I was an outlaw, bar owner, gambler, gunfighter, and dentist which isn't bad for someone who could barely get out of bed without vomiting up a gallon of lung tissue. When i got diagnosed with Tuberculosis, i was given 3 months to live so instead of hacking up the rest of my lungs in terrified spasms like some knee-knocking wiener, i gave up my practise of coughing up my lungs over terrified dental patients and hit the gambling halls across the US southwest and becoming one of the worst badasses from the Old West complete with a big moustache, a wide brimmed gunfighters hat and a big knife.
Contrary to popular belief, the Wild West wasn't a never-ending riot of gun battles, outlaws, horse rustlers and card cheats. It was pretty peaceful, save for the odd maniac dentist.
However, that's not to say that it was a pacifist wonderland. One town i visited with my dentist kit bag was so rough that it was regarded as being 'too tough for women and churches' on the Wild West Deathometer, even i didn't hang around to do any crowns and fillings in that place.
I buddied up with the lawman Wyatt Earp, joining him for the famous gunfight at the OK Corral where a fight broke out, can't remember why exactly but either because someone accused someone of horse theft or because someone was discovered to be cheating at cards or even maybe a horse cheated at cards, it's a bit of a blank.
I did get into so many other scrapes though, i almost beat one guy to death with his own walking stick after he cheated at cards which isn't easy to do with lungs the size of a pair of walnuts.
I died at the ripe old age of 36, 15 years of drinking copiously and living recklessly after i was given just 3 months to live.
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