a state and all those who resist this fate, will find themselves in boot hill. Their epitaph will read: accept our law or wear a tombstone. No more rustling and no more rowdiness. We are here to set up shop and open the saloons. This marshal has business to conduct. Our deputies will enforce the law. Our ranch will herd our new cattle. Our mines will reap our silver. And our shotguns will remove the outlaws . . . Time enough to deal faro at the Oriental. That last desperado will get their Hop Sing, as soon as Ike gets out of dodge.

This 'axis of evil' is nothing new. Knock one down and mock the rest. Our pistols are at the ready and hit their mark. The barrel of our guns speak loud and shoot straight. Cross us once and pay the price. Our hanging judge is eager to swing the rope. Give us an excuse and we will have a Holiday. You feud with us, you'll loose your own Wells Fargo.

Today the tables are turned with a modern twist. The world sits by, complains and moans. This time the cavalry won't save the day. The savages are on the loose and your scalps are at risk. The great white father has a treaty to offer - a few trinkets for your land. Our troops will guard the range. Smoke the peace pipe and settle on the reservation - our gift to you. Cut your hair and wear our clothes, the iron horse is set to roll. Our tracks are being laid, as Hey Boy does the work. So why follow a Geronimo? Accept your fate and settle in, you are on the way to become the next state.

High Noon is here. Hang-em High is the call. The Earps are calling you out! The wild wild west is coming to town. Al Qaeda just another apache tribe? We'll show them the same and rid the riffraff from the frontier. The bankers are coming and will pay the freight. The shop keepers will sell all of your wants. And the showgirls supply all of your needs. The west is going to the east. Get use to it, we are here to stay . . .

Soon will come the wildcatters mining for that black gold. The rigs and pipes will drill and flow, our reason to fight and be so bold. Justice is our call for a strike against us. Now we will reap the rewards for all that we lust. We have the excuse that unleashes our firepower. And we won't stop until we have you all, in our tower. No more talk and bribes for the top. We are bent on blood, for we are the world cop.

Evil you are for what you did. We'll put an end to all those who killed our kids. Axis you are, for you're a band among rebels. We take no prisoners at any level. Our claim as sheriff is true and fair, we are the only ones left who really care. Never mind all those who fear us. We have the biggest stick on this bus. Our motives are pure as the morning sun, but our sting is as lethal as your wounds from our guns. Our people support this quest and waive our flag, it's time to bow and obey our marshals, they represents us and enforces our plan for global order.

If you doubt the need to secede, meet Mr Colt and Mr Winchester. They teach the lessons that need to be taught. It is the only language that you understand. So quit your evil ways and change your plans. The world is watching and our banner will fly over your land.

Cloaked in black wearing dusters in style, these men of the plains will go the very last mile. Our towns will flourish and our schools will teach, all to promote a culture that only we can preach. We'll worship in our churches and warn you to repent, for we promise that you will know just what is meant. The West is ours and soon will be the East, we are here to stay and this is no small feat.

So ends this sage from the old west, one of daring and fame to tame the frontier. Our hats might be black but our hearts are snow white. So beg for forgiveness or go slowly into the night . . .

SARTRE - February 13, 2002

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