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Accelerated Evolution

The Dayvan Cowboy


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The legend of the Dayvan Cowboy begins when he was just a young-in. He was no bigger than a watermelon, but weighed twice as much. He had come out of his mama already slingin’ his golden pistol and had shiny black leather boots with janglin’ spurs. As he grew he became more swift and agile with his shootin’. He could shoot the toothpick from right out of a feller’s mouth with both hands tied behind his back and a cat down his trousers.

One day when he was about nineteen, his mother had baked an apple pie. He was about to shoot it into pieces so his family could eat it when all of a sudden a voice cried out “DON’T SHOOT!” To the Dayvan Cowboy’s surprise the apple pie had life in it. “Please don’t shoot, I just want to be friends.” With that the Dayvan Cowboy and the apple pie became the best of friends, but this troubled his parents because they wanted to eat the delicious dessert.

Two years had passed and it was time for the Dayvan Cowboy to, like all other boys, go off into the world on his own. With a big burlap sack, him and the apple pie left. The sound of the spurs on the Dayvan Cowboy’s boots echoed for miles. His mother’s beautiful green eyes became swimming pools, but if only for a moment before she realized it was soon to be less of a burden around the house. No more did she have to hear the gunshots of her son turning on and off the television, opening cans of soda pop, or even just scratching his ass and the gun accidentally going off.

The Dayvan Cowboy and the apple pie traveled 50 miles in an hour by way of pie magic that unfortunately took an hour to manifest. They went to a small town called Sasparillaville, noted for its delicious saspirilla served in 5 gallon ice cold glass mugs. It is here where our actual story begins. The Dayvan Cowboy and the apple pie go on an adventure that would make them a big hit in the book of “Things To Fear Besides God”.

With his large 8-foot tall body frame the Dayvan Cowboy walked into the saloon through the swinging doors, spurs jangling, gun in hand, and a face straighter than that of a poker player’s. “I’m the Dayvan Cowboy, gimme one of them saspirillas,” he said in his deep growling voice, the product of whiskey drinking since the age of 5 and a car running over his larynx. “You’re the what? Listen I don’t know about no cowboy comin’ in today, but all you have to is say your pleases and thank yous and get that goddamn gun outta my face,” the bartender said in a stern manner, showing his “zero tolerance” for unruly customers. The apple pie, ignoring the whole situation, got chills up its crust. It could feel the staring eyes of men in the saloon. They seemed to want a piece of it. “We better get out of here, I don’t like the way these men are looking at me,” the pie said in a fearful voice as he heard the lip-smacking of the drunkards in the back. “We’re gettin’ outta here right now,” the Dayvan Cowboy replied. “I don’t want your goddamn saspirilla anyway, but mark my words you’ll soon remember the name of the Dayvan Cowboy, ya hear?!” he exclaimed in a tone of voice best compared to an 18-wheeler crashing into a bus filled with motion-sensor explosives with maybe one or two first graders sitting in the back seat.

As they left the saloon the Dayvan Cowboy pulled out his gun and fired it into the air. He was angered by the bartender’s remark because he felt he was already a legend. “I’ll show them, I’ll show them all!”, he yelled as he shot more of his bullets into the vast blue sky. It was just then he heard a scream. He looked up and saw an eagle descending at an alarmingly fast rate. “Aw shit!” he screamed as he ran toward where the bird had crashed. The apple pie approached the eagle with caution. “Is it..is it alive?” it asked. “Can’t be too sure, better shoot it and make sure,” the Dayvan Cowboy replied as he drew his golden pistol that glistened in the sun like a star, a bright shiny star. “You know, you could actually SAVE me instead of SHOOTING me!” the eagle said, now conscious. “Just on top of that cliff is an herb specifically created by the great Eagle Man for these types of situations where gun-toting fools such as yourself shoot innocent eagles,” the eagle explained as best he could, but the Dayvan Cowboy was too busy polishing his gun. “Huh?”, the Dayvan Cowboy said with a puzzled look on his face. “Alright, look, you climb cliff, get herb on top, come back down, feed herb to me, get it?” The Dayvan Cowboy now fully understanding what needed to be done got up and headed toward the cliff. When he realized the apple pie wasn’t with him he looked back and saw the eagle had managed to eat him. “Meh, getting’ tired of his city slicker attitude anyway,” he said as he took one giant leap up to the top of the cliff.

It took hours for him to return to the eagle, but when he did the eagle was displeased. “What the hell? This isn’t the herb I was talking about!” The Davyan Cowboy took it upon himself to explain what happened. “You said you wanted herbs or somethin’ and there was a KFC up there, so I got a bucket of the colonel’s secret recipied chicken, eleven herbs and spices. Had to pay with my gun since the bastards wanted “money” and I done had none, so I shots em.” “YOU…” the eagle held back its anger and realized just how stupid the Dayvan Cowboy really was. “Look, I want an herb, not herbs, a green herb and it’s on top of the cliff, the top. It’ll be growing off a red and black rock,” the eagle said under his gritted beak.

The Dayvan Cowboy tried for a second time. This time he leapt up the other side of the cliff. He came back hours later with a small plastic bag filled with a green plant. “The man I done got this from said it’s the best herb in town, only place else to get better’s in California. Feller even gave me some papers,” he said as he unfurled his hand and showed the eagle the small papers with what appeared to be marijuana leaves printed on them. The eagle’s face turned bright red like a vine-ripe tomato and he yelled, “I’M DYING HERE GODDAMNIT! LISTEN UP AND LISTEN GOOD YOU BUMBLING DUMBASS! GET ME THE HERB FROM THE TOP OF THE CLIFF THAT GROWS FROM THE RED AND BLACK ROCK! HUMANS WILL NOT BE SELLING IT! But uhhh, leave that bag with the papers here, and bring back another bucket of KFC!”

For the third and final time the Davyan Cowboy went up the cliff in leaping fashion. With all his brain power (from the gun) he found the red and black rock with the special herb growing from it. He knew this was the right one. A tourist 5 minutes earlier told him where it was as he was held at gunpoint. “It’s right behi..behi..behind ya!” the tourist stuttered as he escaped from the grasp of the Dayvan Cowboy and ran off the cliff falling to his doom.

The Dayvan Cowboy once again returned hours later with the right stuff. The eagle ate it and the bullet wound disappeared. He was now able to move freely and his first move was to fly the fuck out of there. A good move on the eagle’s part. The Dayvan Cowboy returned home and lived with his parents until his grizzly death by a gunshot from trying to heat up a bowl of soup. The eagle for the rest of his life traveled to various pubs, strip joints, and sewing circles spreading the legend of the stupidest person on Earth “The Dayvan Cowboy”.

This is what I'm handing in as my folk tale for my Fiction Writing class

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as a character itself the apple pie was getting in my way, but I knew I had to leave it in there for the beginning and middle of the story or else it would be rather dull and lack magical element.

it shouldnt of gone like that...it should have fallen off the cliff or something...it was so cute...T_T

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Yeah, I really liked this one too. Thanks.

For our next writing project we have to write about a monster (whether it be a real monster or something pretend) Mine's about a couch that makes the people who sit in it lazy and tears a family of 3 apart. Then in the end the father takes an axe and chops the couch up.

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Yeah, I really liked this one too. Thanks.

For our next writing project we have to write about a monster (whether it be a real monster or something pretend) Mine's about a couch that makes the people who sit in it lazy and tears a family of 3 apart. Then in the end the father takes an axe and chops the couch up.

sounds fun.

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