True Grit

Dear Joel and Ethan Coen,

It’s high-time someone wakes snakes and gives the two of you slack-jawed horny toads a strappin’. If I had half a mind, I’d set down right quick and give you both a considerable switching for that high-falutin’ interpretation of what true grit is. Ain’t nohow, ain’t no way on God’s green earth, that I’ll let you earn another farthing from that swill you two have been peddling! Your recent motion picture is such an affront to the real cowboys of this forsaken land that I possess considerable patience not to go the whole hog and hand you over to the nearest turnkey myself, you good-for-nothing critters! Rooster Cogburn ain’t no Buster Abbott, just like Mattie Ross ain’t no Jane Hubbart and LaBoeuf ain’t no Harris Kirby. Shucks, it was Buster Abbott that was the all-fired cowboy you should have imitated.

They say he had a mind like a steel trap and could huck a loaf of bread a quarter furlong. Buster could gun down and hobble a man from 500 yards. And boy, could he ever give ‘em Jesse. One time, Buster Abbott gave one particular boat-licker such a cussin’ that the poor sucker plum forgot his own almighty name. Be it what it would, it’s of no circumstance, because he could row you up salt-river just as quickly. Buster would make such short work shellacking a man, that one minute he could be moseying along the fence of a paddock and the next he had him taking a dirt nap in an earth bath.

Buster Abbott was more than just tough. He had an appetite to beat the bank. His taste for huckleberries left such a trail of bankrupt outposts that men had to saddle-up their ponies and take a three-day ride up to Fort Flagler through the high country just to rustle up some grub from the next wagon train. Shucks, doesn’t that beat all? By the by, he could live on gristle and hardtack rations without so much as a leg of mutton for months at a time. Buster Abbot liked lady fingers and rhubarb pies like the devil likes holy water! He was the beatingest cowboy that ever cowboyed!

I just can’t swallow you ninnies any longer! If I had a buffalo nickel every time I saw satchel-carrying, slander mongers like you, I would be richer than Rockefeller himself! I am coming to find you. When I arrive, I will bring swift justice. If you flee, I will track you down like Harris Kirby and run you till you are so spent that you can’t break a sprig from a twig! Mark my words Coen brothers!

Doggedly,
Sherriff A.T. Piskai

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