The Legend: How Shooter won and lost the West

Now listen here y'all to a great story passed down the ages for just one hundred of years by our forefathers... and Shooter's four fathers (for he shot the first three dead). Yonder Shooter was one of the greatest rapscallions ever to blaze the saddles of the west in the ever-popular 1800s. Born in the year of his Lord, 1833, Shooter popped out of the womb like a lead bullet out of a six-shooter, quickly earning him the nickname "Sixshooter" McGee.

Landing himself in the wildest of all wildernesses, young Shooter dedicated his life to winning the West... and winning the West certainly was what Shooter did. At the young age of 23, Shooter put the 'em in shoot 'em up when he historically shot all of 'em up at the Branster's Pickle, one of VH1's top 25 "Rock and Roll Gunfights of the 1800s."

Just when Shooter thought that things were going great for him, they suddenly got better. Whilst out huntin' and gatherin' varmint, Shooter stumbled across the finest steed in all the land. With his rock hard hooves and a body as hard as wood, this steed knew at once that only Shooter was worthy of his ride... but Shooter disagreed. See, Shooter saw things the other way around. Only this steed was worthy of being ridden by Shooter.

Since these two thoughts were pretty similar and neither Shooter nor the steed was the brightest candle in the candlemaker's dozen (which is 11 candles), they partenered up. Here you can plainly see the buckin' and cluckin' good times they had together. Shooter affectionately named his steed Saddlebags McBucker, because even though the horse never wore Saddlebags, his father's last name was still McBucker.

Shooter and Saddlebags had a rootin' tootin' good time together, but Shooter knew that he needed something more, a purdy young lady with which to enjoy all his shootin' and lootin'. He found none other than the young Peggy BcBomber. Peggy wore a belt-buckle the size of her fist, and she could blow up a BcBomb like a regular BcBomber, which she was. Too bad for Shooter, he was too foolhardy to see that Peggy would cost him the West.

You see, soon after his marriage, Shooter became obsessed with Saddlebags. They joined the Highcollar gang, and soon the two were shooting up the town on a daily basis. And when they weren't shootin', Shooter was always out at all hours of the night pokerin', boozin', and snoozin'. It wouldn't be long before Peggy put her foot down, wanting Saddlebags out of the picture.

Finally, after push had already come to shove, shove came to gunfight. Shooter and Peggy pulled out their sixshooters at the Cancel Corral, and proceeded to enact the gunfight at the Cancel Corral. Peggy knew the odds were slim, but she recklessly entered the gunfight. According to plan and prophecy, Shooter shot the gun out of her hand and took Saddlebags for his own.

Peggy was devastated. She now knew that she had to not only get out of Dodge, but she also had to leave the West. She had tried to lasso the wildest buckaneer of all, Shooter McGee, and she had failed like Peggy BcBomber in the gunfight at the Cancel Corral, which shamefully was also her doing. And like that, Peggy was gone like the Injuns after Shooter shot 'em.

So Shooter tipped his cap to the West... and also to the Best, himself. But Shooter did not realize that Peggy had left an awfully big chink in his armor, not to mention a chip on his shoulder. Shooter wasn't quite the same. His glare was gone, and his sixshooter had been damaged, rendering it a fiveshooter that sometimes came up short. Soon Shooter lost control of the Highcollar gang to no other ruffian than Highcollar McFarley himself.

Now there aren't any pictures to show what finally happened to Shooter, because cameras weren't invented yet, but Shooter was finally offed by the most serious nasty of all... Badass McBadass. With his badass ways of shootin' and shootin'-'em-up, McBadass ended Shooter's reign when he offed Saddlebags, alongside old McGee's childhood hopes and dreams.

So Shooter had the first laugh, but not the last. The West and its ways were left to waste away, soon becoming little more than a joke for non-gun-totin' panzyboys too stupid to defend themselves with the six-shootin' gunpowder-blowin' ways of the good ol' West.