Last night, I was flipping through my 15 channels of HBO and landed on Deadwood – that popular western series where everyone cusses, even the hot women.
I got to thinking about these men. Real men. Who did real blue-collar work and handled everything with their fists and their guns, sometimes both.
Not only that, but they stood by their woman and stood by their beliefs and didn’t fold like an old lady in a hand of Texas Hold Em. Plus, they drank whiskey like a man – with no fruity chasers.
That’s what I need to be more like. I need to be a Deadwood Man - a man with convictions who sticks to his guns (no pun intended).
Person: Hey how’s it going?
Me: Hey, Fuck You. That’s how it’s going.
Person: Err. What do you think about the weather we're having?
Me: You want to know about the fucking weather? [I spit on person] It's raining spit. That's how the fucking weather is.
We then proceed to fight and I gouge him in the neck with a knife.
The Deadwood Eimer would have a conversation like this on a daily basis.
You know what? That sealed it. Tonight I’m going out and buying a 40-ounce of Mickey’s Malt Liqour.
And, who knows? I may even punch some fucker in the face.
I got to thinking about these men. Real men. Who did real blue-collar work and handled everything with their fists and their guns, sometimes both.
Not only that, but they stood by their woman and stood by their beliefs and didn’t fold like an old lady in a hand of Texas Hold Em. Plus, they drank whiskey like a man – with no fruity chasers.
That’s what I need to be more like. I need to be a Deadwood Man - a man with convictions who sticks to his guns (no pun intended).
Person: Hey how’s it going?
Me: Hey, Fuck You. That’s how it’s going.
Person: Err. What do you think about the weather we're having?
Me: You want to know about the fucking weather? [I spit on person] It's raining spit. That's how the fucking weather is.
We then proceed to fight and I gouge him in the neck with a knife.
The Deadwood Eimer would have a conversation like this on a daily basis.
You know what? That sealed it. Tonight I’m going out and buying a 40-ounce of Mickey’s Malt Liqour.
And, who knows? I may even punch some fucker in the face.
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