Junior Ganymede
We endeavor to give satisfaction

More Americans Murdered by Fists than by Rifles

August 07th, 2012 by Pecos Bill

I ain’t mighty tender-hearted, but I reckon as I do succumb to an impulse o’ fairness every now and agin. That there impulse is why I do mah man-killin’ with a long gun or six-shooters, not with mah fists. I’m just ornery enough to want to give them human varmints a chance. No, sir, when I get to expressin’ mah dissatiesfaction with the reprobate population, out o’ sheer kindness I keep Armageddon and Apocalypse gripped to a gun.

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August 07th, 2012 09:39:02
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Bertie W.
August 7, 2012

It was once my privilege to spend a sprightly evening in Mr. Bill’s company. After generous potations and touching up the town with a spot of red paint here and there, as needed, Mr. Bill began to gnash his teeth and heat up under the collar and assume the general mien and temperament of a maiden librarian accidentally deposited in a Republican chat room. At which juncture some passing gangstas–by which I mean urban tough customers of the first water, for the benefit of those of my readers who are not as ‘boulevard’ as Bertram. But I digress. As I was saying, at this climax in Mr. Bill’s emotional trajectory, these behatted hoods of an urban nature essayed to direct remarks to Mr. Bill. Certain peculiarities of their dialect or elocution prevented me from catching the entire gravamen of said remarks, but I gathered the wisecracks were what Jeeves would call oppobrious.

Whoo-ee! The doings that ensued were some doings. I was a very interested spectator. All agog, if you know the expression. On that occasion Mr. Bill set aside his general policy of resorting to firearms and engaged in a spot of pugilism with the uncouthly garbed blighters who were the vessels of his wrath.

It is my considered opinion as one who knows that his fists should not be named Armageddon and Apocalypse. These mild and beneficent terms in no way prepare the prospective punchee for the frightful pummeling he is about to recieve. “Dash it,” the chappy says, “the half was not told me,” and one sees his point. The only just terms for those objects Mr. Bill is pleased to call his fists are Aunt and Agatha, fo shizzle.

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