In the end you know what happens, the good guy and the bad guy duke it out in a cabin set to blow with dynamite. Whether it tickles your funny bone or outright horrifies you is a gauge of your mental health, unfortunately I'm not certain which reaction is good. In the old west people tended to stand around singing. Midgets ride Shetland Ponies. You can't reason with a duck, especially one that is walking backwards.
Little women can eat their own weight in sandwiches and pickled eggs.
In the old west if a bullet hit you, it killed you. If your beer keg runs out early there is probably a drunk midget inside. Dynamite and wooden dowels are almost impossible to tell apart. Fuse only burns when you are looking at it. As in possessive tense, as in he owns them.