The Cowboy Gay

This is a story that’s been milling around in my brain for a few weeks, collecting steam and sometimes bumping into those impure thoughts of my fifth grade teacher at St. Luke’s Episcopal School in San Antonio, Texas, Mrs. Gaines. But Jordan’s been needling me to post again, and to post in regards to this specific story. It goes a little something, a-like thiiiiiiiiiiiiis…

So, I’m working at the video store. It’s a Saturday night and, oddly enough, I’m sober. As I’m helping another customer, who happens to be a courtly Texan (and bleeding heart liberal) named Leatherwood, this guy walks in. And not just any old guy. No, sir, folks, this was different. This (dramatic pause) was a cowboy. It was a cowboy so bizarre looking and unique that Leatherwood, who has presumably seen and or fought countless cowboys while living in Texas, was taken aback and gave me the funny “check out this guy behind me” eyes. Those eyes actually could have stood for the “holy shit” eyes, but I often get those two confused.

A quick rundown of what this particular cowboy was wearing: A wife beater. Torn jeans. Some kind of Batman-style harness, which included industrial knee-pads. The baddest motherfuckin cowboy hat you ever saw in your life.

By the grace of Allah, the cowboy saddles up to my cash register. He’s buying a bunch of used DVDs and he asks me about “Sin City,” and I tell him that it’s got Bruce Willis. That’s when he starts talking about how he’s “a cowboy” and specifically buys movies with cowboys or cowboy-like people, because it appeals to him, as a cowboy. It’s roughly akin to a pirate coming into the video store with a parrot on his shoulder, and telling me that he prefers movies with peg-legged people.

Then I tried to get him to sign up for a membership, which would ensure him coming back to the video store again and again and prompting more blog entries (of course).

To really get a good picture of the scenario, here’s this pumped-up, six foot tall cowboy, who’s exuding scary masculinity, standing right next to me, a 120 pound weakling in my tiny “Edward Scissorhands” T-shirt and tight-ass Diesel jeans.

In two words, the whole experience was: fucking bizarre.

Later I saw him at Firehouse Deli, dressed exactly the same way, enjoying a sandwich. Maybe it was tuna, but I really have no idea what cowboys eat, except maybe big, hulking steaks. He was very affable, probably because I didn’t go with my gut instinct and ask him where he parked his horse.

And that’s the way it is.

Xoxo

Drew.

A note from Jordan (Or: Jordan's clouded, extra violent account of The Cowboy): This was the single most inspiring experience that has ever happened at Media Wave. This is a man's man. The marlboro man. This guy would seriously have had a bloody fist fight with anyone who looked at him funny, and probably had just gotten finished doing that in the back parking lot. I don't understand why he had knee pads or arms bands on, but I don't have to because I'm not a cowboy.

I described this man as "Blade: The Cowboy" (or variations of that) because he looks like a superhero cowboy, but not some kind of bitch superhero who helps the cops, but the kind with a big chip on his shoulder who finds street justice and rips the heads off criminals. Fuck tying them up and handing them over to the pigs so they can go to jail, Cowboy Blade lassos him, breaks his legs and then tramples on him with his horse (which may or may not breath fire, we're not sure). Before the criminals last breath, Cowboy Blade spits tabackee in his face like a spitoon and then without flinching cuts his throat with the spur on his boot heel.

I can only hope that in any normal circumstance there would be some kind of holster attatched to the back of his black suspenders which would carry either 2 huge bad ass guns or two samurai cowboy swords. But since he was raised with manners in the south, he has the sense to respect our general (but often broken) "no weapons" rule for coming into Media Wave. And I can only assume that the edge of his cowboy hat is as sharp as a knife and from time to time he'll use it to take your head off from a mile away.

The only thing missing on his outfit was actual spurs. Again, I assume he took them off as to not scare civilians. I can totally understand that. Other than this minor flaw, this man is my hero in almost every regard. I just hope that he keeps coming back for cowboy related films, because I plan on making it my mission to compile the most definitive cowboy/cowboy-like movies ever. And I would also love to see him kick Drew's scrawny yankee ass.