Seth MacFarlane - A Million Ways to Die in the West

“Okay, here we go.” Edward grinned, his bare feet tapping the floor with nervous energy.

“Are you excited?” said Ruth.

“I am. I’m really pumped.”

“Me too.”

“This is gonna be my first vagina,” he admitted with a blush.

“You’ve never seen one?”

“No. I feel like I should have a piece of cake or something. Y’know, to celebrate.”

“Yeah, I’m actually a little nervous myself.”

Edward giggled. “ You’re nervous? Wow, and you’re a prostitute!”

“I know, right?” she said, joining in the laughter. “Okay. Ready?”

“Yup!”

Ruth pulled up her hem, exposing her womanhood.

Edward’s bright, eager smile became flaccid, then finally disappeared. He stared in silence for a long while.

“What?” she finally asked with a furrowed brow.

“Um…”

“What’s wrong?”

He pointed. “It’s… that right there, right?”

“Yeah.” She indicated. “It’s from here to here.”

“Huh.” He put his chin in his hand ponderously and leaned back a bit with the air of a math professor piecing together a difficult equation. “It’s… I… wow, I don’t… I don’t get it.”

“You don’t like it?”

“No, I—it’s just—weird. It’s a weird thing. It’s like… someone wrapped a firecracker in roast beef.”

“Well, yeah, but there’s a lot more to it.” She opened it up, showing him the rest.

His eyes snapped open in shock. “Oh! Oh, dear! Oh, my Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! Were you injured? Are you in pain right now?”

“No, Eddie, it’s supposed to be like this.”

“It is?” he asked in disbelief.

“Yeah. Well, I mean, maybe not exactly like this, but listen—it’ll feel good. For both of us.”

Edward calmed a bit. “Gosh, I’m sorta glad I didn’t have that piece of cake.”

She smiled comfortingly. “Eddie… just trust me.”

Ruth extinguished the light, discarded the chemise, and climbed into bed with him. She eased his head gently back down onto the pillow and climbed on top of him, guiding his twitching penis inside her.

“Oh, boy,” he said with alarm. “Okay, easy, now, I’m —okay. Oh. Okay . Okay, I see. Yeah, now I get it. ’Cause of the warm and the soft and—yeah. Yes , okay, yeah, God would want this.”

The first moment of carnal pleasure Edward Phelps had ever experienced was almost immediately cut short when his amateur pounding was interrupted by an even harder pounding on the door.

Ruth sighed loudly with annoyance and climbed off him. She hastily threw on her chemise and padded across the room. When she opened the door, she found the last person she’d expected to see.

“Anna?”

“Ruth, can I come in?” Anna said, in a clear state of distress.

“Um, yes. Yes, of course.”

Anna hurried into the room as Ruth shut the door behind her.

Edward sat up, scrambling to cover his nakedness with the sheets. “Don’t come over here! I don’t want you to see my penis.”

Edward’s penis appeared to be the last thing on Anna’s mind. She had ridden straight out to the ridge from Albert’s cabin, then realized she could not go any farther. Since she had been old enough to understand what her life really was, she had been running away from herself. She had denied the woman she wanted to be for too long, and it was time for that denial to end, at any cost—even death.

She knew her redemption lay with Albert. Unfortunately they’d been separated, and she did not know where he’d gone. She didn’t even know if he’d escaped. So she’d backtracked to the cabin, which she found deserted. For lack of an immediate plan, she sought out Edward and Ruth back in town, but when she’d arrived at the saloon at dusk, the word was that Clinch and his men were out to hunt her down. And now here she was.

Anna ran to the window and looked out. From the upper level that housed Edward’s apartment, she had a clear view of most of the thoroughfare. Almost immediately, she spotted them. Five figures, moving up the street, methodically entering each building. As they moved a little closer, she could make out their faces. It was Clinch, all right. As she watched them, trying to get a sense of their search pattern so she could strategize her escape route, he looked directly up at the window. Anna quickly closed the curtains. “Shit!” Had he seen her? She thought he’d made eye contact, but she couldn’t be sure. “Ruth, I need a place to hide!” she said breathlessly. There wasn’t much furniture in the room and no closet to speak of. Under the bed? Behind the dresser? Neither were promising choices. As they frantically looked for an option, they heard the sound.

Thump. Thump. Thump .

Ruth ran to the side window and looked out. “Oh, my God,” she whispered. “The side stairs. He’s coming up the side stairs!” The glass was warped and caked with dust, but there was no mistaking the shadowy figure making his ascent toward the apartment.

Anna ran to the window that faced the thoroughfare and pushed it open. She climbed out onto the roof, made her way carefully down the wooden planking, and jumped.

When she landed, she was face-to-face with Clinch.

At that same moment, the shadowy figure reached the top of the stairs and kicked open the apartment door. Ruth and Edward found themselves staring down the barrel of Lewis’s pistol, his rat like face scowling at them with accusation.

Edward extended his hands in an appeal for mercy. “Please don’t shoot us on sex night!”

Lewis grunted angrily but left them in one piece.

“I’m not suggesting we run with this,” said Edward when he and Ruth were alone, “but when he pointed that gun at us, my erection came back.”

Albert blinked groggily as he regained consciousness. The world was dark and blurry. Everything was swimming in marsh water. He tried to lift his hand to rub his eyes but found that he was unable to do so. In addition, there was an intense pain in the back of his head. He was lying on his back on some sort of hard, narrow surface. It was terribly uncomfortable. When he looked up, he could make out a series of undefined shapes surrounding him from above. Faces?

He tried to get up, but his hands were bound tightly behind him. And then he realized he wasn’t lying on his back at all. He was standing… tied to a post of some sort. He blinked hard a few more times, and the world coalesced into clarity. The shapes he had seen were indeed faces. Thirty of them, to be exact. Old faces, young faces, puffy faces, gaunt faces—and all wore expressions of hostility.

Apaches .

Albert looked down at his feet, knowing all too well what he would find there. Kindling. They’re going to burn me. Out of the frying pan and into the fire. Literally . Albert had escaped Clinch and his gang by a hairsbreadth, only to wind up cooked like a turkey by a tribe of renegade Apaches. For about the millionth time in his life, Albert had the thought that had become as familiar as a pair of old shoes: God, I fucking hate the West .

Three of the Apache warriors approached him, holding lit torches. Astonishingly, one of them looked familiar. He’d seen drawings of this man, and one time even a photograph. It was the infamous Apache chief Cochise, who had earned a reputation as a force to be reckoned with for his resistance to the expansion of white civilization throughout the territory. Jesus, I’m the last guy you should be killing , thought Albert. I hate white civilization as much as you do .

Cochise raised his torch and spoke in the Apache language, “White man, because your people are such huge assholes, I am going to light you on fire.”