Tuesday, March 13, 2007

The Ranch Report from the Hitchin Post! Haw!

'Twas a fateful day of five moons ago, but I swear that it seems like it was only FOUR moons ago. Me and the rustlin' posse'd made our way down south, toward the river region, where the sun's bigger than a frying pan on Sunday, and the misty meadow makes me wish I was with a neked woman 'stead of the same ol rustlers.

But that's the way it was, as I recall. My belly was empty as two dollar shoes and my throat was parched for something wet and cool. That's when we sidled upon Yon Hitchin' Post:

It was a comfortable little nook on the side of the dusty road, and my compadres and I had had enough for one day of the lonesome trail. At the Hitchin' Post, we were able to sit ourselves into a more friendly frame of mind. Why, we ate up all their offerings: Cincinnati chili, fried chicken, onion rings, fried mushrooms, taters and gravy and more store-bought dinner rolls than we knew what to do with! (OVERALL GRADE: B) The place was a little greasy, sure-and the attitude in the joint was "this is the way this place has looked for 20 years! Who're you to question it? ...you're not a regular, anyway", (QUESTIONABLE LEVEL: 2.5 Quite Safe) but ranch hands like us have got to where we don't even mind that sort of thing. If we can get hot food at a fair price, we walk away pretty happy. And on this day (was it as far back as November? I have to think so, based on the tchotchke you'll see in the sill in this photo:
Why, that's a li'l TURKEY over thar! Reminds me of the bird we ate that day! Hyah!

Luckily, "Boots" Ranson brought him a new-fangled 'picture maker' that day (we still ain't really figgered that thing out), and got us a few more shots of this roundup:







That there's "Click-Clack" Valentine tucking into some chuckwagon chili. Sometimes at night the fellas around the campfire say he's one o them ahomasexules, but I don't see it a'tall. Powder blue can be a manly color, if you have the right attitude.

And that there's yours truly, Silver Steve. They call me Silver not because of the fancy food coloring I put on my haed, but because there's parts of my body that are like the Lone Ranger's horse. Do you know what I mean, reader? I bet you do. Yup, I got them horse teeth were you can see my gums and all when I grin. That's how come I never smile with my mouth open.



As usual, when you're in the saddle out here in the wiles of Eastern Cincinnata, you do run across fellas every now and then who seem like their ear infection went a little too deep. I suspect them wrong-in-the-head types are the kind that came up with this rip off of what was a bad idea to begin with. Slogans and catchphrases aren't really my style, and here we can see why.



Okey doke, padnahs, got to mosey on. That old sunset's calling my name. But remember this, cowpokes: when you're feeling a little down on yer luck, and your ol ma's far away, the Hitchin' Post can rustle you up a tasty mess a grub faster'n a possum shits jalapenos. Take care, friend.

2 Comments:

Blogger The Ranson Family said...

hey man, i tell you what. I know what you're talking about 'bout them fast shatting possums... This here one time, I was rasslin' a 3 ft. armadilla with my left nut when allasudden a rattlesnake meaner thana pack of horny jack-rabbits came a-leapin outta his ass... I nearly shat my britches... just like that possum.

weird huh?

9:28 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

MORE!! The peasants need more SLOTM!!!

8:34 PM  

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