…But most folks call him Sir.
Cowboy Wally loved to chew the rag with any galoot who’d give him an ear. In fact, if a feller warn’t careful, Wally’d chew that ear right off his head. Ever wonder how Van Gogh lost his lobe? Well, now you know.
Yepper, Sir Wally may have been a lot of fun to chew with, but folks didn’t want to push him too fer. He’d haul off and chew your donkey, if you know what I mean, and I’ll bet you do. Then he’d spit it clean out of the county and drop it right into Snarf Canyon. He kinda thought of that canyon as his own personal spittoon. They say the echoes of Wally’s pitooies bouncing off them canyon walls could deefen a man. I wouldn’t know that fer certain, but ol’ Doc Deafas A. Post has made a decent living off ear trumpets in that neck of the woods.
Wally liked to try somethin’ new on occasion. Once he decided to chaw only kosher tobbacky. Word got back to the local rabbi who said, “That’s funny. He doesn’t look Chewish.”
Well, Wally warn’t none too happy about that remark, so before the dip started flyin’, that rabbi skeedaddled straight out of town, hopped on the departin’ chew chew and was never heared frum again.
There’s a sad endin’ to this tall tale. Wally, undisputed Master of Mastication, rests in pieces after he lost a spittin’ contest to some ol’ gal named ‘Lizbeth. Seems she was the Queen of somethin’ or anuther across the Big Pond and didn’t take kindly to Wally fraternizing with the enemy. Just goes to show, no matter how many aces you got up yer sleeve you can’t
trump a queen.
And that’s snuff of that.
by Donna Rhodes