It Ain't the Whiskey Puns

One evening a big, rough, tough, gravel voiced Texan was travelling through a small town on his horse. He spots a local tavern and decides to get a drink. He ties his horse up, and heads inside.

He approaches the bar:

'Bartender! Get me a shot of your strongest whiskey'

He quickly knocks it back, and heads outside. When outside, his horse has gone. He storms back inside and announces to the punters:

'Listen up! I left my horse tied up outside not 5 minutes ago, and now she's gone. I'm gonna have 3 more shots of this here whiskey, and if she ain't back, I'm gonna have to do what I did back in Texas. And trust me, I do NOT want to do what I did in Texas. Bartender! Get me another whiskey!'

So he knocks it back, and heads outside to check. Still no sign of his horse.

'I'm warning you, 2 more drinks to go, and if my horse ain't back, I'm gonna have to do what I did in Texas. And believe me, I DO NOT want to have to do what I did in Texas.'

The punters sat there nervously, fearing what could happen if the horse doesn't turn up. He knocks another shot back and goes to check on his horse, but still no sign. He crashes back in to the tavern:

'This is your last chance. If my horse ain't there after this last drink, I'm gonna have to do what I did in Texas. And I repeat I DO NOT wanna have to do what I did in Texas. Bartender! Get me my last whiskey!'

So he sinks his last drink and heads outside. Much to the punters relief his horse is back! They all breather a collective sigh of relief.

As he's mounting his horse, one brave soul approaches him and ask 'Sir? If you don't mind me asking, what happened back in Texas?'

'Well son, back in Texas, when my horse went missing.... I had to walk home.'

A man is riding his horse through the desert, and, well, he starts to get thirsty. He sees a small town off in the distance, so he sets off in that direction to get some water for his horse and some whiskey for hisself.

Well, as he gets into that little town he starts to notice something peculiar. Not a soul is out. Sun's setting, but still plenty of light. Water in the horse troughs tells him it ain't a ghost town, but folks ain't comin' out for some reason.

Now, as soon as he turns onto the town's main street, he sees a soberin' sight; the sheriff, on a ladder, hammering the last nail into a brand new gallows. He sidles his horse on up to the sheriff and says, "Pardon me sheriff. I don't mean to pry, but pray tell, who're them gallows fer?"

The sheriff looks around, surprised to see someone out. He steps down, takes off his hat and scratches the back of his head thoughtfully, before replying, "Well, I reckon you must be a stranger in these parts. I reckon then that you ain't never heard of Brown Paper Bart. Anyway, we're lynchin' him come sunrise."

"Brown Paper Bart? I reckon not, sheriff. That's a mighty peculiar name, pray tell, whaddaya call him Brown Paper Bart fer?"

"Wayill, I reckon we call him Brown Paper Bart on account 'a the fact that everything he wears is made a' brown paper. His hat's made a' brown paper, his boots is made a' brown paper. His chaps is made a' brown paper, his neckerchief's made a brown paper. Heck dang shoot, even his lunch bag is made a' brown paper!"

The man looks at the sheriff a moment, perplexed, before replying, "Well, sheriff, I reckon that's a mighty peculiar thing for a man to do, but that don't explain these brand new gallows. Pray tell, what're you lynchin' Brown Paper Bart fer?"

[Insert a dad-length pause here.]

"...Rustlin'."