Before he knew it, he's bein' yanked towards that glowin' thing, his horse’s gettin' pulled along with him too, and he’s thinkin’ this is the end of it all.
Here at The Cowboy Country Club we don’t concern ourselves with things like “dress code” or “decorum” we just value the important stuff like cold Lone Star and a dang good chicken fried steak at the clubhouse.
Sharp as a mesquite thorn and tough as nails, el coyote doesn’t ask for a seat at the table. It sneaks in, swipes your green chile enchiladas, and vanishes. It runs with ghosts and thrives where nothin' else can. Life in the desert, enchiladas aside.
When you’re lost in the Galactic West, ridin’ a horse named Jupiter in the asteroid belt, a laser-proof sidekick is all you need to stay on the straight and narrow. Fair warning.
Picture yourself sitting on the banks of the beautiful north country of the Río Grande: crisp mountain air, cold Lone Stars in the cooler, the perfect fly on your line.
Picture yourself on the banks of the Río Grande: crisp mountain air, cold Lone Stars in the cooler, the perfect fly on your line. This is the dream. But there's only one thing that can make it better— that first take from La Trucha Del Norte!
Different mother, still my brother. Six shooters and samurai swords? It’s all basically the same. Underneath it all, we’re just two old souls searchin’ for our next cold one.
It ain’t a deer, it ain’t a moose, and it sure isn’t your imagination. It is El Fantasma del Bosque—a shadow with antlers, slipping through the trees. You won’t hear it or see it, but rest assured—it just saw you. Or... maybe it was your imagination?
Heart beating heavy in your ears, the unmistakable smell of fuel and burning rubber (perhaps some manure), this is the race of a lifetime. Everything has built to this moment, this quarter mile. Ya better be ready. On yer marks, get set, GIDDY UP!
It ain’t a buckin’ bronco… it’s a steel stallion! With a hydraulic kick and a mean setta horns, this sucker is low, loud, and liable to send your hat flyin’.
The main event, tonight at Arena Los Senderos. Jefe defends his title against the underdog: the Conejo Kid. Seniors get in free. Kids are half priced. Buckets of beer are ten pesos till we sell out.
When you’re lost in the Galactic West, ridin’ a horse named Jupiter in the asteroid belt, a laserproof sidekick is all you need to stay on the straight and narrow. Fair warning.
Look, ‘possums might not win any beauty pageants, but they’ve got one helluva survival instinct—kinda like your uncle who somehow keeps getting free refills in that same styrofoam cup at the corner store.
It ain’t majestic, it ain’t graceful, and it definitely ain’t for good eatin’—but you can’t look at one without crackin’ a grin. Just a lil’ round fella standin’ around, judgin’ the world, and lookin’ mildly concerned about everything.
