16 – The Only Reason to Murder a Cowboy
There is nothing in the world more sad than a cowboy watching American Idol.
Genocide.
Starving children.
Global warming.
Endless war.
These are all sad things. But not one of these sad things is as sad as a cowboy who watches American Idol on a regular basis.
One might think it’s funny to see a cowboy sitting on his recliner in stark opposition to the program that shines over him. But this would be an errant notion. You’d want to get rid of that idea. It’s not funny.
It’s sad.
My Grandpa is a cowboy. Not a teenage girl.
He should be basking in the starlight by a gentle campfire somewhere. Cooking beans in an old pot. A rifle by his bedroll in case a coyote comes for the horses.
Do coyotes even eat horses?
I like Indians too. But the idea of them watching American Idol isn’t nearly as depressing to me. Maybe because everything about being an Indian these days is depressing.
Cowboys aren’t depressing. They are awesome. Awesome hats. Awesome boots. Awesome guns. Awesome horses. And awesome old-timey things to say that make every moment complete. Everything about them is awesome.
Everything except them watching American Idol and voting for their favorite idol using the touch-tone pad of their telephone.
I have an Uncle who has cancer. Stomach or something. That’s depressing too, but I bet cowboys get cancer all the time. It’s a noble way to go. I wish my Grandpa had the cancer that my Uncle has.
Everyone else loves, and seems to enjoy, American Idol and my Grandpa seems happy when he tunes in. But still, I just want to smother him with a pillow.
If not the pillow maybe I’d gun him down in the middle of the street. We’d both cry man-size tears as I hold his head in my hand. He’d look up to me and say:
“Thank you, my boy…thank you for making me a real cowboy again.”
I’d say, “Your welcome, Grandpa.”
Then he’d die and I’d have to haul his body by horseback to some special resting place in Montana or something.
But it’d be worth it. I love him too much for American Idol.