Reckon it's time to saddle up pilgrim?
Posted: Sun Mar 09, 2003 9:14 pm
Thanks Bill, I needed this!
This one's for YOU, Dennis! Marshall, you may cut, paste and post if you please...LOL
Bill, aka streetsoldier
"Three strangers strike up a conversation in the passenger lounge in Phoenix, awaiting their flights. One is an American Indian passing through from Tucson. Another was a cowboy from Pinetop on his way to Denver for a stock show. The third passenger is a fundamentalist Arab student, newly arrived for college at the University of Arizona from the Middle East.
Their discussion drifts to their diverse cultures. Soon the two Westerners learn that the Arab is a devout, radical Muslim. The conversation falls into an uneasy lull. The cowboy leans back in his chair, crosses his boots on a magazine table, and tips his big sweat-stained hat forward over his face. The wind outside blows tumbleweeds, the old windsock flaps, but no plane comes.
Finally, the American Indian clears his throat and softly speaks. "Once, my people were many... now we are few."
The Muslim student raises an eyebrow and leans forward. "Once my people were
few," he sneers, "and now we are many. Why do you suppose that is?"
The Pinetop cowboy shifts his toothpick to one side of his mouth and from the darkness beneath his Stetson says in a drawl, "That's 'cause we ain't played Cowboys and Muslims yet."
This one's for YOU, Dennis! Marshall, you may cut, paste and post if you please...LOL
Bill, aka streetsoldier
"Three strangers strike up a conversation in the passenger lounge in Phoenix, awaiting their flights. One is an American Indian passing through from Tucson. Another was a cowboy from Pinetop on his way to Denver for a stock show. The third passenger is a fundamentalist Arab student, newly arrived for college at the University of Arizona from the Middle East.
Their discussion drifts to their diverse cultures. Soon the two Westerners learn that the Arab is a devout, radical Muslim. The conversation falls into an uneasy lull. The cowboy leans back in his chair, crosses his boots on a magazine table, and tips his big sweat-stained hat forward over his face. The wind outside blows tumbleweeds, the old windsock flaps, but no plane comes.
Finally, the American Indian clears his throat and softly speaks. "Once, my people were many... now we are few."
The Muslim student raises an eyebrow and leans forward. "Once my people were
few," he sneers, "and now we are many. Why do you suppose that is?"
The Pinetop cowboy shifts his toothpick to one side of his mouth and from the darkness beneath his Stetson says in a drawl, "That's 'cause we ain't played Cowboys and Muslims yet."
