(Warning: viewpoints in the blogpost may be controversial.) I know, I know. Making a statement like this is like Marge Simpson telling Homer that the despicable action he has just undertaken is the worse thing he has ever done. Homer’s classic response is, “You say that so much it has lost all meaning.” But just because I say stupid stuff all the time doesn’t make what I am about to say any less stupid.
The main antagonist (bad guy) for the novel I will be releasing this summer (Lord willing and the creek don’t rise) is a Texas Ranger. I know! Even after they just lost the World Series. And the hit series (it was a hit in Texas, anyway) Walker, Texas Ranger has only been off the air since 2001 (can you believe it’s been almost 10 years?). Why, dear reader, would I do such a jackassery-like thing?
First of all, playing cowboys and indians as a child I was always forced to play the role of the outcast native American. Embittered ever since, I have bided my time until I could even the score with cowboys everywhere. Secondly, and by secondly, I mean truthfully, who makes a better bad guy than a supposed-to-be good guy? Who didn’t cry themselves silly with shock and outrage when they first heard the famous words, “<kooooh paaahh> Luke. I am your father.” I mean, holy inhaler wheezy Mr. Darth Vader. Back that up a sec.
Jedi Knights are supposed to protect us, not crush our windpipes with their thoughts. And that is exactly the point. Texas Rangers are supposed to ride the range with nothing but a six shooter and a smile (well, throw in some pants and stuff like that). Maybe an occasional karate kick to the groin of a despicable human trafficker. But in reality, (ironic that I speak now of reality) some Texas Rangers back in the day were like Darth Vader, except without the voice of James Earl Jones. They ran amuck with hateful and racist intent.
Since the good guy Rangers were getting plenty of play, and I figured a bad guy Ranger would make a nifty little twist, I created John Tilly McCutchen (J.T. McCutchen, Lightning McCrunch, the Reefer Ranger, Rinche) known to his friends as… well, he doesn’t have any friends. He’s the Inspector Javert of the wild west. He’s the Darth Vader of the Texican Petro-oligarchy (gotta’ read the book to find out about that one).
He can drop the hammers on his Colt .45 Flat Tops faster than you can squeeze your sphincters shut in fear. He’s got a short fuse, a legalistic worldview, and trust me, if he finds out that you’re planning on not reading the book I’ve written about him he’ll renovate your cranium with unwanted ventilation. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.