"Make a move man," the man in the red shirt with a big number 7 on the back challenged. "Come on! Do it!"
The gunslinger from the far north (Springfield Illinois) and the gunslinger from the west (San Francisco) exchanged glances.
They figured that between them, they could take the guy with the turned up collar.
"You wanna forget this bro," the man from the north said. The man from the north was a bully, the kind of man who hits women but squeals like a leetle beetch if somebody rains some shit down on his ass.
He thinks he has the upper hand here.
He is confident.
Madame Bitters concentrates on a cake she's been baking. This is testoerone loaded shit, and she wants no part of it.
But then Dastardly Deano, being the coward that he is, grabs her by the jaw and tells the man, known as Dieu to stand back or he'll cut Madame Bitters throat.
Mon Dieu, Qui Qui, hesitates.
"All right mon dieu qui qui?" asks sheriff El McSkoobio as he entersd from stage left.
The outlaw gunmen visibly quiver.
"Where you been you wanker?" Mon Dieu Qui Qui hisses out of the corner of his mouth.
"Don't fuckin' worry about it. I had a touch of the swine flu is all. Now I'm fightin' fit..."
"Good to see you bro,"
"Good to see you too bro. But not you bastards," the alcoholic Salford psychopath told the man from the far north and the man from the west.
"I had a bad childhood!" chirped the man from the west.
"Whoopy fucking doo," said Sheriff El Skoobio as he shot delinquent number one in the face.
"You won't get me so easily," said delinquent number two.
"I'll put money on it that I do," the piss drunk sheriff said.
"But why?" Dastardly Deano pleaded.
"Because you are a fucking asshole. Game over motherfucker."
"Nice Job," said mon Dieu Qui Qui as the dust settled. "Fancy a pint mate?"
"Yeah, okay, go on then," the Sheriff said. "Just the one..."