Be Excellent To Each Other

He shot a man with a gun!!

Don't be so presumptious. It was the motivation for his act of redemption.

I think we're going round in circles here, but it's a testament to how absorbing the game was that you'd want to (wrongly) overlay Jack's adult persona with your own (wrong) backstory filling in the years you never saw.

I've re-read your previous post and can't see any other way that the words could be interpreted.

Except that I agree with Dim and think you've totally missed the point of the last quarter of the game. And also the meaning of the word 'redemption'.

Indeed. The point missed so spectacularly that he's killed the judge standing behind him at the archery contest.

I disagree completely and totally with your assessment of the events, the motives and morals behind them.

Also what Craster said.

I agree with that, even.

Not disagree.

Just to be clear.

To you.

Ian.

Hugs and kisses,

Dimrill.

Kept me entertained this afternoon anyway. Whoop!

Um, I also agree with Dimrill and Craster.

I tried out Red Dead Redemption: Undead Nightmare a few days ago, and it is bloody good fun.

Have a gander at my hands-on preview, if ya wanna.

For those who can't be bothered reading my report, he's the gist of my opinion:



It plays things completely straight, but still manages to be very funny.

I'm really enjoying it so far.

So here I am, jumping in to the fifteenth page of comments

Loving RDR to death, although I'm not a GTA fan. Only about half-way through Mexico so I've got loads still to go. The problem is I'm easily distracted and there's just too many ace things to wander off and do instead of what I'm supposed to be doing :*)

John

I have no idea what I'm meant to be doing, but herding the cows was fun (a bit like Firefly) and Liar's Dice is a fun game. People keep shooting me, though, which kinda sucks. How do I break horses?

Throw them out of church windows.

You need to lasoo the one you like the look off then pull it towards you, mount it and then hold on (use the controls to balance) as it tries to throw you. I think that you then need to go and hitch it so that it becomes yours.

I'm not sure whether I've described RDR or a night out in Newport

I bought a game of liars dice when I went to America for 10 bucks, which is a fair bit for what is essentially 20 dice and 4 plastic cups. Its a much better game against real people rather than the predictable AI.

I played it when I got it and then drifted away from it so I think I've made even less progress than you! I should really try and finish it. Been playing Dead Space when I want a single player game but that's far too scary to play when I'm home alone

DLC disc on its way - who'd have seen that coming?

Finished the DLC campaign and it was brilliant.

More of the same, for sure (missions, side quests, challenges etc), but with great (and en zogue) spin on the original game.

Will it be worth it on a CD? Probably not, but for 800msp, I don't think you can go far wrong. My counter said I'd been playing for 8 hours although I did stick around to do some of the grindy missions and challenges before I rushed off and completed the campaign.

For those people who got through Red Dead till the end, the ending of Undead Nightmare will bring a wry smile to even the hardened gamers face.

Bloody Zombie horses are real pain in the arse though. Interesting game mechanic there by the way: zombie horses pull to the left and right randomly every couple of seconds... not irritating at all. So if you kill your horse and snag another (alive) one, remember that if you want to keep it you've got tie it up outside a shop before it's yours. Otherwise you'll keep whistling the shit dead ones.

THE CONTINUING ADVENTURES OF DIRTY DAN PISTER

A fan fiction

The sun blazed high over the streets of Blackwater. The train bound for Armadillo was pulling out of the station, hauling a mixed consist of passengers, mail and goods from the east, fresh off the dock. A well-dressed gentleman and a lady in a fine dress emerged from the movie house and walked down the street. As a Model T rumbled past on the rough cobbles, the lady raised her parasol as protection from the harsh sun. Her companion tipped his hat to a police officer standing on the corner, who returned a respectful nod. A paperboy sorted through his fresh bundle of papers, all bearing headlines regarding the Great War in Europe. From an apartment window above, the sound of Billy Murray singing "Waltz Me Around Again Willie" crackled from an Edison Cylinder.

Over the sound of hooves, combustion engines and steam, a more urgent, fast sound could be heard. A horse at gallop had passed the city limits and was now resonating loudly onto the cobbles. It was Dirty Dan Pister. Dirty Dan was a known gunfighter, gambled and drinker - his exploits on both sides of the law had won him respect if not always of the positive sort. Folks turned to look as he thundered down the street towards the saloon. Reaching into his belt, Dan pulled out a knife. Grasping it by the blade, he swung his arm high and threw the knife directly into the back of his horse's head. With a strangled whinny the beast crumpled to the ground, though its momentum carried it forward. It slid to a stop directly outside the saloon entrance. Retrieving the knife and wiping it clean on the horse's mane, Dan casually stood up and walked into the saloon.

