I’m a cowboy.
I have a gun.
It’s a hair-trigger.
Almost anything will set it off.
A fly could land on it.
Bang!
The breeze could hurry by.
Bang!
So I was out west with my cowboy buddy just being cowboys.
That was our life.
It was like a movie.
We were in this town.
It was full of bad guys.
Three bad guys jumped us and dragged us into the back room.
They went to tie us up. They got a long rope.
I whispered to my buddy, “Take a big deep breath and pooch out your tummy.”
I did the same, took a big deep breath and pooched out my tummy.
They tied us back to back with the rope around and around and around.
Then two of them went through the door into the saloon to start drinking.
One guy was left to keep an eye on us.
My gun was lying on the table looking all shiny and attractive.
The bad guy picked it up.
He pointed it around and practiced pretend shooting.
He said, “Bang! Bang bang!”
He took his own gun out of his holster and replaced it with my hair-trigger.
He looked in the mirror and said, “Draw!”
He pulled it out quick and aimed at himself in the mirror and said, “Bang!”
He put it back in his holster.
My tied up buddy whispered over his shoulder, “I thought you said it was a hair-trigger.”
I whispered back, “It has a sense of humor. Just watch.”
We watched.
The bad guy took my gun and turned it around to look at it close. It was pointed right at his face. He was looking down the barrel.
My buddy whispered, “Bang!”
The gun stayed silent and the bad guy turned it around and pointed it at himself in the mirror again.
He said, “Bang!”
The gun went “Bang!” and shot himself in the mirror which broke in all directions.
He dropped the gun which fell on his foot and he pitched forward into the mirror which was broken glass and cut him through the neck and throat and he fell down dead.
The other two bad guys rushed in from drinking and yelled, “What was that shot?”
They saw the bad guy dead on the floor and one picked up the gun.
He started to say, “What the…” but the gun went off and shot the other guy.
The shooter guy dropped the gun in surprise and it hit the floor and shot him dead.
I said to my cowboy buddy, “Breathe out and suck in your tummy.”
So he sucked in his tummy pooch and emptied his lungs, and I did too, and the rope got loose and we wiggled out.
I picked up my gun and put it back in my holster and we walked out through the saloon onto the street.
The bad guys were posted everywhere and started shooting.
My gun leaped from its holster and took out the two guys on the roof and they fell in the street.
My gun shot the guy in the doorway and he fell in the street.
The barber pulled down his window shade and left town.
There were bodies everywhere but no more bad guys.
My gun had cleaned up the town.
They elected a mayor and a sheriff.
They wanted me, but I told them, “Me and my buddy, we’re cowboys and we gotta mosey on and hit the trail.”
So we got on our horses.
I had my faithful trusty hair-trigger gun. I loved my gun. Its barrel was still warm to show that it loved me back.
So we rode out of town to hit the trail, me, my buddy, and my hair-trigger, and we rode into the sunset.
The end.