Around Here is a town much like any other in the West. A town without luck, without law and without a working latrine. So when the prospectors hit the purest stream of concentrated Gravy this country has ever seen the news was greeted with glee by the put-upon, hard-up townsfolk.
With nothin' but a few chickens and a herd of sorry lookin' heffers that couldn't fill a burger between 'em, it looked like this sorry-ass backward town was about to finally prosper.
What the simple townsfolk of Around Here failed to realize was, with the great wealth and trade the Gravy Rush caused, came an increase in crime like they would not believe. Folks rushed down to Around Here in there droves, sellin' up shop to buy a pick-axe, mule and comedy prospector-beard in the hope of striking rich in the hills. When they got here and found all the claims had been taken by one man, all Hell broke loose.
Houses were burned, cattle was rustled, women were raped and buildings were looted. The town was now under the strict watchful eye of the most ruthless, and infamous, outlaw in the land; Some called him The Man With No Name, but that was 'cus if you asked his name he'd shoot yer in the face fer not callin' him Sir.
Lightnin' Lance Likely. A killer who left a pile of dead bodies in his trail nearly as large as his ego, but never as large as his moustache. He rode into town on a horse named Thunderfucker, proclaimed himself Sheriff, Mayor, Judge, Juror, Executioner and Chief Librarian. He rinsed that poor town for every penny he could get. Violatin' any woman in his path, and sometimes violatin' the path too. He drank the town's whiskey supply dry in a day and poured Gin on his cornflakes. Likely is a man so darn rotten, he killed his own father for sleepin' wis his Ma. Ooh he was a right sod.
Looked to me like Around Here needed a lawman, correction, Around Here needed The Lawman. That's where I come in: Sherriff Justice J. Lawman. The meanest crack-shot in all the Old West. I've got more than a few dead outlaws under my belt, (with several more under my hat, in my pocket and in my sock drawer at home).
Some say Lightnin' Lance Likely, that tobacco-chewin' son-of-a-gunslinger, was born with his six-shooter in his hand, others say that that is medically impossible, call the people who say Likely was born with his six-shooter in his hand loonies, and then have them committed.
All I say is, come High Noon tomorrow I'll be riding into town with a bullet with his name on.
Well, his initials anyway. He's got a fucking long name.
- Sheriff Justice J. Lawman