13 thoughts on “Igor, Nemo, Elmo, Bearclaw, Tree Mike, Gryphon and Judy chucking down and wondering where the beer is…”
Mine’s A&W, but… yeah, where is the beer, anyway?
Ain’t no beer! We got cattle to wrangle! There is, however, plenty of coffee. Once the job is done and you been paid, the saloon is in town, sandwiched between the Methodist and Baptist churches, and around the corner is whatever other denomination sprang up. Save me a spot at the bar and I’ll have a sarsaparilla.
Don’t forget to wash your hands before you belly up to the bar-b-q. After all, you’ve been tickling calf testicles all morning.
I know where where the beer is. I drank it. Well not it, them (and no that’s not woke pronoun).
And not a fat’un among’em.
No beer!?! Well…OK, I can do anything…for awhile.
Fuck that. I have worked cattle on my cousins ranch in 100 degree heat with my brother while in our twenties.
I will stay at the saloon from now on till the work is done. Most people think it’s a glorious life. My Dad was born on that land, grew up cowboy, and my brother got the cowboy gene. He is a banker, ha.
Dad put himself through college.
It is a glorious life… if the land you run cattle on is paid for, if it’s in a beautiful place away from people and if you enjoy hard work.
I took great satisfaction in having 30,000 pounds of beef on the hoof head out our front gate on its way to market every year. But unfortunately, it’s a young man’s sport and I can’t do it anymore.
Man o’man you got me there b’yotch!
My neighbor (a distributor), gave me five cases on Thanksgiving. I’ve been playing Santee Claus, and spreading Christmas cheer!
Blessings be upon you Elmo for paying it forward.
My Horse doesn’t like Beer, so I’ll pass.
That is strange, most horses I was familiar with loved beer. I had a riding mule and she loved beer and would try to steal a bottle from me if I was drinking it.
Yeah, that’s what I’ve been told… ‘Hobbes’ is a Dutch Warmblood, 19 Hands and maybe 2100 Pounds, Lazy, but extremely Friendly, like a Dog… at least he doesn’t Jump Up on me. When I first got him, and started taking care of about 15 retired Polo Ponies 5 Years ago, one Friday Evening I was Grilling Dinner next to the Fence, having a Beer, and he came over to see me. I got a Clean Pail and a 6-Pack of Guinness, and let him try it- he drank some, and then Snorted and knocked over the Pail.
Now, Carrots? He goes after a bag of Carrots like Hunter Biden does a Kilo of Coke.
Mine’s A&W, but… yeah, where is the beer, anyway?
Ain’t no beer! We got cattle to wrangle! There is, however, plenty of coffee. Once the job is done and you been paid, the saloon is in town, sandwiched between the Methodist and Baptist churches, and around the corner is whatever other denomination sprang up. Save me a spot at the bar and I’ll have a sarsaparilla.
Don’t forget to wash your hands before you belly up to the bar-b-q. After all, you’ve been tickling calf testicles all morning.
I know where where the beer is. I drank it. Well not it, them (and no that’s not woke pronoun).
And not a fat’un among’em.
No beer!?! Well…OK, I can do anything…for awhile.
Fuck that. I have worked cattle on my cousins ranch in 100 degree heat with my brother while in our twenties.
I will stay at the saloon from now on till the work is done. Most people think it’s a glorious life. My Dad was born on that land, grew up cowboy, and my brother got the cowboy gene. He is a banker, ha.
Dad put himself through college.
It is a glorious life… if the land you run cattle on is paid for, if it’s in a beautiful place away from people and if you enjoy hard work.
I took great satisfaction in having 30,000 pounds of beef on the hoof head out our front gate on its way to market every year. But unfortunately, it’s a young man’s sport and I can’t do it anymore.
Man o’man you got me there b’yotch!
My neighbor (a distributor), gave me five cases on Thanksgiving. I’ve been playing Santee Claus, and spreading Christmas cheer!
Blessings be upon you Elmo for paying it forward.
My Horse doesn’t like Beer, so I’ll pass.
That is strange, most horses I was familiar with loved beer. I had a riding mule and she loved beer and would try to steal a bottle from me if I was drinking it.
Yeah, that’s what I’ve been told… ‘Hobbes’ is a Dutch Warmblood, 19 Hands and maybe 2100 Pounds, Lazy, but extremely Friendly, like a Dog… at least he doesn’t Jump Up on me. When I first got him, and started taking care of about 15 retired Polo Ponies 5 Years ago, one Friday Evening I was Grilling Dinner next to the Fence, having a Beer, and he came over to see me. I got a Clean Pail and a 6-Pack of Guinness, and let him try it- he drank some, and then Snorted and knocked over the Pail.
Now, Carrots? He goes after a bag of Carrots like Hunter Biden does a Kilo of Coke.