Messages/Boothill

To my dearest Masters,
Greetings to you all. I am Boothill, the Galaxy Ranger.
As the evening breeze of Asdana carries with it the tender whispers of approaching summer, I humbly pray that your noble selves remain in radiant health, untouched by the vexations of seasonal ailments, so as not to miss the splendor of this midsummer's enchanting beauty.
Though but a humble fugitive, it is my profound honor to stand alongside your esteemed selves in the pursuit of the Holy Grail.
As such, with a heart brimming with reverence and gratitude, I extend to you a most earnest invitation to grace Clock Studios Theme Park with your presence. There, I shall humbly offer a modest feast of wine and fare in your esteemed company.
In this season of summer's retreat, Clock Studios Theme Park has transformed into a realm of poetic wonder, a paradise on earth that promises to etch unforgettable memories upon your hearts.
Should you deign to accept my invitation, I would be overjoyed beyond measure. I shall eagerly await your reply. May this humble gathering serve as a cherished testament to the bond we share, and may it bestow upon you a moment of delight and respite amidst your noblest endeavors.
With the highest regards and the deepest wishes,
Here's to you,
Salutations from,
Yours humbly,
Boothill

Well butter my fudge and call me a biscuit, I'm askin' ya somethin'. You got some fudgin' cotton in them ears, boy? I need that freighter's ID number, and unless ya want a lead headache, best hurry it up. Dagnabbit, you lil' forker, ya really think ya can fudgin' swing at me? You're cruisin' for a bruisin', ya dimwit, I swear I'll dog your cats so good today. [Noise detected, unable to identify]

Ah, ain't nothin'. Reckon my phone got triggered by mistake, them tight jeans, you know how it is. All's well, no harm done. Muddle-fudger, you're as stubborn as a mule, ain't ya? Go choke on some shirtballs, ya hear me? [Noise detected, unable to recognize]

What in tarnation are ya? A dadgum fudgehead! Yer yappin' like you're callin' folks out, huh? Aight, aight, aight, been itchin' for a tussle, ya shirt-for-brains. Fine, I'll show ya somethin' big, lil' forkers. Hahahahahahahaha [Noise detected, unable to recognize]

Aw shucks, ma bad. Apologies. Was just chattin' with a pal. Nothing to see here. Mighty sorry 'bout that. Later I'll rob a new phone real quick... Um, I mean "buy" a new phone. Hopefully, that'll fix things up, hahaha.

Gotta cut this short, pardner. I'm off to hunt some varmints, busy as a bee. I mean, catchin' up with "an old friend," it's been ages, haha. Till we meet again, adios.

[No voice detected]

[No voice detected]

Haha, no sirree. I'm campin' near the lonesome stretches of the Kata Desert. When night falls quiet, you can hear the wind, the critters chirpin', and the rustle of wild beasts clear as a bell. Got a nice feel to it, so I reckoned I'd capture a bit of that and shoot it your way to have a listen.

Too bad my stupid phone has such a fudgin' poor recording function. Boy, what a waste. Tell you what, the vibe here is really something. Forkin' awesome. Seriously.

Holy forkeroni, this weather, it's downright beautiful. These stars, like flour sprinkled on a coat. Tsk, mighty pretty, truly fine. Far from home, seldom see stars like these. Real pretty sight, tsk tsk.

Well, I'll be forked. Suddenly got a hankerin' for home, forkin' hell.

Shame though, real fudgin' shame. My old homestead's grasslands, not to boast, but lying there was heaven on earth. Not even the top-notch steer in camp could match that grass for comfort. A real pity, that. And that creek, clean as a whistle, I tell ya. Them little fish in it looked like they were just floating in the air, no foolin'.

Come nightfall, you'd plop down in the grasslands, find yerself a rock, face the breeze and strum a guitar or wail on a harmonica — that's the slice of paradise, crisp and sweet. Darn shame, no chance for that no more. Tut-tut, can't go back no more. Cannot go back anymore.

When the time comes, I'll show ya what I got, haha. Ain't no boastin', but in the whole camp, I strum the guitar finest. Harmonica too, true story, no fibbin'. Ah, the moon's dip'n low. Time I hit the trail, catch ya later. Thanks for chewin' the fat with me, much obliged.

Hey, (Trailblazer). I rustled up some goods, you interested?

Lemme tell ya, it's mighty fine, lit as fudge. Just crackin' open the pack, the scent hits yer noggin straight away. Then ya start droolin' like a hound, ya catch my drift. Just a whiff's enough to make ya giddy on cloud nine, taste it, and you're shootin' straight to the moon, hahahaha.

Don't go prying. Just know that it took me a heap of elbow grease. Fork it, ya've no idea how many sons of benches have been eyein' this, but today, I finally snagged it. Later, I'll have those lil' forkers hammer away at it, then seal it in a barrel and bury it deep for fermentin', else the purity would never fudgin' cut it. This here's some fine goods, can't let it be squandered on them shirt-for-brains, heh heh heh

Fudge, I'll be hornswoggled. What in tarnation do I gain from givin' it to ya, huh? Have I got bats in my belfry or what? You takin' me for a born fool? Heh, I forkin' reckon not!

You fudgin' threatenin' me, pardner? Pullin' this stunt, huh? Well, shirt, I be forked. Aight, aight, you've got spunk, I like that. A ranger oughta shoot straight, not dilly-dally with all that fudgin' horsefeathers, hahahaha.

Alrighty, it's yers. Shucks. Be here sharp at three system hours tonight, just you, nobody else. I'll shoot ya the coordinates later.

Don't you dare waste it, y'hear, or we're gonna have words. This here's malt juice squeezed from premium Lufur watermelon, and in an entire Amber Era, ya be lucky to harvest two yields at best. Don't go wastin' it now. Saved myself just one bottle. Not a drop to spare, you got me? Ugh, shucks.