"What'll it be, Mr Pister, sir?," asked the greasy haired old barman.
"Bourbon," Dirty Dan nodded.

The barman filled a glass with bourbon and, knowing his customer, left the bottle. Spitting with unerring accuracy into the spitoon, Dan slammed back the glass of liquor and poured himself another. Other customers visibly relaxed and resumed their conversations or card games.

Dan's entrance had been noted by many. The paper boy had dropped his stack of papers and had raced over to the saloon. High of aspirations, he dreamed of writing the papers, not just selling them. Securing an interview with Dirty Dan, where that experience journalist had painfully failed, would surely secure him a place in the newspaper office. He'd be far from the dusty train station platform where he shouted himself hoarse trying to sell bad news to disinterested travellers.

Smoothing his hair back before replacing his cap, the paper boy stode as confidently into the saloon as he could, unnoticed by the patrons. Sidling up to Dirty Dan, he confidently ordered a 'rotgut'. Raising an eyebrow, the barman took a smeared bottle from under the counter and poured some of the contents into a cracked glass. Steadying himself, the paper boy eyed up his glass before seizing it and throwing it back in one. A feeling of intense revulsion and illness seized his throat, stomach and tongue and he staggered backwards from the bar, coughing. The barman, anticipating this, had already replaced the bottle under the bar. Another would not be needed.

"Very smooth," croaked the paper boy to Dan, who glanced at him out of the corner of his eye before drinking another bourbon.

Regaining most of his voice, the paper boy continued: "I heard about you sorting out them Bollard Gang members in Armadillo, Mister Pister."

Dan bristled slightly but carried on drinking, staring straight ahead.

"Even Marshal Johnson was impressed and left you on your way in spite of the price on your head. However did you do it, Mister Pister, sir?"

Dan shuddered and set his glass down heavily. A wet squelch, audible to the whole saloon, emitted from the seat of the paper boy's pants. Swivelling his broad shoulders, Dirty Dan faced the paper boy.

"Shut up, kid."

As the paper boy trembled, Dan seized him by the back of the collar and lifted him off the floor. Spinning him around and grasping the back of his jacket (avoiding his soiled pants) Dan easily hefted him towards the window.

The ironwork holding the glass had been ordered as extra strong by the barman, so the paper boy merely collided heavily with it and crashed to the floor. Bile leaked from his mouth and liquid feces dribbled from his pant legs. At that moment, Wayne Daniels entered the saloon accompanied by two friends. All were sweaty and unwashed, as cattle rustlers often were. In spite of enjoying all the benefits of 20th century science, Blackwater remained only a short ride from the rough and tumble world of the frontier, and comfortable city life was occasionally intruded upon by frontier business.

"Dirty Dan," said Wayne. Several patrons got up and left. Dan looked at Wayne before turning back to his drink.

"You and me are gonna have words, man," continued Wayne. "I know what you did to my sister. She told me. Now, that ain't right."

Dan didn't visibly react.

"You might think you know about romancin', and makin' sure a lady's satisfied, but you're about to find out what we do to a man who goes around buggering women."

The entire saloon was quiet. One of the prostitutes by the stairs smirked and raised an eyebrow in approval at Dan's practices and gently nudged her fellow, who urged her to keep quiet.

"Now," said Wayne, advanced up to Dan's side, "we're done gonna see how..."

In a flash, Dan punched Wayne hard in the stomach, grabbed him by the hair and brought his neck down hard on the paper boy's cracked shotglass. The material cracked and a forceful downward blow drove the shards into Wayne's neck. Managing to right himself, he staggered backwards as blood began to spray from his pierced arteries. Gurgling, he staggered backwards and fell onto a table, done for. His cronies gaped in shock, before reaching for their guns. That was all the time Dan needed to draw his throwing knife and hurl it into the first man's open mouth. Piercing the back of his throat and spine, the sheer force of the throw pinned him against the wall where he twitched and spluttered. Leaping, Dan grabbed his lapels and held on tight, his weight pulling the man downwards as the knife cut a huge gouge in his head. Swinging his right leg, Dan caught the second rustler who'd managed to clear leather. He tumbled backwards, knocked over bar stools as he fell. Dan grabbed his gun arm, and forced the man's own gun into his mouth. Pressing down on the trigger, he aided the man in firing all six bullets through the top of his own head.

