[Wild West accent]
From the not-so-dusty plains of Indiana rides a steely-eyed pale-face with true grit -- a salt-of-the-Earth loaner able to stare down the cold, cold, barrel of a bonafide hand-cannon - without even fartin'. Yessirre, folks... we got ourselves a jen-you-wine cowboy right here. Wyatt Earp, hisself, woulda told that outlaw to skin that smoke-wagon and go to work. But The Cowboy? Nosir... he held his ground, silent as the grave -- cupped his huevos with one hand, held the other betwixt a can of Skoal t'backy and the sweet settin' sun. He snorted summa DC's finest from the back of his throat and spat a wad of defiance right upon the ground.
[/Wild West accent]
Glad you're still here, Markie.