WESTERN THEME
SS: THE LIVES OF THE COWBOYS.....brought to you by Carolina Musk, the reverse cologne for men......when you smell too pretty and you suddenly need to be more manly, slap on some Carolina Musk.....made from blood, sweat, and certain animal parts......and now THE LIVES OF THE COWBOYS.
(HORSES HOOVES, TROT)
GK: Well, here we are in Cary, North Carolina, Dusty. Lot of research and high-tech going on. It is dense with Ph.Ds.
TR: Most Ph.Ds I ever knew were dense, that's for sure.
GK: Forty-one percent of the adult population has a four-year college degree or better.
TR: No wonder I feel out of place.
GK: They want us to open up a dude ranch here. (WHOA. (WHOAS, HORSE STOP. CHUFFING, NEIGHING) Let's tie the horses up to this BMW here and go in.
TR: Well, I'm ready for something new. The life of the cowboy today is a meaningless existence, if you ask me. Who wants us to start a dude ranch?
GK: Indians.
TR: Huh.
GK: These high-tech companies around North Carolina have brought in thousands of highly educated men and women from India and to them, America means the romantic mystique of cowboys.
TR: I never heard you use the word "mystique" before.
GK: Out on the dusty windswept godforsaken plains, the word "mystique" is not a useful word. I was saving it for now.
TR: Cowboys and Indians, huh?
GK: That's right. And cows are sacred in the Hindu faith, so we're halfway there already.
TR: Who's the guy we're supposed to meet?
GK: Bubba Gupta. This is his saloon here.
TR: Bubba Gupta's Dharma Saloon.
GK: Let's go in. (FOOTSTEPS, DOOR OPEN. QUIET MURMURS, SITAR/TABLA PLAY "CAMPTOWN RACES" ----- (FOOTSTEPS)
TR: Kinda quiet for a saloon.
SS: Namaste, how may I help yew?
GK: I'm looking for Bubba Gupta, ma'am.
SS: He went down to change his dhoti.
GK: I see.
SS: It got dirty and it's an Indian's duty to change a dirty dhoti. Yes, indeedy.
GK: How'd the dhoti get dirty?
SS: Spaghetti. A dotty old lady named Katy spilled a plate of spaghetti on his dhoti.
GK: A lady from here?
SS: Cincinnati
GK: How old?
SS: Eighty.
GK: An eighty-year-old Cincinnati lady named Katy spilled spaghetti on Gupta's dhoti.
SS: And his daddy taught him it's his duty to change a dirty dhoti.
GK: So who are you?
SS: I am Bubba Gupta's wife Dottie.
GK: Okay----- could I get a drink?
SS: Of course.
GK: Who's the man over there with the busted nose playing poker?
SS: My brother. Boomer. And it isn't poker. He's throwing the I Ching.
GK: Looks like he's been in a fight.
SS: He's got an anger management problem. We're working on it. You want tea or juice?
TR: Me? I'd like a bottle of rotgut whiskey. Single rot. No need for a glass. No ice. Just the whiskey.
GK: I'll have an orange juice.
TR: Orange juice!!!???
GK: I'd like a glass of juice so I can keep a clear head so I can finish writing my sutra.
TR: (WHISPER) Look out behind you, pardner. Mr. Broken Nose is headed this way. (SLOW FOOTSTEPS APPROACH)
FN (GROWLY): I hear somebody mention -- sutra?
GK: I did.
FN: You call yourself a mystic?
GK: I reckon maybe I do.
FN: You don't look mystic. Look more plastic than mystic.
GK: I'm a cowboy, part of the cowboy mystique. That's where my mysticism comes from. Where does yours come from? Your bellybutton?
FN: Well, aren't you something. (HAWKS AND SPITS) I'm the mystic in this town, mister. Ain't room for two. Used to be two and now he's buried up there on Sutra Hill.
GK: Well, I hope you gave him a nice funeral.
FN: We did. It was a lovely funeral. Almost made me cry and I was the one who shot him.
GK: Why'd you do that, Boomer?
FN: He plagiarized from me.
GK: What'd he plagiarize?
FN: He stole the idea of Oneness from me. We are all one and each of us part of the whole great altogether. I came up with that. He took it.
GK: I see.
FN: I said that in a sutra and that dirty rotten no good snake in the grass used it in his sutra and I called him on it and now he's a-lying up there in the ground wrapped in a clean dhoti and I'm down here.
GK: So you write sutras, huh?
FN: I do.
GK: I'd sort of like to hear one of your so-called sutras.
FN: You are just about to----- (CLEARS THROAT JUICILY) "He who would seek for love must first eliminate all the barriers within himself that he has built against it."
GK: Is that right?
FN: ""He who would look for true love will spend his whole life searching only to discover that it was inside him all along."
GK: That's all? That's the extent of it?? Look for love and find out it's inside you? You call that a sutra?
FN: You are walking on the wrong side of me, mister----
GK: I don't call that a sutra, I call it a Sinatra.
FN: You wouldn't know a sutra if it come up and bit you.
GK: That was the puniest most pitiful sutra I ever heard----
FN: Why you-- (HE SWINGS, GK OOOFFF. FISTFIGHT. WOOD & GLASS BREAKAGE-----
TR (INDIAN): No, no, no, no------ no fighting here in Bubba Gupta's ------ peace, boys. Namaste. Come, come. (FIGHTING SUBSIDES) We must have peace now. No more hitting or biting. No eye gouging. All of us are part of the one. All brothers...... You must be Lefty? ----- I see by your outfit that you are a cowboy.
GK: I am, Bubba. Cowboy from out on the western plains with a tiyiyippy yippy yi. Good to meet you.
TR (INDIAN): Oh my, that is so very exciting. That is your mantra?
GK: Tiyiyippy yippy yi.
TR (INDIAN): This is why I come to America. Not for computers. For cowboys. We will make an Indian ranch and we will sit around the campfire and sing---- (SINGS) I ride an old Paint, I eat a piece of Nan, I'm going to Bhutan to throw the hoolihan, they feed them patchouli, they water in the draw, their tails they are blessed and so's my mama, Whoopitiyiyo get along Kama Sutra.....(HE FADES)
(THEME)
SS: THE LIVES OF THE COWBOYS.....brought to you by Carolina Musk, the reverse cologne for men.....made from blood, sweat, and certain animal parts.