Fishing through the rustler's pockets, Dan found three crumpled dollar bills which he slapped on the bar as payment for his drinks. He turned to the man still impaled on the wall by his long throwing knife and retrieved it. The body slumped to the ground, landing atop the paper boy who was thumped back into consciousness by the impact.

"Write about that, you pants-shitting fruit," muttered Dan as he strode out the door.

TO BE CONTINUEDED!

THE CONTINUING ADVENTURES OF DIRTY DAN PISTER

PART THE NEXT

"They say, it's the way things are going, Dan."

Dirty Dan Pister examined the weapon skeptically.

"The army's taken them as their standard pistol, they reckon after the Philippines they need the added punch."

Dan let the clip slide out, peered at it, and slid it back into the handle, pulling on the slider.

"Clips, military thing, they expect everyday folks to carry these things around?," said Dan, finally.
"Beats loading each chamber one at a time," replied the gunshop owner.
"If you can't make each shot count, don't go starting trouble."
"I know, Dan, you turned down my speed loaders too."

Dan handed the Colt 1911 back to the gunshop owner.

"Hasn't convinced me," he growled. The owner nodded, placing the weapon back on the rack. Dan paid for his box of rounds, removing them from the box and slotting them into his gunbelt.

Out on the street, he crumpled the box and threw it atop a nearby barrel. Across the way, two men were swearing themselves blue in the face at a Brockway delivery truck. Having made their run to the general store here in Armadillo, they were unable to restart their engine to make the return trip to Blackwater. A farmer passed on his wagon, giving them a friendly 'Afternoon!,' before snapping the reins and urging his horses to speed towards the edge of town. The delivery drivers angrily watched him disappear in a cloud of dust.

"Find a telephone!," shouted one to the other.

Dirty Dan walked across the dusty road and into the saloon. Bottle of whiskey in hand, he flopped into a chair and set them out in front of him. Lighting a cigarillo, he settled back and relaxed. The pianist was on his break. Two Bollard gang members kept a respectful distance from Dan's table. From upstairs, a prostitute emerged and came down the stairs, her large chest jubbling uncomfortably beneath her corset. She grimaced and adjusted it as best she could, before taking up a leisurely position against the bannister.

Sipping his drink, Dan noticed Garrett Comstock enter the saloon. Ordering at the bar, Garrett noticed Dan, collected his drink and came over.

"Dan."
"Garrett."
"Heard about Wayne Daniels."
"Imbecile. His sister moaned in ecstasy when I was with her."
"Indeed. But she could barely walk the day after. The chores on the farm went untouched."
"Not worth throwing your life away over."

Garrett tossed back his drink.

"In any event, there's problems, Dan." He reached tentatively for Dan's whiskey bottle. Dan nodded. Garrett refilled his glass.

"Word is someone's looking for you on account of what happened in the saloon."
"Daniels was small time. His so-called 'gang' died along with him."
"Not Daniels. 'Dead Moose' Baley."
"Who in the hell is 'Dead Moose' Baley?"
"'Dead Moose' Baley is the older brother of a newspaper boy in Blackwater," said Garrett, drinking some whiskey. Dan winced.
"You ain't serious."
"I am. Word is he's comin' in from the the West to see you about what you did to his brother."
"Bullshit."
"Dan, I got word from a telegraph operator I know in Benedict Point. His train is runnin' late there and this Dead Moose fella was looking for transport to get here sooner rather than later."
"Let him come."
"He's armed to the teeth."

Dan took a long drag on his cigarillo and blew it into Garrett's face. Garrett didn't flinch.

"Fine," said Dan. "What are you saying to me?"
"Listen, I know a trapper's cabin up north in the mountains. Head up there, hide out for a few days. Wait until the heat's off...," Garrett paused to raise his glass, but continued, "...both from the law and this Baley fella."

Garrett held out a tattered map. Dan accepted it, finished the rest of his drink and left the saloon.

