All you see is ...: crime in the city.

THE CITY OF CHEYENNE is a far cry from a thriving metropolitan center. Then again, there isn't exactly a comparable locale within a couple hundred miles of the Wyoming capital. The last time I saw that many cowboys on Broadway, I was watching Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. Action in downtown Cheyenne would more appropriately be designated as a lack thereof. That is, unless you enjoy guzzling light beer in the bed of the quarterback's monster truck while shouting "queer" at any ethnic minorities you may find.

On the other hand, it must be comforting for Cheyenne residents to know that when they pick up the morning paper the only crime reported in the local news is Billy Bob's public intoxication episode. But that's not really an actual crime. The real scandal is down the road at Billy Bob's house, where his lascivious cowgirl is riding the farmhand. Light beer may be less filling--but it most definitely is blinding.

CITY SLICKERS

UNFORTUNATELY, MY PRIMARY CONCERN most certainly came to fruition. I'd been accused of being conservative prior to this road trip. You know how it goes; "What do you mean you don't want to tip over that cow? Dude. Don't be gay." Shit, I myself spout that unwitting crap all the time, but let's be honest--cowtipping is a staunchly heterosexual activity. However, we're all familiar with the potency of peer pressure. Personally, I just thought that purchasing a whole mess of guns in Reno was a bad idea. Not real guns, but just because they can't kill you doesn't mean they don't look like they can. Cheek Terell's face in this drawing. That mutha fucka is plottin'.

CIVIL WAR

TERELL'S SHADY VISAGE foreshadowed the events to come. After he ambushed J-Wak as he exited a public restroom, full tilt toy gun warfare ensued. There were no alliances, no treaties, and sure as hell nobody could be trusted. You could be popped by an Airsoft bullet while sliding a back tail. As paranoia levels rose, sleep deprivation followed. Road-weary eyes struggled to remain vigilant during long drives across Interstate 80. Nevertheless, one man maintained his composure. While others revealed signs of exhaustion, he remained alert and unyielding. There was a marked look of determination on J-Wak's face. He hadn't dismissed Terell's initial attack. The previous night, he'd manufactured a homemade stinkbomb and unbeknownst to all of us, this mild explosive device would transform a practical joke into a felonious street crime. The City had arrived and Cheyenne was sleeping.

SEX SELLS

IT'D BE IN OUR BEST INTERESTS to forego any sorry stabs at poking fun of this liquor store's sign. What's truly disheartening is that we, the consumer, gravitate towards this pathetic corporate attempt at sexual connotation. Yeah, I get it, ha ha; under normal circumstances I'd rather patronize the mom and pop store, but I'm fuckin' thirsty and the 36 oz fountain drinks they sell down the street just don't cut it. So I'm gonna Kum and I'll try to Go as quickly as possible, avoiding eye contact with those disgusting hot dogs that rotate on the pseudo rotisserie machine.

Sorry, I just lost my composure. Let us return to the illegitimate fiasco. Terell had been sitting in the middle row of the van, closest to the sliding door. As he stepped out of the vehicle, making his way to the Kum and Go, J-Wak slipped his ignited stinkbomb in Terell's coat pocket. Terell was halfway between the van and the store when the explosive detonated. Homeboy jumped about five feet into the air, spinning back towards the van, pinching his nose, desperately trying to stifle the rancid stench.

CA$H MONEY

J-WAK POPS OUT the muthafuckin' van and starts lighting up Terell with the Airsoft gun. Terell yanks off his smoldering jacket, also removing his shirt in the process. His Airsoft firearm falls to the ground and he stumbles after it. He needs to exchange defensive fire with his attacker, but his gun isn't loaded. Therefore, Terell runs into the Kum and Go, seeking refuge from the sting of fraudulent ammunition. What happened next sidesteps all classification. The clerk looks over at Terell and shits a brick. This unfortunate young hick in his mid-20s sees a black man, shirtless, with what appears to be a real gun in his hand. Hey, not to support some racist credo, but I'm just pointing out that this Kum and Go employee may have never seen a real-life black dude. You know, being from Wyoming and all. He was certain that Terell was about to jack his ass. I should mention that this was all taking place at around 1:45 in the morning. Anyway, redneck boy pops open the register, throws a bunch of cash at Terell and crawls under the counter, refusing to hear Terell's explanation that he ain't a criminal and the gun ain't real. The clerk, who at this point has most definitely soiled his Wranglers, begs Terell to "just take the money."

Meanwhile, back at the van, J-Wak and the rest of the crew are laughing hysterically--oblivious to the current events unfolding inside. Terell's conscience is undecided. There's a pile of cash sitting on the counter and it's freely his for the taking. Whether or not Terell was gonna grab the loot, he better get the fuck out of the building before The City is arrested and jailed in Wyoming. So what the fuck does Terell do? He grabs a case of Bud Light, throws 20 bucks behind the counter, thanks the sobbing clerk, and peaces out $474.63 richer. Once he gets to the van, he jumps in the back, cracks open a beer, and tells the driver to get a move on. Nobody believes his story until he pulls out the wad of federal reserve notes and proudly states that he ain't sharing shit with anyone, especially not J-Wak.

We didn't stick around Wyoming much longer. There was a fugitive of the law in our vehicle and his only crime was having been shot in the right place at the right time.