An old prospector shuffled into the town of El Indio , Texas leading an old tired mule. The old man headed straight for the only saloon in town to clear his parched throat. He walked up to the saloon and tied his old mule to the hitch rail.
As he stood there brushing some of the dust from his face and clothes, a young gunslinger stepped out of the saloon with a gun in one hand and a bottle of whiskey in the other.
The young gunslinger looked at the old man and laughed, saying, “Hey old man, have you ever danced?”
The old man looked up at the gunslinger and said, “No, I never did dance… Never really wanted to.”
A crowd had gathered as the gunslinger grinned and said, “Well, you old fool, you’re gonna dance now” and started shooting at the old man’s feet.
The old prospector, not wanting to get a toe blown off, started hopping around like a flea on a hot skillet.
Everybody was laughing — fit to be tied.
When his last bullet had been fired, the young gunslinger, still laughing, holstered his gun and turned around to go back into the saloon.
The old man turned to his pack mule, pulled out a double-barreled shotgun, and cocked both hammers. The loud clicks carried clearly through the desert air.
The crowd stopped laughing immediately. The young gunslinger heard the sounds too, and he turned around very slowly.
The silence was almost deafening.
The crowd watched as the young gunman stared at the old timer and the large gaping holes of those twin 10 gauge barrels. The barrels of the shotgun never wavered in the old man’s hands as he quietly said, “Son, have you ever kissed a mule’s ass?”
The gunslinger swallowed hard and said, “No sir…… But, I’ve always wanted to.”
There are a few lessons for us all here:
Never be arrogant.
Don’t waste ammunition.
Whiskey makes you think you’re smarter than you are.
Always, always make sure you know who has the power.
Don’t mess with old folks — they didn’t get old by being stupid.I just love a story with a happy ending, don’t you
I would hope that anyone who reads my poetry understands that I write what comes to my mind and it doesn't mean I'm the reality of the words. I mean that just because I write about alcoholism does not mean I am the character in the poems. I write about those I've known and those I know and a very wide grouping that is of sinners and saints, those who know who and where they are going and those who are completely lost. I am empathic. I write in the first person because I feel the reality of what I am writing about. Like Dean Martin pretending to be drunk while performing I am not what it may seem. Just a thought as I know some out there who read what I write see the words and not the art or the understanding of the problem I am commenting on, nor do they understand that the comment is for the purpose of illustration and not my own personal reality.
Married to a wonderful woman who is my best friend. Ronald Reagan Conservative Republican. Masters of Accounting-Taxation, United States Marine, taught for 10 years at the University of South Florida, held the following professional certifications: CPA, CVA, CFA. Published author, currently writing three novels and a ton of poems.
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