That cowboy knew how to shoot a deer; but, didn't know how to shoot an azimuth, tsk-tsk.

The year is 1847, the place is the territory of New Mexico, the people are a tiny handful of men and women with a dream. Eleven months ago, they started out from Ohio and headed west. Someone told them about a place called California, about a warm sun and a blue sky, about rich land and fresh air, and at this moment, almost a year later, they've seen nothing but cold, heat, exhaustion, hunger, and sickness. This man's name is Christian Horn. He has a dying eight-year old son and a heartsick wife, and he's the only one remaining who has even a fragment of the dream left. Mr. Chris Horn, who's going over the top of a rim to look for water and sustenance and in a moment will move into the Twilight Zone.

Well played, CG... you must have been a fan.

;)

I'm not saying the mafia was involved but I don't see a box of canolis in the picture.

Of course.

Twilight Zone, Tales From The Crypt, Tales From The Darkside, The Outer Limits...

Proud as punch, they are. Didn't get this exited when I left my raincoat behind.
http://cellar.org/2015/darifle.jpg

Day Twe:
No idea where I am. Can't even remember where I left my raincoat. May be on another world. Last thing I remember was Zaphod getting another round in.

Day Thv:
Battery getting low. Is anyone even reading this?
Fix on location and get me out of here, please!

Day Tin:
Getting the impression the natives aren't exactly froody.
I think I may have been hit by a retro projectile weapon of some sort. Nothing a medipac can't sort.

Day Con:
My face isn't the only thing getting a bit hairy now. I'm being stalked.

Day Ra:
No, really guys. This isn't a funny pre-commitment jape any more.
Fix on my fucking location and get me out of here.

Day Wst:
Yeah. Okay. Use the DNA filter next time. You got the ape stalking me.

Sundae ftw.