“Dang, Kid! I ain’t never in all my days seen it git so windy ‘roun here. Reckon now it’s let up we best check on the Saloon.”

“I shutter ta think what could go wrong.”

“We did shutter it up, didn’t we? Prob’ly fine then, but still, we best saddle up an’ check.”

“Mebbe have a beer while we’re there.”

“Multi-taskin’ like. Aw, shift, Kid, look’t thet. My ‘O’!”

“Think it’s ‘Oh my!’, Pal.”

“No. My ‘O’! It’s blown away! Look’t the Saloon sign. It’s a sal_on. Dang!”

“Well, now Pal, a salon ain’t sech a bad thing. Seen yersef lately? Ya could use a groomin’. Sayin’.”

“Yeah, mebbe so Kid. Reckon I could git a mani-cure?”

“Manny Cure? The fella keeps sheep over ta the Woolly Wild Wanch? Ranch. With his cousin, Paddy?”

“Shush, Kid, but yeah I’d take ma boots off fer a pedi-cure. Best way ta reboot yer feet. Let’s go on in an’ see what kind a salon done blown in on thet wild wind.”

“Hello? Jeez, Pal, would ya look’t this place now.”

“Gall dang. What’s with this mess? The walls is dark blue, an’ there’s all this wiggly-woo nonsense on the ceiling! What’d they do to the saloon?”

“An’ look’t all them fancy bees sewed on the curtains! Pal, I ain’t sure, but we might oughtta jist high-tail it outta this joint— aw, jeez, now who is this?”

“Ahem! Joint? I believe you two… gentlemen are highly mistaken. This is clearly an establishment of intellectual pursuits, and we expect attendees to represent the utmost civility, politeness, and honor. If you two disagree with the content of our discourse, I advise you take a seat and educate yourself prior to babbling insults about this salon being a… a joint.”

“This here’s s’posed to be our saloon, where folks kin relax an’ mebbe git a hard drink, or beer, or I guess a cream soda. Who’re you ta use all them high-falutin’ words?”

“I’m the salonnière, and we only serve flip and syllabubs as respectable refreshments. Those gentlemen already present will gladly escort poltroons such as yourself out the doors if you can neither contribute nor listen respectfully.”

“Who you callin’ poultry? I ain’t chicken! Heck, I’ll set down in yer dang sall-on chairs.”

“Yeah, tell ‘im, Kid!”

“Now that you are seated, we were just listening to a friendly debate concerning the political assertions espoused by Robespierre. Please be quiet while you catch up with the salient points of the debate.”

“Pal… hey, Pal.”

“What’cha whisperin’ ‘bout, Kid?”

“What these loony-tics arguin’ o’er? I reckon robbin’ Pierre ain’t a good idea, even if the feller deserves it.”

“Think this’s some kinda gang? Organized crime?”

“I think we musta just fell inta a passel of trouble—”

“Gentlemen!”

“We warn’t talkin’ none! Jist… jist thinkin’ out loud ‘bout robbin’ Pierre!”

“Yeah! You kin do it right quick if you git ‘im outta the house first.”

“You… it seems as if you wish to stifle our love of liberté, fraternité, and égalité. Are you two royalists?!”

“I reckon’ we’re jist a couple ranch hands. Ain’t got no royal blood in me – you, Kid?”

“Crown Royal Canadian whiskey? Pepe gimme some. Might have a drop or two in me yet.”

“No, like fancy folks in yer genes.”

“Souns kinda personal, there Pal, but I git yer meanin’. Nope, not one drop.”

“You’re evading the question! Royalists – monarchists invading our sanctuary! Ready the guillotine, men!”

“Guillotine!?”

“Holy head baskets, Pal, they sure got mad in a awful hurry! We best run afore it gits worse!”

“But I wanted me a mani-cure. Ain’t we s’posed ta git a manicure?”

“You still talkin’ bout that?! We best be gittin’ out afore they give us the shortest haircuts of our short lives!”

“Whew… that was a close ‘un, Pal.”

“You said it. I ain’t goin’ back ‘lest they fix thet sign.”

“Darn-totin’ ‘bout that. I mean, tootin’. Da-arn tootin’.”

“Ya know Kid, mebbe thet weren’t sech a bad bunch in thet there salon. Freedom, equality, and fraternity… the motto of the French Revolution, come from the Age of Enlightenment. Our country’s foundin’ folk had connections ta France an’ their thinkin’.”

“E pluribus unum. Out a many, one. Puts me in mind a our own great nation, Pal.”

“The U.S. of A?”

“Huh? No, Pal. Buckaroo Nation. Where folks kin come t’gether in a safe place. Kin be part of a collection a diverse writin’ that springs from one prompt.”

“How ‘bout we ask folks this week ta think up or recycle their ideal motto fer the world. An’ a course they kin ask our respected salonnière, H.R.R. Gorman, any questions thet come ta mind regardin’ this here salon. Reckon we can leave off totin’ the ‘O’ back inta place fer a while.”

“Jist hope I take ta flip an’ syllabub.”

“Kid, ya reckon yer frien’ Pepe Legume knows thet Pierre fella?”

“Jeez Pal. So, folks. What’s yer words ta live by? Mine are: ‘Buckaroo Nation, where writers’ work is play’.”

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H.R.R. Gorman is a sophisticated redneck who likes making drugs (biopharmaceuticals – get your minds out of the meth labs) and studying the age of heroic medicine. If you would like to join the salon on a regular basis, you can find more at https://hrrgorman.wordpress.com or follow on Twitter @hrrgorman.

Pal & Kid are free ranging characters who live and work at Carrot Ranch. They never tuck tail, but their tales are corralled as Ranch Yarns at ShiftnShake. If asked, they will deny that they spill from the pen of D. Avery. Please let these yahoos know what you think, and stop in at the Saddle Up anytime for a virtual good time. Contact D. Avery at averydede.1@gmail.com if you or your characters want to saddle up as a saloon guest. 

Next week: Karaoke at the Saddle UP!