"What the hell and tarnation is going on here?" the Railroad Tycoon known as Morse spluttered.
He didn't realise that you can't eat tiger prawns and talk at the same time. Hence the spluttering.
"I dunno," Rich Landowner Nick Funson replied. "And to be honest with you, I don't really care."
Outside, the sun baked the boardwalk sidewalks. It was so hot that even the bugs couldn't be arsed.
"So that's it then?" Morse asked Nick Funson.
"I guess so," Nick Funson sighed. "There are limits regarding how hard you can wring a cloth out, and still expect to git something out of it..."
"Sheriff's no help," Morse said. "Fucken drunken asshole Limey. I'd shoot the prick myself, but like, bullets cost money..."
"Yeah," Funsome said. "Dat be true bro."
"Ain't that a black Kanye West type thing?" Morse enquired politely. "Sorta middle class rap and shit?"
"I guess it is, yeah, when I think about it," Funsome mused.
"So what are we gonna do?" the railroad pioneer mused.
Funsome became suddenly serious. He turned and glared at his railroad pioneer friend. His eyes shone like garnets, but not like Alf Garnetts.
"Listen man," he said. "The key to this whole thing lies with our pathetic drunk of a sheriff. We been dragged back to the future and into the past. We been well and truly fucked over. Maybe the Sheriff can sort this crap out, and get us all back on an even keel."
"How is that dickhead Limey gonna do that?" Morse questioned. "He can't even get his jockey's on first thing. In the right legs. He's fucking hopeless. He'll just fall on his ass. Ain't no way he can take on them there gunslingers from the North and the West. No way."
"I beg to differ," Funsom said.
"You beg to differ?" El Morse protested. "I gotta see this."
"You don't get it do you El Morse. We got The Manchester United fighting team from K-Stand out there. These motherfuckers will kill anything that moves!"
"What, Sheriff El Skoobio?" Morse chuckled. "I met the guy one time. Fucker couldn't fight his way out of a wet paper bag."
"He's from Salford," he said. "They breed them fucking hard in Salford. And his buddy, Mon Dieu Qui Qui, is what I believe is known as a Cockney Red. A man with a fearsome reputation."
"Wait a second," El Morse the railroad tycoon spluttered, still not quite having grasped that eating prawns and talking at the same time make a good combination. "You're telling me that these motherfuckers can take out the evil gunslingers from the far north and the west?"
"That's exactly what I'm saying," Nick Funsome said.
"I don't believe it!" protested El Morse.
"You better believe it," responded Nick Funsome.
To Be Continued In 'Part 15' because I lost track.