Seth MacFarlane - A Million Ways to Die in the West

“Ugh, don’t remind me!” Edward laughed. “The shoe business has been so slow since the Civil War ended.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, there’s just a lot less legs.”

Millie was about to press the original issue a bit further, when Ruth came bounding down the stairs, still in the process of pulling her clothes back on.

“Eddie, is that you?” she squealed happily.

He whirled around to meet her eyes and flung his arms wide open. “Hey, sweetheart!”

“What are you doing here?” she exclaimed, smothering him in a joyous embrace and kissing him flush on the lips.

He flinched. “Ooh, your breath is a little…”

“Sorry—I had to give a blow job.” She covered her mouth, her already red cheeks coloring just a bit more.

Edward smiled with genuine understanding. “That’s okay. Hey, I got done a little early, and I thought we could go for a walk out by the stream.”

Ruth hugged him all over again for his thoughtfulness. “Ohhh, you are the best ! Yeah, c’mon, let’s go!” She gave him a peck on the cheek, then looked at Millie. “Don’t I have the best boyfriend in the world?”

Millie opened her mouth to respond, but nothing seemed fitting.

“Bye!” Ruth giggled, pulling a beaming Edward by the hand toward the saloon doors. “What time should I be back?” she asked, turning briefly back to Millie.

“Well, Clyde Hodgkins wanted to know if he could come by later on.”

“Oh—what’s he want?” Ruth asked.

“I think he wants anal.”

Ruth whirled around and grabbed Edward’s hands. “Oh, honey! We could afford to get you a new belt for church!”

Edward’s eyes widened as he registered his good fortune. “Wow, that’d be great!”

“I know!” Ruth erupted with delight, squeezing his hands and swinging them back and forth in a dancerly fashion.

“So, what time will you need her? 5:30 or so?” Edward asked Millie.

“Well, this isn’t really like a dentist’s office, Edward. He’ll probably stop in when he’s ready to put his penis inside an asshole.”

“Okay, we’ll say 5:00 just to be safe,” Edward said. And, with that, the couple hurried out into the afternoon sunlight, their love for each other outshining the brightness of the day.

Deadcow Bridge had earned its name back around the time that Old Stump’s first settlers rode west with dreams of making a new life for themselves. In addition to its human complement, the wagon train had brought with it two hundred head of beef cattle. But when the settlers reached the southwestern Arizona territory, the herd had succumbed to a mysterious illness and was decimated within a matter of days. In light of their misfortune, the weary pioneers decided to halt their westward journey and build their community on the spot. The terrain was somewhat rocky and not particularly forgiving, but the discovery of a nearby river revealed more desirable land beyond. However, when the company tried to cross the river, they found it to be too deep. A lack of passable shallows for some distance in either direction left the group stymied and frustrated. Then one of the wives came up with a novel solution: The settlers dragged all the cow corpses down to the river, and piled them up in the water. After a time, the pile became high enough that the settlers could use it as a bridge of sorts, allowing them to cross the river to the land beyond, which would eventually become Old Stump. Of course, the massive amount of decomposing bovine flesh in the water caused an epidemic that quickly wiped out the entire population. But the next settlers who arrived built a wooden bridge and crossed the river with ease, where they founded the town of Old Stump. Deadcow Bridge was hence named in tribute to the memory of the first settlers, and their tragic deaths from dead cow water.

It was there in the cool shade of the bridge that Albert sat sharing a picnic of fried chicken and fresh-baked bread with his girlfriend, Louise. The two had been together for a year and a half, and Albert counted himself extremely fortunate to have her in his life. She was a rare beauty, even discounting the standards of the western frontier, where most women were indistinguishable from bears. She had all her teeth too, which was another wondrous anomaly. Albert would often sit on the front porch with his arm around Louise, counting her teeth as they watched the setting of the desert sun.

Louise sat on the picnic blanket, her blond locks fluttering in the soft breeze, mimicking the gentle purling of the river waters. Her pale skin glowed with youth as she nibbled absently at a piece of bread with jam. She listened to Albert venting his frustration over the outcome of the day as she gazed out at the thousand tiny slices of white light flickering atop the lazy river.

“—I mean, that should’ve been the end of it, right?” he groused. “I tell him I’ll pay him off, we go our separate ways, and that’s it. But, no, the guy shoots me in the foot! Fuckin’ douche.”

He had been ranting for several minutes before he noticed that Louise appeared to be deliberately avoiding eye contact.

“What’s the matter?” he asked.

Louise looked down at her hands for a beat, then said the last thing Albert expected to hear. “You should’ve fought him, Albert.”

Albert stared at her with all the comprehension of a horse being asked to roll a cigarette. “Wait, what ?”

“You should’ve fought Charlie Blanche.” All of a sudden, she had no difficulty meeting his gaze.

“Wha—are you putting me on?”

“We don’t know if your sheep grazed on his ranch,” she said. “It could’ve been Hurley’s cows. He should have to prove it, and he can’t. So, I dunno… You should’ve fought him.”

“Oh, my God, you’re serious.”

She nodded.

“Louise,” he sputtered, “the guy’s one of the best shots in the whole town! I mean, I look like I have Parkinson’s next to him.”

“What’s Parkinson’s?”

“Oh, just another way God mysteriously shows that he loves us. Look, I tried to psych myself up for the gunfight, but at the end of the day I’d rather not commit fucking suicide.”

And then, from out of nowhere, lightning struck. “Albert… I’m breaking up with you.”

When a parent, a sibling, or a close friend dies suddenly, the mind has an uncanny ability to process the news as a mistake, or fiction, or at worst a temporary reality that will surely correct itself in short order. The same sort of self-defense mechanism was activating within Albert’s mind right now.

“Wh… what?”

“I’m sorry.” She gave him a loving look, but it was all wrong. It took him a moment to realize it wasn’t love he was seeing but rather sympathy. The look was one you might give a hospital patient before you told him the doctors were unable to save his balls.

Albert opened his mouth to speak, and what came out was, “I got shot today.”

“I know,” she answered.

Clearly she didn’t hear what I said , he thought.

“Ow,” he uttered, hoping that would drive the point home.

“I’m sorry you’re hurt,” she said, though to Albert she didn’t sound sorry enough.

His mental gears were now restarting their grind, and he began to process exactly what was happening. He was being dumped. “Louise, I— why? Because of a gunfight ?”

“No, it’s not that. I mean, I guess maybe it gave me the little push I needed to finally come out and tell you—”

“ Finally? What do you mean, finally? How long have you been planning this?!”

“God, you make it sound so malicious. I didn’t plan this, Albert. But… I have been feeling this way for a while. It’s… Look, you’re a really great guy. I’ve just… I’ve realized I want something else.”