Minister at the church over in Baker asked me to write about queers. Not sure why, ’cause there ain’t any of ’em out here in cowboy country. Maybe he wants everyone to know how we keep ’em away. Tell ya the truth, it ain’t a subject I like talkin’ about at all. I’d sooner think about steers than queers, but here I am writin’ about ’em, so I might as well get to it.
Lonely Cowboy Needs Help
For every woman out here in Eastern Oregon, there are probably a hundred or two rattlers. That’s pretty much the way we cowboys like it, ’cause as far as we’re concerned the rattlers are less dangerous. You get hooked up with one a them viper women and pretty soon yer movin’ into a double-wide and takin’ trips to the Wal-Mart for furniture. And then a kid’s on the way, and you might as well be in the feed lot waitin’ for the slaughter. Yours.
So the faggots come out here from Portland tryin’ to take care of us. We send ’em home with a couple a black eyes, a broken arm, and a few less teeth, and that’s the end of it. If they still don’t get the message, we’ll point to a steer and tell ’em that’s the next step for the likes a-your kind.
But it does get lonely out here on the ranch. Our spread runs damn near a hundred square miles. It’s 75 miles to the nearest town, and there ain’t any whorehouses this side a Nevada. We got our magazines and our Internet and our hands, but all that gets old. So yeah, a buddy will help another buddy out. But that don’t make no one any kinda queer.
We Don’t Talk About It
Yer sitting there with Luke, or Jim, or Dan, watchin’ the favorite man shows like football or bull ridin’ or WWF. So yeah, okay, there are always fellas there with a good strong set a hindquarters on ’em. And maybe Luke, or Jim, or Dan likes lookin’ at one a-them bullriders from the front too.
Far as I’m concerned, lookin’ at ’em from the front is more or less queer, so I don’t ever do it. Some other lonely cowboy does it, fine. Maybe I get up for another shot a whisky. I open the door to get more firewood, and it’s 20 below outside and warm inside. Who wouldn’t get a little stiff?
Always keep some hand cream around to repair things after a long day ridin’ the fence line, so that’ll come in handy if one a-them wants a poke. Long as I’m doin’ the pokin’ I ain’t the queer one. Where I draw the line is at kissin’ a dude, and if he tells me he loves me or somethin’ I pick up my shotgun and cock the hammer and that’s the end of that.
We Ain’t Queer About It
So what I’m sayin’ is that if it happens once, in the middle of the winter, with none a the women around, then no one’s queer. Just don’t talk about it all the time like they do in Portland. Queers are disgustin’ little fruits, but a buddy can help another buddy out. I’m sure Jesus will understand.
If yer over there in Portland or San Francisco, don’t get any ideas. You come out here lookin’ for a queer cowboy and you ain’t gonna find any of ’em. We take care of our own. Now git! There’s work to do, and men to do it with.
Cowboy for Christ