The following day, Dan withdrew the knife from his horse's neck and walked up to the door of the cabin. Snowshoes and travois hung from hooks on the outside. As Garrett had described, a small hole beneath a rock by the front door concealed a key. Dan opened the door and stepped inside. It wasn't fur hunting season, so the place was abandoned. A bed stood in one corner, with a large table opposite. The floor had a well-worn bearskin rug. Dan returned outside, gathered from firewood from the pile stacked against the side of the house, and lit the fire. Lighting a cigarillo, he put his feet up on the table and blew a smoke ring into the air.

Late that evening, Dan went outside, as the cabin was not provided with a latrine. Having concluded his business, he surveyed the scene and happened to catch sight of a rider, silhouetted against the sunset. This cabin was too far from the roads for it to be a coincidence. It had to be 'Dead Moose' Baley. The how and why of the vengeful man would have to come later. Dan retreated inside the cabin, closed the door and checked his weapons. Snuffing the fire was pointless, the rider would have already seen the smoke. Crouching in the corner, Dan avoided the windows and waited.

"Hello the house!," came a voice. Dan edged forwards to peer out the window. There was suddenly a colossal explosion and he was thrown forward, landing beside the bed. The wall and fireplace began to crumble. Dan picked himself up and scrambled out the door, flattening himself against the wall. He felt it shift as the rear of the cabin collapsed from the damage. TNT, Dan thought.

"Dirty Dan Pister!," came the voice again. "Come on out here and let's discuss this. Unless you done shit your pants like some Kansas City fruit!"

Dan peered around the corner and saw a silhouetted figure standing on the ridge behind the house. Immediately a repeater bullet slammed into the log wall of the cabin.

"So yer alive! I'm giving you one chance to surrender before I come after you," jeered the voice. It was 'Dead Moose' Baley, all right. If he was throwing TNT, he was indeed armed to the teeth.

Dan bolted to the other side of the house, raced out and jumped for some rocks as Baley opened fire again. Revolver out, Dan returned fire.

"Have it your way, Pister," called Baley. Dan saw him readying TNT for another throw and went to run. He slipped on the wet ground and fell, exposed and in plain sight of his assailant.

"You had your chance!," Baley said, returning the stick of TNT to his belt and raising his repeater. Dan lay helpless, death was imminent. He scowled at the frustration of it all, to be killed by this trumped up pissant.

Baley took aim, when a sandy brown blur flashed across him. Yelping with surprise, he discharged the weapon into the air. He landed heavily on the ground, the repeater knocked from his grasp by the weight of the cougar.

Dan got to his feet and ran up onto the ridge, revolver ready.

Baley struggled as the cougar snarled and drooled onto his face. Eyes wild, he managed to slam both his fists into the side of its head, knocking it away. Rolling over, he scrambled forward, grasping for the repeater. An intense pain in his ankle caused him to fall forward. The cougar was biting him. He felt his ankle break and shouted in pain. Straining forward, he managed to grab the butt of the repeater and tried to bring it to bear. He rolled onto his back just as the cougar lunged forward and sank its teeth into his face. Baley beat desperately against the side of the cougar's head with the repeater, unable to fire it. The cougar sunk its fangs deeper and raised its head, tearing Baley's face off. Baley died instantly of shock.

As Dan watched in horror, the cougar swallowed Baley's face whole and began chewing a hole in his chest, ripping up red stringy flesh. Mesmerized by the scene, Dan failed to notice other cougars that had emerged from the trees, passing around him, joining the feeding. Cautiously, Dan backed away as he heard the tearing of flesh and crunch of bone as the cougars devoured the corpse of 'Dead Moose' Baley.

Baley had tied his horse a respectable distance away, unnoticed by the cougars who had been drawn instead by the commotion at the cabin. Quickly untying it, Dan mounted and rode, not daring look back.


The friendly Canadian shopkeeper in Manzanita offered a good payment for Baley's horse, not asking any questions. Dan went over to the train station and waited for the next train back to civilization.

"Stalemate in Europe! Great war unlikely to be over by Christmas!," called a paper boy.

Dan fixed him with a withering glare, and advanced slowly. He reached for his belt. The boy began quivering.

"Gimme one, kid," growled Dan, pulling a penny from his pocket.

THE END

Not enough Boar.

Too competent. Needs more sudden unexplained happenings and grammatical errors.

Also: Poorly written sex scenes. And Boar.

I forgot about the boar! Perhaps in a future installment.

