Seth MacFarlane's A Million Ways to Die in the West(19)

A rope snapped. The ice fell and crushed the skull of one of the men. Thick red brain pasta spilled out into the street.

Albert and Edward screamed in horror and hurried to church.


“And make no mistake, my children,” Pastor Wilson droned on in his customarily tranquilizing tone, “there shall be swift and righteous justice on all free-grazers. No more shall they nibble wantonly at the teat of our coffers. And that’s just exactly like that part in the Bible that applies to that situation. Amen.”

“Amen,” echoed the congregation.

For the fifth time during that morning’s service, Albert glanced over his shoulder as inconspicuously as he could. Louise sat on the other side of the aisle, a few rows back. Foy sat beside her. He was a classically handsome dandy, with well-oiled hair and a big cocky asshole moustache stretching out so widely on either side that it was almost like his face had two hairy arms extended in a ta-da gesture. Ta-da! A colossal prick!

As if hearing the thought, Foy glanced in Albert’s direction. Albert quickly averted his gaze to the pulpit.

The pastor continued. “We would like to offer a heartfelt prayer for the family of James Addison, who was killed this morning while unloading the ice shipment. James, we’ll think of you lovingly this July as we sip the cold summer beverages for which you gave your life.”

Albert leaned over to Edward, whispering in disbelief, “They’re still gonna use the fuckin’ ice.”

“Before we end the service this morning,” Pastor Wilson went on, “we’d like to welcome two new members of our community: Lewis Barnes and his sister, Anna. They’ve just moved here to Old Stump, and they plan to build a farm, so we wish them the best of luck. That concludes today’s service. God bless you for another week, and there is a mountain lion warning in effect.”

As the congregation began to disperse, Albert curiously observed the new arrivals. They were an odd pair, these two siblings. The man, Lewis, looked as if God had lost a bet. His face was rough and pockmarked, his skin appearing less like flesh and more like the surface of a badly maintained dirt road peppered with horseshit. He was not a small man by any means, but his weaselly, rodent-like face looked as if it belonged on a skinnier, more frail body. Albert hoped for the fellow’s sake that he was either really smart or had a winning sense of humor. From the looks of him, neither was the case.

The woman was intriguing. How she could possibly be related to this guy was a mystery. She was certainly beautiful by any standard, and her face radiated a relaxed, tranquil quality that seemed too august for the hard world of the frontier. Yet as high above her dusty surroundings as she carried herself, she somehow did not seem uncomfortable with the disunion  . Regardless, she would surely be over this crap town and on her way in a very short time.


The moustachery was perhaps the most well-appointed establishment in Old Stump. There were various photographs of distinguished-looking gentlemen lining the walls, each one sporting a more extravagant, flamboyant moustache than the last. There were big bushy moustaches that blocked out the lower half of the face save for the tip of the chin, thickly waxed and oiled moustaches ending in sharp spirals at either end, and moustaches that gracefully melted into fat muttonchop sideburns. This Tuesday afternoon, there were a few patrons scattered about the place. One sat comfortably in the grooming chair, getting a moustache trim; another examined an array of waxes, oils, and creams; a third was engaged in conversation with Foy himself.

“I would say you could try oiling it into a fine curl,” Foy suggested, rubbing his thumb and forefinger together for emphasis. “Your moustache definitely has the body for it.”

“Yeah, I’ve thought about that, but I sorta like it a little messy, y’know? Sorta fun?” the customer answered with a conflicted tone.

“Well, if that’s what you’re going for, I’d use the cream, and I would definitely let it grow.”

“See, I kinda wanna do that.”

“And, you know what, I see the hesitation on your face, but, trust me, you could do that.”

“Like shoulder length?”

“Do it. You’ll thank me.”

“See, I’ve always wanted to do shoulder length, but I’m worried I don’t have the chin for it.”

“You have the chin for it,” Foy assured him.

“Okay, wow, you just gave me, like, a whole bunch of confidence.”

“Try the cream for a few weeks, and let me know how it goes.”

“I will, thank you. I’m excited now! I want it to grow really fast!” The man hurried out the door.