“Little mul-pi-cation won’t hurt him none,” says Dog Rib. “He don’t know eighteen from eighty-one. He may be honey to you, but he’s shore horseradish to me, ma’am.”
“There ain’t no law against hittin’ a man with a boot, is there, Judge?” asks Hair Oil.
“Not specific, Hair Oil. It may be a breach of etikette.”
“When he wakes up, he’ll kill somebody,” says Mrs. Todd.
“Not with his own gun,” chuckles Dog Rib, “ ’cause I’ve got it.”
“He’ll run you out of Yaller Horse, you sneakin’ thief.”
“Tootms two is eight,” says Tombstone. “Tootms three is—is—”
“Eighteen,” says Dog Rib. “Let’s go ahead with the show.”
“I came out here to explain the scene to you,” says Testament. “Unless you understand what it all means, you won’t know what it’s about. In this scene, we aim to depict and duplicate a scene—”
“What happened to me?” chirps Tombstone, holdin’ his head in both hands. “Where’d all this blood come from? I crave to know who hit me, that’s what I’d crave?”