Kicking Shit

I live in a town that was once a thriving ranching community, with real cowboys that worked with animals out on a ranch or a range. But that was decades ago. There are still a couple of ranches that still exist but most of the land is now just open area owned by the City of Los Angeles. Our streets are all offset to stop stampeding cattle, they make for annoying left turns, but they're all quirky to the outside eye, and I have never seen a stampeding herd of cows or sheep rushing down the street. I'd like to because that would be fucking funny. Just seeing thousands of animals running wild down one of the main streets to just come to a stop and wander aimlessly under people on horseback gather them up and get them moving again, and see the reaction to all the skiing tourists have to just sit there waiting getting more and more pissed off and I will be there selling them bottles of water and packages of Twinkies or some other snacks at outrageous prices just to finally make a buck or two off those losers that nearly hit me in a crosswalk every Friday that I try to get to the other side. The ranches we have now, have some cows and maybe a sheep or two, and that one odd alpaca that just hangs out and stares at me whenever I walk by, the whole fucking time. Dude, Alpaca, what the hell you looking at? It's like some frat boy that doesn't know if he wants to start a fight or if he should go get another beer. Those are some weird animals, but cows are funnier. Cows are the dumbest fucking animals on earth (next to turkeys apparently) and when they get scared it takes a long time for that fear to process. And if one cow gets scared the rest of the herd will follow in a blind panic. I picture their conversations like this;

Cow #1: Dude, Phil, you know why we're running?

Phil: Hank just reared back and bolted. Felt I had to as well.

Cow #1: Dude, Hank, what the fuck man? Was it a wolf?

Hank: No man, the farmer said boo last Tuesday. I thought I was going to shit myself, so I ran.

Cow #1: Good call man. Oh shit! The street turns slightly to the left, gotta stop!

Phil: So what now?

Cow #1: Beats me, wander until the farmer comes to get us?

Hank and Phil: Sounds good.

Cow #1: Oh hey, there's some grass over here.

All other cows: Sweetness.

Like I said, cows are fucking stupid. Wannabe cowboys are pretty close to the same thing. The cowboys we have around here are just a bunch of ass-hats. They all think they need to be like the fucking Marlboro Man. They either smoke like a fucking chimney or chew Skull tobacco, wear skinny jeans, tucked into their brand new boots, and wear a godawful larger than necessary belt buckle. And they have a damn fucking hat that they never take off.

A Wannabe Cowboy.
Jeff the Diseased Lung is more lovable though.

You go inside a place, you remove your fucking hat. There are things called manners, you goddamn stupid fucking shitkickers. This guy at lunch today walked by the restaurant I was eating at, he had his Ninja Turtle green tee shirt tucked in behind the two foot chrome belt buckle. It was hard to miss, and I so badly wanted to just go beat him up for trying to be a nerd and a cowboy at the same fucking time. You can't be both dumb ass, only one despises the fucking sun and the other deals with animals that aren't just cats! This guy didn't just have that shirt tucked in, like all the way around, just where the belt buckle was, with the rest hanging lose around his waist. Normally I would call this fucker a wannabe cowboy, but the pop culture shirt he was sporting takes that away. He was just all belt buckle. Bright shiny heavily polished belt buckle.

The wannabe cowboy is easy to spot, much like the wannabe gang-banger in the city, we of course have them as well and like a guy once told me, “You can't be tough and still get money from your momma for lunch,” you know they guys that wear their pants down below their ass with pretty much just their balls holding them up and they have to fondle themselves hiking them back up slightly so they don't flash everyone when their jeans hit the ground and drive that car that is so low to the ground that a pebble on the street will cause heavy catastrophic body damage. They dress the part but will shit themselves cowering on the ground in the fetal position once the real deal challenges that image. These cowboys that show up are nothing more than the redneck version of that. These cowboys are the pricks that drive that brand new fully raised truck so it takes a two story ladder to get into and then deck the whole fucking thing in chrome with a brush bar and mud tires knowing full well that it has never and will never see a speck of dirt touch that glorious paint job. These guys are all a bunch of fucking losers. There are harsher words to use toward them, words my grandmother would say “angels cry, when you use those words,” so I'm going to just pass on their use here. Wouldn't want any teary eyed angels wandering around.