I tried to find the original Dirty Dan story that captivated Dave so, but while the page linking them was there, the actual stories were gone.

You appear to have typed "appalled" incorrectly

NEW FAN FICTION! NOW WITH SEX SCENES AND ALSO BOARS (no boar sex scenes, though)

DIRTY DAN PISTER MEETS PIG JOSH AND THE FAT MEXICAN

Bang. A small cloud of sand erupted from the ground where the bullet struck.

Another bang, and another small cloud.

"What in the hell are you doing?"
"Shooting ants," replyed Dirty Dan Pister.

Following his recent entanglement with 'Dead Moose' Baley, Dirty Dan had decided to try honest, gainful employment again. However, guarding these oil derricks wasn't that exciting, and the slow, unceasing clank of the pumpjacks was driving him over the edge.

"Well, you've earned your daily dollar. You head on back to Armadillo when you're ready to go."

The foreman left. Dan raised his pistol and fired a final shot. The bullet entered the unfortunate ant's rectum and would have exploded out its mouth had the ant not been disintegrated by the impact. Dan stood up, reloading and holstering his gun. He strode over to the storage tanks, where a tanker truck was filling up with oil. It'd drop him off in Armadillo while it was unloading its cargo at the train station.


"Aaaah… oooh… eeeh… aaaah"

Dan merely grunted in response.

"Aaah… Yo--- aaaaah… eee… f… our…. olllars… aaah… extrra!," stammered out the prostitute as Dan's thick, veiny cock hammered into her ass. Sweat poured down his face as he let out a deep, guttural snarl and rammed his manhood in up to the spuds. The prostitute felt a huge, hot torrent erupt deep in her bowel.

Dan withdrew with an audible glop. Casually wiping his cock on the drapes, he dressed, smoothed his moustache and laid five dollars on the nightstand. The prostitute still lay bent forward and bug-eyed, hindquarters in the air as thick grey semen issued from her twitching anus.

Emerging from the bedrooms, he walked down the stairs into the main area of the Armadillo saloon and sat at an empty table.

Several shots of whiskey later, a bald, gross man with an enormous dirty beard entered the room. Shirtless, exposing a flabby but powerful and hairy torso. Sticks of dynamite were tucked into his gunbelt. Two more were strapped to the sides of his head. Behind him followed a short, portly Mexican in a tattered sombrero and dusty clothes. A thick layer of filth coated every inch of him, and two beady eyes peered beneath bushy eyebrowns and above an even bushier moustache.

Spotting Dan, the fat shirtless man clomped over to his table.

"Dirty Dan," he burbled.
"Well well, if it isn't Pig Josh. Pull up a chair."

Pig Josh sat down heavily, and gestured to his unwashed companion to join them.

"This here is Antonio, the Fat Mexican," said Pig Josh, brushing unimaginable grime out of his beard. "We got a business proposition for you."

"Honest or otherwse?," Dan asked.

Pig Josh merely belched throatily in response. Antonio the Fat Mexican didn't say a word. On the balcony above, a prostitute helped steady Dan's last conquest as she walked, bow legged, down the stairs and out to the general store for some ointment.

"Plan is we go raidin' along the river," said Pig Josh at last. "They won't be expectin' it, and if it all goes wrong we can just go back onto the US side."

"Wait, raiding Mexico?," asked Dan.

"Yup, the Fat Mexican here done scouted out some camps and settlements along the way, we go down and rob 'em before they knew what hit 'em."

The Fat Mexican merely swigged from his tequila bottle. Dan was having trouble seeing the man's eyes.

"How we gonna get down the river? I don't have a boat," said Dan.

"Neither do I," said Josh, "we'll need to buy one. I know an outlaw down in Thieves Landing, he can fix us up with one."

"And how are we gonna pay this feller?"

"We… er. Ah. We're gonna need to make some money."

Dan stood to leave.

"Sorry Josh," he said, "guardin' oil fields won't pay for no boat until I'm at least 200 years old. This isn't gonna work unless we get money faster."

The Fat Mexican whispered furiously in Pig Josh's encrusted ear. Josh grinned.

"Our associate here reminds me you still have access to a huntin' cabin. Fur and meat will pay pretty good."

"I'm not keen on ever going back there after what happened last time," sighed Dan.

