Christmas at Backbreaker Ranch

  • By Jim Dwyer
  • December 20, 2005 @ 11:21 AM
‘Twas the night before Christmas at Backbreaker Ranch and all through the bunkhouse the cowboys were mooning when the telephone rang.

“Cheney here,” answered a gruff voice, panting, shouting: “Down, boys, down,”

as a whip cracked in the background.

Dick? Is that you, Dick? This is your President, George Bush.”

“Hello, kid. This is your Vice President. Why are you calling me on Christmas Eve? Do you have some liberal that you want tortured?”

“Dick, I’m, ah, sorry to bother you, ah, but something, uh, has come up that we need to talk about.”

“Look, kid, can’t it wait until tomorrow after the presents are passed out? I’ve got all these lonely cowboys to corral tonight before The Mormon Tabernacle Choir flies in for Midnight Mass.”

“Ah, that’s what I wanted to talk with you about, Dick. It’s those, ah, Wyoming cowboys of yours that are, uh, doing it with each other.”

“Look, kid, the winters at Backbreaker Ranch are cold and hard. These cowboys need something to keep them warm until spring when they can do a bustout in Cheyenne.”

“But, ah, Dick, they’re making it look like all cowboys are, ah, gay. I mean, whatever happened to the Marlboro man? Dick, I’m a cowboy. My whole image is based on being a cowboy with a ranch and all that. Dick, you’ve got to, ah, get a grip on these boys.”

“Hell, kid, don’t get your undies bunched over these cowboys just having some fun. In fact, let me download a video of our Christmas Eve bunkhouse party. Crank your computer, and I’ll zip it to you.”

“Laura! Laura come here and turn on this computer so I can see what Dick is talking about. Good. Here it comes on the screen. Oh, oh! My gawd! What are they doing?!

“Don’t get excited, kid. If you can’t figure it out, just stand on your head. You’ll get a whole other perspective.”

“Stand on my head, Dick says. OK, OK, I’m just, ah, getting there, and I can, uh, see it now. It looks like…. Oh no! Holy cow! I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like that in Texas. How do those boys get up for work in the morning?”

“Com’on, kid. What about when you were at Yale? Don’t tell me that things didn’t get a little kinky back there.”

“Well, ah, Dick, I admit that once in awhile we rented a mule and brought it into the Skull and Bones fraternity house. But that was just, ah, funnin’ for us rich kids.”

“Yah, kid. I know what you mean. Well, out here in the wilds of Wyoming, we have more sheep than people, so we didn’t raise much of a fuss when our boys started getting friendly with the little creatures, as long as they didn’t touch the one with the pink ribbon.”

“Ah, why not, Dick?”

“’Cause she’s the Sheriff’s girl. Anyway, the sheep began baahhing around the bunkhouse all night, so we had to put our ranch hands through a retraining program. Well, during the retraining, our boys got closer to one another, until now they can’t seem to do without their buddies.”

“Ah, Dick, can’t you kind of get them to tone it down? I mean, what happens if this stuff spreads to Texas?”

“It already has, kid. Have you visited your bunkhouse lately?”

“Ah, Laura, check the bunkhouse and, ah, tell me if we should install one of those spy cameras from the National Security Agency. And, ah, Dick, as President, I expect you to hold up your end in this deal. What happens in Wyoming stays in Wyoming.”

“Sure, sure, kid. But I’ve got to run now. I’m playing Santa Claus tonight at the Cheyenne chapter of the Log Cabin Republicans.”

“Ah, Dick, the Log Cabin Republicans are a gay group. How did you, ah, get suckered into playing Santa Claus for this bunch of….”

“No problem, kid. I only agreed to do it as long as they didn’t sit on my lap. OK, boys,” shouted Cheney, his whip cracking, “Let’s hold hands and send Holiday greetings to our Commander-in-Chief. All together now: HAVE A GAY CHRISTMAS, Mr. President!!”

“Ah, uh, thanks, ah, boys, and the same to you, I think.”