Do They Make A Pill For Anoxia, Jim?

[The Good Reverend Roger]

The air is pretty thin up in the high desert, Jim, and sometimes you forget how to breathe.  I had that happen recently, and I managed to trash the Ducati and the Jeep.  When you start breathing again, you can't understand what the hell was going through your mind...but of course it's a little late, then.

Shane was too smart for that, and stuck to the lowlands.  Of course, it didn't help much, because he wound up getting shot anyway, but he did it over something that mattered.  Nevermind that a good chunk of the story is about him making eyes at the farmer's wife, man, if that was his motivation, he'd have allowed the bad guys to kill the farmer so he could have her.

No, Shane's problem was that he was the last gunfighter in a world that simply didn't have any room for gunfighters anymore, and he went and found a cause to go down swinging for. 

Imagine that...he was at sea level, and he forgot how to breathe anyway.

When my son was little, we watched Shane, and he asked me why Shane didn't turn to wave when the farmer's young son ran after him as he rode off into the sunset.  I told him that Shane didn't hear him...Kids learn the Horrible Truth soon enough, and I didn't have the heart to tell him that the hero didn't turn around because he had bled to death on his horse.  I also didn't tell him what Shane muttered as he crawled onto his horse, a scene earlier.  There are some things a 7 year old can live without knowing.

Years later, of course, Shane's bones were pulverized by a grader leveling the land for a new WalMart.

I think there's a lesson in there somewhere, but I'm a little dizzy right now, and I can't figure it out.

But they make a pill for that, I hear.  It's purple.

Or kill me.

[Bebek Sincap Ratatosk]

When our gunslingers have become Wal-Mart greeters, what's left of the Wild West?

[Richter]

Reminds me of Harmonica and Cheyenne.  Harmonica knew it was time to go, and left.  Cheyenne made a pass at the woman, and knowing she was only about Harmonica, knew he had to go too.  It was only when they were out of line of sight that he admitted he'd been killed a while before.  Guess he'd finally decided he was done thinking about it.  Looked like he'd forgotten how to breathe too,  it all rushed up on him, so he got off his horse and died. 

Crafty bastard.  If he had the lady and a life to work at, I wonder if he'd hve gone through with it?

Hell of a guy, not sure where he falls above of bellow the decimal point in equivalent Shanes, though. 

Whichever it is, I've heard that's good, and that's admirable, but then there'snot much use for that sort of thing these days.  Live like them, if you can do it, and you're beyond anything a job or a corporation asks of a person.  They get wide eyed and scared when they think they see it coming out, then they do everything possible to stomp you.  They cower until they can aim a heal at chest, throat, or balls and HOLD DOWN.  They'll hide that heal behind traffic laws, "professional conduct", "Concerns", or "Human resources", anything to slip it close inconspicuous. 

[The Good Reverend Roger]

Whichever it is, I've heard that's good, and that's admirable, but then there'snot much use for that sort of thing these days.  Live like them, if you can do it, and you're beyond anything a job or a corporation asks of a person.  They get wide eyed and scared when they think they see it coming out, then they do everything possible to stomp you.  They cower until they can aim a heal at chest, throat, or balls and HOLD DOWN.  They'll hide that heal behind traffic laws, "professional conduct", "Concerns", or "Human resources", anything to slip it close inconspicuous. 

This is why you have to make them think you'll stomp them on a moment's notice, Richter.  They can smell fear, and they only go after the ones that look like they'll cave when pressured.

Of course, Shane didn't cave, and they got HIM, but he went down swinging, not led off to prison or the camps like a sheep ready for the slaughter.

[Richter]

That's really the only option available.  The number of people I know I can work with in a "professional" capacity are vastly outweighted by the ones who will undercut, sneak, or be outright childish.  There is no working with these people, since cooperation and alutrism has gone out the back of their heads in favor of personal gain.  This simple fact makes them only a rabid dog in my view, a maggot mindlessly munching at the carboard wall of a box full of liquid curry shits.  The laws of the HORDE still work though, and if sufficiently cowed, they will at least behave in a productive manner enough of the time to make them passable. 

This isn't the America we NEED Roger, where he only thing between a person and a job is their capacity to do it well and conscienciously.  This is the America every bleeding heart ever asked for, and they got it in the most horrible, ironic way.  The stinking corpse has been reanimated by their monkey's paw, and some lunatic gave it a degree and a position of authority.