http://www.thedenverchannel.com/news/15 ... etail.html
Reminds me of the satirical song from the sixties. I still have it on a 45 {RPM record, not caliber, Michikids
} somewhere.
He was short and fat, and rode out of the West
With a Mogen David on his silver vest.
He was mean and nasty right clear through,
Which was kinda weird, 'cause he was yellow too.
They called him Irving.
Big Irving.
Big, short Irving.
Big, short, fat Irving.
The hundred and forty-second fastest gun in the West.
He came from the old Bar Mitzvah spread,
With a 10-gallon yarmulke on his head.
He always followed his mother's wishes,
Even on the range he used two sets of dishes.
Irving.
Big, fat Irving.
Big sissy Irving.
The hundred and forty-second fastest gun in the West.
A hundred and forty-one could draw faster than he,
But Irving was looking for one forty-three.
Walked into Sol's Saloon like a man insane,
And ordered three fingers of two cents plain.
Irving.
Big, fat Irving.
Big sport Irving.
The hundred and forty-second fastest gun in the West.
The James Boys was comin' on a train at first sun,
And the town said, "Irving, we need your gun."
When that train pulled in at the break of dawn,
Irving's gun was there, but Irving was gone.
Irving.
Big, fat Irving.
Big help, Irving.
The hundred and forty-second fastest gun in the West.
Well, finally Irving got three slugs in the belly.
It was right outside the Frontier Deli.
He was sittin' there twirlin' his gun around,
And butterfingers Irving gunned himself down!
Irving.
Big, fat Irving.
Big dum-dum Irving.
Big dum-dum dead Irving.
The hundred and forty-second fastest gun in the West.
Really.
I like the concept of armed pilots. I do not understand how a person trained in handling firearms could have this happen, unless ... ^
