Deadlands Noir Extinct in the Big Easy

Call me MISTER Jeckyll


I was honestly expecting more of a fight, but that was so easy it’s laughable. I actually feel kind of bad for the guy. Yeah, all Hyded up, it would’ve hurt if he’d connected, but the poor bastard never even came close. He just sort of windmilled his arms around, so slow I could have balanced my checkbook between swings, if I balanced my own checkbook, and he didn’t even seem to try to block when I hit him. Which I did. Only three times before he was doing a class-A impersonation of a floorboard. I wouldn’t want to be him when the Red Rum wears off, that’s for sure. But that, friends, is the difference between being a puncher, and a boxer.

Hell, Jane gave me more of a workout.



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