Aces High Bulletin Board
General Forums => Aces High General Discussion => Topic started by: J_A_B on March 12, 2002, 08:03:17 PM
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The Message Board has been mis-named. It's not really just a message board; it's a Saloon. And all the dates are wrong; it's not 2002 but 1882. But the place is right--Texas.
This Saloon has all the usual patrons; there's the quiet guys who sit in the back and play cards, happy with each other's company. There's the Owners who make their occasional appearances. There's the guys who occasionally stop in for a drink and there's even a few souls who just have nowhere else to go. Heck, there's even a wimpy little guy in the back banging away on his tired old piano, buy nobody listens to him anymore.
But this is 1882 Texas, and you can't have a Saloon in 1882 without Cowboys, and there's planety of 'em here. You know 'em when they walk in, wary eyes scanning for someone looking at 'em the wrong way, one hand always near his holster, itchy trigger finger. Some Cowboys (the ones in the white hats) are decent fellows, who prefer to come in, get their drinks and play a few hands of cards and leave without trouble--although if trouble finds them they don't hesitate to stand their ground. But then there's the Desperados (the ones in black hats), the ones who barge in the door with a scowling face and guns drawn, just begging someone to take a shot at 'em. And if someone does, the smart guys duck under the table and wait it out, cuz these guys shoot first and never bother to ask questions later.
If this is indeed a Saloon, who are you?
J_A_B
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I'm upstairs busy, with Madam Sinclair.
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The same Madam Sinclair that comes with detachable wig and a little extra downstairs?
You have fun with that Animal.
-SW
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Originally posted by AKSWulfe
The same Madam Sinclair that comes with detachable wig and a little extra downstairs?
You have fun with that Animal.
-SW
Thanks, Madam.
Cya upstairs.
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Okay, but you're the one getting corn-holed.
-SW
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^^^^^^^^It's Segfreid and Roy
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i have an ugly old campaign hat, a limp, bad dentures, squint cause i'm half blind and carry a 12g with a door slug in one barrel and nails in the other.
'don't fek with me boy, i ain't in no mood..'
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I always liked the indians more
because i watched the serie centennial
cowboys are peasants,farmers (with a gun)
just like bush :D
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Glassess would be the drunk Mexican in the corner.
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I think I'm the chinaman near the construction sites.
ps) Technically, I'm not Chinese. But that's the only part I can find in this picture :rolleyes:
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Im crayse Finnish emigrant lumberjack alone at a corner table.
Only friends are botlte of cheapo whisky and g'old trusty knife.
"Mumble..Perkele.. mumblemumble... Mikä toi luulee olevansa! mumble...Eikun saunan taakse ...tana! mumble..."
Yeah, its how nature warning "Dont touch!"
;)
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If I could chose, I'd be like Michael Landon in "Little House on the Prairie." Wish I was half the man he was.
But I am the guy who would need Mike to help me out of rough situations.
Les:D
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Of course, our little world is more than just a Saloon; there's also the never-ending war between the L.W. Ranch and the Spitdweeb Corral. Almost every day it seems there's a few more casualities in this bloody, ongoing feud.
....J_A_B slowly walks down the dusty street. He's a taller fella, with narrow, steely gray eyes and the wary look of a drifter. His silver belt buckle is complemented by his silver Colt. Perhaps the most peculiar thing about this fellow is his hat--not black, not white, but a strange shade of gray. First, on his left, is L.W. Ranch, with the sounds of drunken banter and polka swirling out. A little farther down the street is Spitdweeb Corral--famous for it's strange habit of assigning each shipment of cattle their own "Mark Number". Sure enough, Some Cattle Mark VI's are mooing and grazing and generally looking bored.
Upon entering the AH Saloon, J_A_B looks around and surveys the crowd: Two haggard guys arguing over a decidedly manly-looking "woman", a mean-looking hick with a sawed-off, an unarmed Indian-backer smoking something out of a peacepipe and seeming a little TOO happy, a poor drunk Mexican and an overworked chinese guy out back hammering away at whatever project he's working on....
But it's early and more people are bound to arrive. J_A_B gets a whiskey, sits down and checks the balance of his pistol--with these L.W. and Spitdweeb guys bound to start piling in the Saloon any minute and famous for their willingness to keep the town undertaker almost overwhelmed it's best to be ready for anything.
J_A_B
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the guy with the half empty laudanum bottle. ;)
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Urchin rolls in from the L.W. ranch.
' Boy, all that 'historical research' we do is plum tirin' . I'll take a shot of some unpronouncable German liqour. Ahhh.... Danke'
Hey... is that a Spitdweeb over there? Get out yer potato guns guys!
