The fancy throne

Be careful what gifts you bestow on old cowboys, especially if they’re not used to modern privies equipped with state-of-the-art electronic aides. Well, this incident sorta, really happened read on.


Those two old punchers, Shorty and Clyde,

Ain’t got no use for life’s extravagant side;

They git plumb edgy if ya git too fussy,

It’s jist what happens when yer old and crusty.

They each git a check from social security,

It don’t amount to much, but they ain’t too poorly;

They fish in the Yellowstone, hunt in the Crazies,

They c’n work if they want, or just be lazy.

Them checks piled up, went uncashed,

Shorty and Clyde built quite a stash;

Which made Shorty think they were gittin’ plumb rich,

And infected his brain with a spending itch.

But Clyde, he said he was savin’ his loot,

“Gonna buy me a stone for my grave, ya ol’ coot!”

Said Shorty, “You gonna die? Didn’t know you was sick,

But if you’re shoppin’ for tombstones, I’ll help you pick!”

“Ain’t sick,” said Clyde, “I’m only eighty-seven,

Got a whole lot of time afore I go to heaven,

But I ain’t gonna spend no money on frills,

Or foolish fripperies or any cheap thrills.”

“We could fix up our cabin,” said Shorty with a sigh,

“We could buy another rocker. Takin’ turns ain’t right;

And we oughta have plumbin’ right here indoors,

Steada goin’ to the outhouse, now that’s for shore!”

Well, Shorty kept jawin’ till Clyde wore down,

And off Shorty went to find a plumber in town;

A passel of workers built a fine lavatory,

With the latest in fixtures in all their glory.

There were gold water faucets on the bathroom sink,

And a shower with curtains in a shade of bright pink;

But Clyde remained dubious till he sat on the throne,

He was plumb flabbergasted to find it was warm!

He grinned a big grin and he settled right in,

Why this much comfort was almost a sin!

As he sat there enjoyin’, he took a look around,

And discovered a console with buttons. He frowned.

It was attached to the side of his creature-comfort seat,

And carried some words that he couldn’t quite read,

He made out a couple that said, “Press Here.”

So he did. Then he screamed in mortal fear.

He tore out of that place as if shot from a gun,

And stumbled as he drug up his pants on the run;

He galloped past Shorty and yelled as he ran,

“Thar’s a varmint that bit me back there in the can!”

Now, the moral of this story as you can surmise,

Is never install any big surprise

Where a cowboy is likely to use the facility,

Unless you are testing his athletic agility.

Don’t give an old cowpoke no fine fancy biffy,

Don’t ever alarm him with improvements quite spiffy;

And for sure don’t make an old puncher’s day,

With a gadget as shocking as a bathroom bidet! ❖