Satiricus was quite excited. Here it was, he’d always been hearing about the “Magnificent 7”, those seven mysterious gunmen who’d gone into the poor town to rescue the inhabitants after that dastardly robber baron had slaughtered so many folks.
They’d tried to prevent him stealing their yellow gold in the ground. But here it was, our own Guyanese “Magnificent Five” had just ridden into the heart of Texas to take on that nefarious robber baron Nexxon, who was threatening to steal the black gold under our seas.
“Well, you have to understand: they didn’t ACTUALLY ride into Texas,” Satiricus explained to the fellas at the Back Street Bar. “They flew first class. But it’s the bravery that counts!”
“Suh leh me anderstaan dis,” began Bungi slowly as he chugged his beer. “Dis “Magnivicent Five” fly all de way to Texas fuh do wha?”
“Well, to let nasty Nexxon understand that we have people who will protect our interests!” said Satiricus sternly.
“Did they renegotiate the royalties,” asked Hari. “Or the profit split?”
“You don’t understand international negotiations, Hari,” said Satiricus. “Our Magnificent Five just wanted to make a point.”
“An’ wha’ da pint?” asked Bungi, querulously.
“That even though it took SEVEN American gunslingers to save that Mexican mining town,” said Satiricus proudly, “we only needed FIVE gunslingers to go into Texas to take on the oil barons!”
“Suh if abee na get mo’ money fuh abee ile, how da help abee?” Bungi persisted.
“It’s the SYMBOLISM, Bungi,” said Satiricus, rolling his eyes. “Our Magnificent Five flew in first class, slept in their 5-star hotel, went to their air-conditioned oil baron headquarters, and came out undaunted.”
“Well, I heard they came out noticeably heavier after their five-course lunch,” pointed out Hari sourly.
“That’s the point, Hari,” said Satiricus. “Even after all that, our Magnificent Five still didn’t choose to become illegal immigrants! They returned home!”