"A-jeagering we will go, A-jeagering we will go, All our planes are to damn SLOW! A-jeagering we will goooo"
*Sounds of battle... the 'bloop' of potato guns mixing in the the "Whoooosh- BLAM" of Hizookas *...
Urchin comes staggering back in... his trusty ol black hat a mess. whoopee cheating Spitdweebs got me AGAIN!
Lol... I'm sleep deprived. Going to bed now thanks :).
Edit.. I actually think I still have my black hat, but I've lost the urge to actually call folks out on the BBS. Now ingame on the other hand... welll.... I still lose my temper and go for my holster more often than I should.
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I changed my mind. I wanna be something cool too.
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anyone see "Kung Fu" lately?
* picks up hat, politely bows to the people he kicked butt, and leaves town *
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Where's Festus? That no account deputy drunk under the table again?
Friggin' hick!
Matt D.
:D
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Are'nt there any sheep farmers?:confused:
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Waiter, a cup of tea please.
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just a regular guy that knows a little about firearms and feels that he should mention some of your more glaring personality deficiencies.
lazs
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I usually like lean back in my rickety table chair, prop up my humungous pointy toe'd riding boots (with silver spurs on em!) an watermelon chat about cow pedigree, steer endurance, about all the perty sheep I've left on the trail in many a pasture and about riding the range in proper cowboy garb as well as on a historically correct horse saddles.
And quite often I love to shoot the absolute living buffaloe dung out of any goob who strolls in, picks his nose, wipes it on the bar and starts talking horse-pickey toejame in here!
:D
Westy
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Ever heard of Lucky Luke ?
One fine comic I was reading when I was a kid (and I still do from time to time :))
(http://fandeluckyluke.online.fr/img/ll-ride.gif)
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I'd be the guy sittin in the back corner in the shadows. Wearin a well travelled duster and black hat. Pair of Colts hung low, feet on the table, and a Henry rifle layin across my lap, muzzle in the general direction between the bar and door, raised enough to not cause too much concern.
Occasionally blasting some dorka I've decided to not like right back out the door.
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I'm your Huckleberry! (cough, cough)
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I'm the grizzled, toothless prospector come inta town fer a few supplies 'n ta whet me whistle.
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I’m the guy busting through the door behind the bar. Promptly unloading 2 peace makers on the way in, then two more on the way back out. Jumping on top of my mustang and head out of town to get more E ;).
Zippatuh
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ala Blazing Saddles "Gabby Johnson" -Sudz- ?? ;)
Westy
(Lazs would make a great Hedley Lamarr as he tries to eradicate the CT landowners!)
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Rude in the Old West (http://new.wavlist.com/movies/194/ojw-bounty.wav)
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I'm the red guy with all the feathers standing outside the door selling cigars.
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With a quick boot to the saloon door, a skinny man, all dressed in red leather, enters the room, with scowls quietly coming from his mouth about the presence of 'lorteild-fårene'.
Eyeing the room unwaringly, a sheepish grin soon replaces the gritting of teeth. Easily singling out the God fearing people, he knows that today too, they'll provide entertainment.
Disregarding the hard glances and challenges made from a distance, he strikes up a conversation with the 'Spitters And Swallowers', as he calls them.
"yoo haf a verrii shinee gun. I bet yoo kannoth hit daat zink over zere" he says, pointing at the remains of what's left in a whiskey bottle.
*I bloody well can old chap, and I'd be delighted to show you!" a Spitter says, overclass English tainting the atmosphere, dripping into the subconscious of the rugged-looking men at the bar.
Four shots ring out: each reduce the bottle a a increasingly small size of broken glass.
"JOLLY GOOD SHOT OLD CHAP!" his companions say, triumph in their voice.
'Veel, zat ees migdy guud, bud was a luckee zink. Yoo cannot heet zat bottle over zere!'
Two more shots, and yet another bottle falls to pieces. More cheers from his compatriots.
'Veery guut', the newcomer says. Yoo haf now draawn yoor gun, oond zerefore I am threatenet. I veel defendeth myself from yoo and eet ees legal. Keeel or be keelled, swallower!"
"But, I must reload!" the Brit says, panick in his voice
'Zat', the unknown man responds, 'ees yoor problem, not mine'
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Get yer Professor-Eskimo's-Magic-Miracle-Cure-All-Snake-Oil!!!
Only $5 a Bottle!!!
That's one heck of a deal!
It'll make you feel 10 years younger, cure all aches and pains and even make you irresistible to women!
eskimo
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iam the warrior camped out side town sittin by the fire and counting scalps and keepin my 5 wives company.
oh and drinkin that damn firewater i traded my rifle for.
hope that dont come back to haunt me.
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I'm the last man standing.