State Theatre, Minneapolis, MN
The Lives of the Cowboys
SS: The Lives of the Cowboys. Brought to you by Lickety Split lip balm— for the trail. And now: The Lives of the Cowboys.
GK: Well, here we are in Minneapolis, Dusty.
TR: It would appear so from all the somber faces and the shortage of saloons. Why'd we come here, anyway?
GK: Came here cause the King of the Cowboy Novel lives here. F. Scott Marigold. We met him in Nevada two years ago and saved his life in that mudslide and he told me if I ever wrote a novel he'd be pleased to read it.
TR: So that's what that is in your saddlepack.
GK: That's it. LAST RIDE UP YELLOW CANYON. Been working on it for pretnear two years.
TR: Cowboys ain't supposed to write novels, pardner. We're cynical. We just basically don't like other people.
GK: Well, I had a story inside me and it wanted to come out.
TR: I have things inside me that come out, I don't see the need to share them with other people.
GK: Well anyway. Here we are at Coyote Coffeeshop. This is where Mr. Marigold hangs his hat. Let's tie up the horses (DISMOUNT SFX).
(DOORS OPEN, ESPRESSO NOISES)
GK: Quite a crowd.
TR: Lot of somber young people in designer jeans sitting at laptops and trying to think up cool stuff to write and not having much success.
SS: Hello, gentlemen. What can I get you?
TR: A cup of black coffee for me, no sprinkles, no cinnamon, no flavoring. Just coffee. Black. In a regular coffee cup, not one of those paper sippy cups. No plastic stirrer, no little cream capsules on the saucer, just coffee. American coffee. Black.
SS: Okay. How about you?
GK: I'd like a latte, tall, with an extra shot.
SS: Coming right up.
TR: So what you going to do if your novel LAST RIDE UP YELLOW CANYON is a big best-seller and you get a truckload of cash and you're famous and successful ----- you going to buy a big house and settle down?
GK: Not a house, an apartment, preferably one somewhere above the 10th floor. Out of range of flash floods and rattlesnakes.
(GUNSHOT, GLASS BREAKAGE, GK REACT) (TK LOUD LAUGHTER)
Why, it's him. F. Scott Marigold. In back there.
TK: YOU SAID YOU WANTED AN EXTRA SHOT!! SO THERE IT IS!! AN EXTRA SHOT!!! HA HA HA HA HA HA HA.
TR: Not the brightest person I ever met-----
SS: Here, let me get you a new coffee. Mr. Marigold gets a little carried away sometimes.
GK: Howdy, F. Scott. You remember my partner, Dusty. The one who tossed you the rope in that mudslide.
TK: Oh yeah. Siddown, take a load off.
GK: Good to see you. Thanks for reading my novel.
TK: Yeah------ took me awhile. Kept falling asleep.
GK: Not enough action for you?
TK: Here's what I think of your novel. (GUNSHOTS)
GK: You know, that's my only copy, Mr. Marigold. I wish you hadn't done that, frankly.
TR: Yeah, you just blew four big holes in another man's manuscript.
TK: It's called editing. The thing is full of talk, talk, talk, talk. Western novels are not about dialogue! They're about this. (WHIP CRACK) They're about this. (GLASS BREAKAGE) And they're about this. (HE SWINGS, KONK, TR OOFFF)
GK: You just knocked out my partner, F. Scott.
TK: He forgot to duck.
GK: Not a gentlemanly thing to do if you ask me.
TK: I didn't.
SS: (FOOTSTEPS) Here's your latte, sir. What happened to your friend?
GK: Mr. Marigold here decked him for reasons known only to himself.
TK: Did it to make a point, and that's that western novels are about action. Ain't that right, Maybelle? C'mere and kiss me.
SS: I don't care to kiss you------ (THEY STRUGGLE, HE KISSES HER) you better not try that again, you dirty ----- (THEY STRUGGLE, HE KISSES HER) Fehhhhh. Disgusting. Here. Drink your coffee.
TK: Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.
GK: You know, I rather admired you at one time and now I find you reprehensible.
TK: Good. I'm glad. A writer is not a social worker!!!! A writer has one responsibility and that is to be colorful!!!! (HE HAWKS, SPITS. DISTANT PROTEST) You got to keep yourself in the public eye. By spitting in it.
GK: I thought writing a novel was about the craft of storytelling----
TK: It is and the story is about ME versus YOU-----
GK: You spit at me and your spitting days are done.
TK: Oh yeah?
GK: I mean it.
TK: Try to make me.
SS: I'll make you.
TK: Make me what?
SS: Make you behave yourself.
TK: Oh? How you planning to do that?
SS: Already did it.
TK: Did what?
SS: Put something in your coffee.
TK: Put what in my coffee?
SS: You're just about to find out.
TK: I feel funny inside. Kinda queasy.
SS: I don't wonder.
TK: What you doing to me? (HIGH) Oh no------
SS: Put some goose juice in there. Makes your voice high like a girl's.
TK (HIGH): Why'd you do it, Maybelle?? That's nasty stuff. That's awful mean of you.
SS: Sick of you and your colorful ways, F. Scott.
TK (HIGH): I am so embarrassed.
TR (WAKING UP): Oh wow. What happened----
TK (HIGH): That's what I don't know.
TR (GROGGY): Oh its you, ya little peckerwood---- (HE HAULS OFF, KONK, TK REACT)
TK (DEEP): Thanks. Appreciate that. Excuse me, I gotta go see a man about a dog.
SS: I read that novel of yours, mister. It's a fine piece of work. A good man out on the trail looking for love. I liked that. No undiagnosed mental health issues or latent mood disorders, just loneliness. I could relate to that. anger outbursts, sudden crying fits, anything of that sort?
GK: Yeah. A steady, hardworking man trying to make the best of the hand he's been dealt and win the heart of the woman he loves.
SS: I loved your portrayals of women. Very sensitive. Obviously you've been around women......you know us so well.......I felt like you knew me awfully well.......those love scenes.......my goodness, you have me right in the palm of your hand. In the palm of your hand.
TR: Lefty---- I think we better get out of here.
SS: I want to read it again------ do you mind?
GK: It's sort of full of holes.
SS: That's all right. Would you read it out loud to me?
GK: Well, I might.......
TR: Lefty, let's get out of here......
SS: The Lives of the Cowboys. Brought to you by Lickety Split lip balm: it's meant for the trail.
Lovingly selected from the earliest archives of A Prairie Home Companion, this heirloom collection represents the music from earliest years of the now legendary show: 1974–1976. With songs and tunes from jazz pianist Butch Thompson, mandolin maestro Peter Ostroushko, Dakota Dave Hull and the first house band, The Powdermilk Biscuit Band (Adam Granger, Bob Douglas and Mary DuShane).