"Quit bellyaching," Josh snapped, "you want to spent the rest of your life guarding oil, you ain't the real Dirty Dan Pister."


A few minutes later and Dan, together with Pig Josh and The Fat Mexican, emerged from the saloon. Dan downed the last of his bottle, hurled it into the dust of the street and for no reason punched a nearby cowpoke's lights out.

"Mount up," said Dan.

Josh mounted his horse and called, "Follow me!"

"Hee-yaahhh, Winking Anus, let's go" shouted Josh and the three men galloped out of town.

-----

Dan sat, cleaning his pistol. They'd found good hunting grounds not far from the cabin, rich with bears and wild boar.

Nearby, the Fat Mexican leapt from a bush at a passing boar, blasting its face off with both barrels of his shotgun. Another boar ran to avenge its mate but was met with a huge, hairy fist to the side of its head that crushed its skull instantly. Pig Josh straightened and kissed his meaty knuckles affectionately.

Out of the corner of his eye, Dan caught sight of the loping shape of a bear. Lurching to his feet he called to his companions: "BEAR!"

In the blink of an eye, the Fat Mexican produced a tomahawk and hurled it. The heavy weapon embedded itself in the bear's forehead and the mighty beast crumbled to the ground with a low moan. Nearby, pig-like squealing could be heard. Pig Josh grinned, cracked his knuckles and raced off in pursuit.

Dan helped the Fat Mexican skin the bear and load its heavy hide into the back of their 'borrowed' wagon. A boar raced past, followed closely by Pig Josh who was landing heavy blows on its flanks. Dan nodded to the Fat Mexican, who grinned back but remained otherwise inscrutable.

Several loud thumps later and Pig Josh returned with the comatose boar slung over his shoulders like a mink stole. As he neared the wagon, the boar regained consciousness and began to struggle. Josh swung it downwards by the hind legs, its head colliding severely with the side of the wagon. A crunch was heard and the boar was still, its head twisted at an awkward angle. Josh easily hefted it up into the wagon atop the pile of carcasses.

"I reckon we've got enough."

----

Sickly clouds of fog rolled past as the wagon stopped outside a warehouse on the waterfront in Thieves' Landing. Electric lights swung in the gloom, their glow barely cutting through. Josh jumped down and pounded on the door.

"Who's there?" a monotone voice answered.

"It's me, let me in!," bellowed Josh.

Half a dozen locks were released and the doors swung wide to admit the wagon.

Inside, Dan climbed down to see a large bearded man. He was bald, had twin braids in his beard and… was the spitting image of Pig Josh.

"What… what's your name, friend?" asked Dan curiously.

"This here's my brother, Boring Josh," responded Pig Josh.

"Hello," droned Boring Josh.

"We all set?" asked Pig Josh.

"He is in the back," his brother answered flatly.

A muscular, wild-eyed man emerged from the office. He began cackling with delight and scurried over towards his new guests. He was clad in a very heavy coat and a metal helmet with a sloped back. Dan surveyed him skeptically.

"You're here, you're here, come right this way please!," the man stammered out between giggles. He led them towards the far end of the warehouse, where another set of large doors opened out onto docks and the river.

"So where's this bo… huh?," said Dan. He turned to see the strange man, now almost deranged with giggly delight, furiously stroking the wagon horse's nose. He skipped around behind, pulled out a stick of TNT and rammed it forcefully up the horse's anus. The horse whinnied in shock, as the man pulled out a match and lit the fuse.

"Hee hee! HEE HEE HEE!," he enthused as he ran clear. With a mighty explosion the horse exploded into chunks, hurling pieces of red dripping meat in all directions.

"What in the hell?" shouted Dan as the man rejoined them, grinning from ear to ear.

"This is our outlaw fella," said Pig Josh, "The Horse Exploding Fireman."

"Hello! Hee hee!," chuckled the man, before dashing off onto the docks.

"He was in a fire department out east until they fired him for blowing up the department horses. He came out here to escape the law," whispered Josh.

Out on the docks, The Horse Exploding Fireman presented them with a makeshift raft… old planks and barrels nailed together. A large mast of sorts pointed to a previous life as a ferry somewhere.

"That's it?," demanded Pig Josh.

"Not fur season yet!," responded The Horse Exploding Fireman, "no demand, prices low."

Boring Josh emerged from the warehouse with some crates of ammunition began loading them onto the raft.

