If you haven’t read “The Legend of Slim Pickens” already, you really should. And if you already have read it. Read it again. I think it’s my favorite thing I have ever written: https://joshuadamorris.wordpress.com/2009/09/25/the-legend-of-slim-pickens/.
Anyway. Let me try to write another thing like that real quick. Ahem.
INT. HOTEL BAR. NIGHT.
CLINT DARBY strides in wearing a three piece suit and fedora. It is the 1930s. He is a private detective.
BARTENDER: Mr. Darby, hadn’t been expecting you.
CLINT: That’s because I’m your mother, you fat kike blimp. Pour me a drink before I pour my load down your trote (throat).
BARTENDER: Yes, Mr. Darby. I didn’t mean nothin by it see?
CLINT: Sayin I did see, what’s it to you? What’s the game? You hidin somethin in that big Jew trap of yours?
BARTENDER: No I ain’t Mr. Darby, and seein as I ain’t no Jew, I think it’s time you paid for your original sins.
PULLS OUT A TOMMY GUN FROM UNDER BAR
BARTENDER: Reach for the sky while my bullets reach for your balls. You self-loathing Jew prick. I’m going to recircumcise you. Jesus had the Resurrection, now you’re gonna get yours.
CLINT: I didn’t call you a kike. I called you a dyke.
BARTENDER: Well, well, well, then. All’s forgiven. Here’s one on me.
POURS HIM A DRINK.