OSW // ISSUE #003
Why don’t you climb aboard, Ms. Fannybottom?
Really, sir?
Yes, I can see you eyeing it up. Go ahead, swing your leg over!
Righto–
...
Oh - It’s even bigger than it looks!
Yes, you’re a lot higher up now. Let me give those hind quarters a smack—
Slap!
Hi ho, you’re away!
This is so much fun, sir!
Yes, you’re bouncing up and down like a good ‘un! Take your hat off and give it a wave.
Yeehaaawwww!
Attagirl!
Whinny
Such majestic creatures, horses.
It was a good idea to visit this ranch; watching Ms. Fannybottom ride makes me think of Deadeye—
...
We’re about as different as two people can be.
You were born into an outlaw gang. They taught you street smarts and how to handle yourself. Whenever you needed—or simply wanted—something, you’d ride into the nearest town and take it. You say you had a code of honour, like most gunslingers claimed, but ultimately, you chose to ignore law & order, bucking society.
I had a more conventional upbringing. I did my learning in school, and had no need to handle myself. I respected the rules, abided by the law, and earned everything I ever got. I have a strict moral compass, and I’m a product of modern society.
But we do have one thing in common…
We’re both a bit long in the tooth, aren’t we?
The world has passed us by, old boy.
Long gone are the days of the Gold Rush, where any old Tom, Dick & Harry could brave the frontier and stake their claim to whatever piece of land they fancied. The government brought about the end of your beloved Old West. No longer were disputes settled by high-noon shootouts, but in courtrooms. One by one, you watched your outlaw friends get rounded up.
Similarly, international espionage isn’t nearly as thrilling or titillating as it used to be. Beautiful women, fast cars, cutting-edge gadgets… There’s no call for it anymore. All these geopolitical machinations by state actors are carried out on computers across oceans. The fate of democracy and the world is in the hands of pimply-faced boffins now. They’ve no need for a remorseless, trained killer and lovemaking machine like yours truly.
On a chronological timeline, though…
Your world was left in the dust long ago.
Mine may be slipping through my fingers, but I’m still visible in the rearview mirror, the dot on the horizon, running after that car like my life depends on it - because it does.
And do you know the irony of our upcoming duel at Turbo, Deadeye?
It was the lawmen and government spooks like me that killed the Wild West you so longingly yearn for.
Poetic, isn’t it?
So mount your noble steed, unholster that rusty old sixshooter, and ride into town one final time.
I’ll stoop down into my gurgling Jaguar, dust off my outdated gizmos, and cruise into what could be my last assignment.
Ten paces, turn, then draw…
Remember, cowboy: tomorrow never dies.