SHOWDOWN AT THE D.C. CORRAL

Enter Big, Bad, Black Bart, riding his black nag, wearing a black bandana and black hat.  Watch as his black boots, fitted with razor-sharp spurs, scuff the crusty dirt into a cloud of dust.  Take a look at his two black-gripped pistols as he twirls them on his bony fingers.  Everyone around this cold-blooded scene knows who he is.... even the winds blow ill. 

From another side of the corral, take a gander at Jumpin' John, a not-so-reformed blowhard from way back in Ohio.  He stands out of the crowd with his lily-white hat, his gallant white steed and his ivory-handled .45's.  No one really wants to watch him die, but....

On the far side of the corral, the townsfolk have gathered in ominous silence.  Their prayers are for Jumpin' John to pull off a miracle and outdraw Big Black Bart, but the tears running down their faces tell the story; no one.... no one outdraws Big Black Bart.  

On the close side of the corral, the local Mexican ranch hands are gathered, all shouting in unison, "Shoot hm!!! Kill him!!!" without any idea of which side they really want to choose. 

"I don't really want to kill you," Bart says to John.  "But, you leave me no choice.  Around here, everyone knows things happen my way, or they don't happen at all.  Period."  

"The people are behind me," John replies.  "They're sick and tired of your bullshit." 

"I don't much care what they think," Bart says back.  "I'm in charge around here." 

Then, in the blink of an eye, Big Black Bart goes for his Smith and Wesson... John's hand moves like greased lightening for his cannon and....

Two of the Mexicans head for the grassy knoll and start to dig a grave.  One of them says to the other, "Who do you suppose we're gonna plant in here?" and a shot rings out behind them.  

"I don't know," the second Mexican says.  "Maybe we should make this hole big enough for two."  

That's MY AMERICAN OPINION, respectfully submitted.