-----

"This is a terrible idea." grumbled Dirty Dan Pister.

The raft drifted slowly downstream. Pig Josh steered using a makeshift rudder. The Fat Mexican sat idling picking at his fingernails with a long hunting knife.

"You got anything better in your oil pipeline?," laughed Pig Josh. Dan walked over to him.

"Hell yes, I do, I got plenty of ideas to make me rich."

He fished in a pocket, and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper.

"I figure, city folks out east with too much money'll buy any 'ole dumb thing these days, if you market it as a modern con-veen-ee-ence. Lookit them automatic clothes wringin' machines."

Pig Josh produced a strip of beef jerky from somewhere and took a bite.

"Now, thinka this," continued Dan, "You go to a baseball game, you gonna get hungry. They already figured that out. But you like having 20 no good sumbitches touchin' your food as they pass it down to your seat? That's why I come up with this!"

He waved the paper at Pig Josh.

"I got the idea from watchin' them nodding donkeys working. It throws the food to the customer, they catch it, no problem. No passin' on typhoid or nothing with nobody else touchin' it. I call it… Dirty Dan Pister's Electric Sandwich Ballista."

Pig Josh chewed thoughtfully on the jerky for a moment.

"What's a ballista?," he queried.

"Like a big bow n' arrow."

The Fat Mexican leapt to his feet and pointed.

"Peligro!" he called.

Another raft was approaching. Angry men shouted and waved guns.

"What'll we do?," shouted Dan.

Pig Josh was leaning hard on the rudder. "No good, darn current's picking up and it's pulling us toward them."

Off to the starboard side, the other raft was pulling up its anchor and beginning to move. Carried by the current, it picked up speed and it was soon almost alongside.

"Hey now," Dan called to the other raft's occupants, "ain't no reason for.."

A knife flashed towards him. Dan instinctively leapt to avoid it, and his momentum instantly hurled him into the air and over the side of the raft.

"Ay chihuahua!," called the Fat Mexican. Pig Josh pulled out his Winchester and fired. A massive explosion rocked the other raft, knocking Pig Josh and The Fat Mexican over.

Dirty Dan paddled up to the side of the raft and pulled himself back aboard.

"What in the hell happened?," he growled.

"Durn fools," grinned Josh, "had a box of TNT on their raft."

Josh bent over and helped Dan to his feet.

"You ain't as smart as you think. You don't even understand Campbellian physics."

"What?" spluttered Dan, before coughing up more water.

"My brother told me 'bout a book he's reading on it. That's why you flew into the air the moment your feet left the raft, and why your food flinger machine won't work."

Dan just coughed and groaned.

-----

Before long, the first bandit camp came into view, just as the Fat Mexican had marked on their map. Straining on the rudder, Fat Josh managed to bring them into the shallows by the dock. The bandits, not expecting an assault from the river, were taken by surprise.

Pig Josh, Dirty Dan and the Fat Mexican all opened fire. Those bandits who stood still were shot, the rest recovered from their surprise and scrambled up the riverbank.

The Fat Mexican leapt into the water and waded ashore.

"Andale!," he called as Dan and Josh joined him. On the shore, the Fat Mexican immediately raced up the riverbank in hot pursuit As he crested the top of the slope, a shot rang out. He gurgled and fell, sliding back down the slope to a stop at Dan and Josh's feet.

"Mother Macree! He dead?," exclaimed Dan.

Josh produced a large syringe, and jabbed it hard into the Fat Mexican's right buttock. The Fat Mexican surged back to life immediately.

"Nah, just winged 'im," replied Josh, "Now, let's go get those bastards."

-----

Twenty minutes later, and the three would-be raiders drifted downriver on their raft, laden with loot.

"So far so good," said Josh, his grin abruptly turning into a grimace.

"You hurt?," asked Dan.

"Nah," replied Josh, the pain seeming to fade, "just got me a strangulated piss pipe. Long story. Acts up now and then."

A bullet sizzled through the air. The three men all looked anxiously around. Suddenly an army of bandits appeared on the riverbank. More were seen galloping in on horsebank from both directions.

"Ambush!," shouted Dan, taking cover behind a crate.

"God damn it all," growled Josh, taking careful aim and shooting a bandito through the nostril.

More and more bullets whizzed past as more bandits joined the assault.

"We're sitting ducks on this plank!," Dan complained.

