volume one IN THE D U D L E Y C L A R K - Ohio Vine Tours

A man in cowboy clothes and black hat prances about on a
railroad track.
“Now come on, boys, where’s your spirit? I don’t hear no singin’. When
you were slaves, you sang like birds. How ’bout a good ole nigger work
song?”
Roy flinches. He knows a lot of black men would beat the
living crap out of him if he ever used the N-word.
Pete continues to laugh his ass off.
“Watch this, Roy—” Pete instructs him without turning his
head because he’s so fucked up if he did turn his head it might
break off and float away.
Roy tries to concentrate.
The black dudes start singing a song about champagne.
I get no kick from champagne
Pure alcohol doesn’t thrill me at all
So tell me why should it be true
That I get a bang out of you—
As a consequence of his raucous laughter, Pete slips out of his
wingback chair onto the floor. Wheezing, he grabs the chair’s
arms and pulls himself up.
Through his laughter he notices his new compadre sitting all
shovel-faced serious with not a crack of smile anywhere to be
seen.
He wonders about this a stoned moment—not a scientifically
categorized or recognized unit of time—long enough to distract
him from the movie, cause him to miss the bit where Slim
Pickins, as Taggert, delivers his “Kansas City faggots” line.
He digs through the darkness for the remote, finds it and
presses PAUSE.
“What’s wrong, Roy? This is some funny shit.”
Roy’s hiked shoulders rub the bottoms of his ears.
“I don’t think so.”
“You don’t—”
Pete breaks off, uncertain how to respond.
For him, Blazing Saddles is the best thing Mel Brooks ever
2 2 ROY ROGERS IN THE 21ST CENTURY