HALLOWEEN TRAUMA (Part 2)

Here’s why mother’s shouldn’t let their sons grow up to be cowboys, or should I say dress them to be cowboys? Look! Just look at my outfit! Oh sure, at the time I was smiling. Wouldn’t you?—I’d just opened a present, the camera was pointed at me. But I think my smile was forced. Or at least I’m now wishing it were forced. I’m pretty sure I wanted to be a cowboy. A Clint Eastwood type of cowboy, not a Gene Autry type of cowboy! Not to be disrespectful, Mr. Autry did serve in World War II, but I’m not a musical type of guy. What happened to A Fistful of Dollars (1964), For a Few Dollars More (1965), The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly (1966), Hang’em High (1968), and The Outlaw of Josie Wales (1976)? I know, the last one was seven years after this photo, but so what—these were spaghetti westerns filmed in Italy and no one complained.

Now the complaints. Where’s my gun holster? Where’s my six-shooter? I’ll tell you where—there isn’t any! I had a guitar instead. I’m posing with it in another picture. My brother’s by my side. Guess what he is? A damned Indian Chief with complete headdress. Tons of feathers too. What was I to do? Shoot him with my six-stringer? Sing him to death?

So there you have it—another Halloween trauma. Like a Rhinestone Cowboy. Hell, I’d rather be in West World, a Malfunctioning Robot Cowboy, not a Village People “YMCA” Cowboy. I think you understand—a Macho Macho Man type of Cowboy! Or do you think I’m confused?