Meanwhile, back at the ranch

The year was 1865. The injuns were attemptin’ an attack. Chief Sit ‘n’ Fart was gonna ‘tempt to breach the ol’ fort, here.

A large explosion was heard. Osama BinLaden had planted mines. They were charging and going bang. Injun stew. In the tent I was guarding, George Washington, Teddy Roosevelt, Abe Lincoln, and Barrack Obama were planning. We was gonna get Al Capone and Adolf Hitler to use them tharr machine guns on the Stalin’s russian injuns. They was odd injuns. They were injun coloured, with odd wooly hats.

I took a shot over at ’em. Hit Edgar Allan Poe square in the forehead. Outraged, Hiro Nakamura and the Cookie Monster yelled violent curses.

Then it all changed. We had looked like we was gonna be winnin’ that day, until then. The Doctor drove that massive tumbleweed towards us with his blue coffin. We was all trampled. As we went round and round, all I could think about how boring my maths class is.

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