Al Swearengen: Christ. The Mania impends. Dan: What is it Al? The coach on the ridge? Them four mop tops? Al: It’s the Beatles, Dan. Quartet of cunts, borne by wind and wagon from darkest Liverpool to blow their jugs here, in our fucking camp. Johnny: Ringo’s my favorite.

going to be thinking of ian mcshane with piss stones for the next 12 hours ty

E.B. farnum: I declare I am experiencing a vexatious temperament with this automated contraption

Calamity Jane lies slumped against a clapboard shack, whiskey bottle clutched in her hand, singing tunelessly, We all fuckin live in a fuckin yellow fuckin submarine, fuckin yellow fuckin submarine, fuckin yellow submarine

Bullock: *clenching his teeth hard enough to split the atom* you stay out of our FUCKIN affairs *starts beating John in the thoroughfare*