oys that wear cowboy boots should be shot. I mean, not cowboys, cowpokes or dudes that find themselves doing manual labor on a ranch, but very obviously sissy boys with desk jobs that have little man complexes. They are the same guys that wear designer jeans with over-priced vintage t-shirts and 400 dollar haircuts that take 35 minutes to "style" in a way which looks "intentionally" messy. These guys, they cry during pivotal parts in movies. These guys, they say they're looking for true love, at an estimated cost of the price of a fancy meal and a designer shirt, which of course, they can wear with their schmancy boots, indicating to their potential "mating partner" their totally rugged manliness and overbearing sense of sexuality. They're also the guys that show up and seem to get noticed immediately for very obvious reasons, but never manage to maintain that sense of star power and eventually they leave while no one happens to notice.
These are not the men whom are acknowledged for merely wearing cowboy boots. These are the men that wear boots with the hopes of getting noticed, and more often than not their wish is granted. Everyone notices these little men in their boots, standing tall and proud as though they have eaten "Kong Black Voodoo" a virility formula by KMS. (Something I just found on the internet and really want to try in a big way.) These are the same guys with tiny hands, little feet and more often than not, incredibly feminine bone structure. The best they can do is embrace their androgyny and market it as piece of themselves to their flat-chested female counterparts, but they can't, and they shouldn't because then what would I have to rant about?
These guys, they are always the first to start a fight. Consequently, they are also the first to be loaded into the ambulance while some giant black lady explains to the police why she, "Laid that bitch out all over the street - cause sometimes you got to teach a bitch a lesson." Such lessons provide to be an incredibly worth-while example of contemporary "teaching" if you witness said beating from a safe proximity, or if you carry a 9mm in the front of your pants like me. This same guy, when he wakes up from his beating induced coma will insist that he held his own. He will, of course, have to do this via pen and paper as his jaw will be broken and wired together - all a result of getting the shit kicked out of him.
These guys that wear cowboy boots to look chic, they kill the mystique of the sexy, rough riding cowpoke more than the gay sex in Brokeback Mountain. At least, in Brokeback Mountain there is the premise of rough men, having rough sex in a tender, loving way. That's sexy. It keeps up the cowboy mystique. It is dirty. It is raunchy. It is very "Wild West". But it isn't cool or chic or popular. It just IS. This is the thing these cowboy boot wearing posers fail to realize. The idea of sex with them presents flashes of bawling, more so from them, than their partner, as they are probably emotional wrecks as well as horribly bad lays. And even if they don't start to cry in the midst of copulating they will probably become incredibly emotional upon their climaxing and talk about their feelings in a sort of post coital emotional purge. This will lead anyone like myself to reach into the nightstand where earlier, I carefully placed the .357 magnum I took from its holding place in the front of my pants and shoot him, dead.
Apparently, this entire genus of man missed the memo, but cowboys don't want to talk about feelings because they don't have any. They are men. Manly men. And they fuck - hard fucking. Cause they ride horses, shoot guns and kill wild animals. There can't be contemporary men dressed in their best "business casual" outfit and fucking cowboy boots because it throws off the stasis of the universe. Cowboys are cowboys. They have a 6th grade education, cannot engage in a conversation of politics without saying, "Fuck those Commie Chinks" 
as a response to the current situation in the Middle East and can easily shoot a fly between the eyes from 50 miles away because that is what cowboys do. It's what makes them cool. Their anti-coolness, anti-intelligence & their general form of social anti-awareness makes women's clothes melt off and their legs spread open. So every time I meet one of these cowboy posers I have to rearrange and reinforce my cowboy fantasy in a sort of half-assed angry way. I swear to god and everything holy that I am going to poke out their fucking eyes and stick the tips of their fucking boots in the gaping cavities left behind in order to teach them not to fuck with my vision of "real men".
(Sabrina C. is a senior staffwriter for No-Fi "Magazine"
and will seriously poke your eyes out! Yes, seriously!)
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