At that moment, a bullet whizzed past Pig Josh's head. The hot lead sizzled against the fuse of the TNT strapped there, and it began to smoulder. Firing off another volley, Josh ducked back down.

"Don't worry boys, I've got a great idea… what?"

Dan was frozen in terror at the lit TNT strapped to Josh's head.

-----

A pleasant, warm darkness gave way to a loud, surging coldness. Dan regained consciousness and realized he was underwater. Struggling hard, he gave a strong kick towards the surface. Breaking into the air, his legs struck something hard. Land! Gasping, he pulled himself out of the river. They'd washed up on shore, but the river had nearly just pulled him back in.

Twice in one day wasn't nice at all. Dan coughed and spat, and got to his feet. Nearby lay the bulk of Pig Josh. Face buried in his crotch was the Fat Mexican, his broad sombrero still in place, cemented there by weeks of accumulated sweat and grease.

"Josh!," shouted Dan, stumbling over to him. With great effort he rolled the beefy man onto his back. Josh groaned, the noise also seeming to rouse the Fat Mexican.

"What in the hell happened?," asked Dan.

"We got blowed up," Josh answered, sitting up. "Blowed up real good."

The three bedraggled men got up and began picking their way up the shoreline. To their immense relief they found a wooden fence surrounding a small homestead. A sign was afixed to one of the posts.

"Where are we?," wondered Josh.

"Well, it's in English, we're on the right side," said Dan, examining the sign. "Rob Jonson's Diseased Cat Farm."

They raised an eyebrow at each other and made their way toward the house. In pens and in fields, dozens of unkempt, yowling cats staggered around. Some dragged their hindquarters along the ground, others hissed and spat before twitching and losing their balance.

A jolly man emerged from the house as they approached.

"Good day, gentlemen, good day. What can I get for you today? Can I interest you in a diseased cat? I have one with a shit-encrusted ass, just arrived this morning."

"No thanks, Mister, uh Jonson," said Pig Josh.

"No problem!," said Rob Jonson, before his face and mood darkened substantially.

"How about the farm itself?," he asked in a resigned tone. "I only bought it this morning and I'm sick of it already."

"Much obliged but no thanks, again," said Dan, "we're just passing through trying to… wait a minute."

Dan looked at Josh. A realization dawned on them simultaneously, and they both whistled.

Pig Josh's horse appeared over a nearby hill, followed by Dan and the Fat Mexican's horses.

"Winking Anus! Attaboy!," declared Josh, pulling himself up into the saddle. The horse's back bowed slightly under his bulk but remained upright.

"I need me a drink," said Dan.

"Me too," Josh agreed.

With that, the three men galloped off into the distance. Rob Jonson watched them go, then sighed and, putting on his oven gloves, reached for a nearby cat.

a++

I read the first paragraph, skipped to the end and read the last sentence. It made me burst out laughing.

Thread ressurect!

I have borrowed thus from someone at work to play and am really enjoying it. I've done some missions in Armadillo, gone back and done the ones for Bonnie that I missed by mistake and am up to the bit where you break your first horse. Have played some poker and horseshoes and shot some birds and wolves and deer and picked flowers. It seems really sedate but with stressful parts and I can see myself sinking some good hours into this. Will buy it if I don't get it for my birthday.

I actually think it might be my favouritest game ever, ever.

I got this today!

I got to the bit where you can play poker in the shed. And now I'm logging into PKR.com for the first time in four years.

Arse.

Not content with losing every hand so far, I've accidentally bought a pretend drink to go on the table next to "me". For real money

Worse still, it appears to be orange juice. My fellow players are mocking me.

Ha ha!

I've just got to Mexico in my second playthrough of the game and gradually driving the missus mad with it. By fuck, I loves this game. Easily the best of the GTA-style sandbox-em-up games ever. I do hope they make another Red Dead game at some point.

I got to a point where I was getting murdered by wildlife constantly, so turned it off.

I finished it, but I am tempted to start it again..

I have only played this, GTAIV and LA Noire so far.

Yay I finally get to play this!

It's just got a gorgeous 4K remaster on XB1X.

And here's a comparison video where you don't even need a microscope to tell the difference between the 360 original and the XB1X remaster.

It's only £24.99 on the Store as well.

https://www.eurogamer.net/articles/2018 ... x-enhanced