You’re going to have to be more creative if you want to kill THIS thread.
Go Red Sox!
Who was the fastest man who ever lived?
Adam
He came first in the human race!!! 
Boo, hiss.
:throws rotten tomato at the thief:
This thread has lasted over three weeks and almost 30 pages and yet not a single Mod has posted in here. There have been no warnings, no comments, nothing. It is like we are completely on our own. It is like the Wild West in here.
In fact…
Cue cowboy music…
*
The stranger rode into town just before sunset. The Stetson he was wearing didn’t completely hide the scar on his forehead. The stallion he rode in on paced its way through the center of town. The stranger wore a Colt .45 on each hip and there was a rifle on the saddle.
Almost as if on cue, when the horse passed Miss fisha’s dance hall and saloon, the steed sunfished. The stranger drew his Colts fired into the air once from each wheelgun and returned them to his holsters.
He dismounted outside the bar and pushed through the swinging doors. A card game was going on in the corner and a hooker was working on a drunk in the back.
The stranger took it all in and then said, "Name’s SSG Schwartz, and I’m a shootist. I understand this town needs some killin’ done. Miss fisha bring me a whiskey and someone tell me why I am here.
*
SSG Schwartz
*Miss fisha grabs a bottle of whiskey and a glass. As she sashays up behind the bar, she wipes the glass with the hem of her dress. Plunking the glass and the bottle of rotgut on the bar she says, “Howdy, stranger, what brings you to these parts?”
*
(Hey, it coulda been worse-- could have been the hooker “working on a drunk in the back.”)
I wonder who gets that part…
I shouldn’t concern you with this, purty lady, but I’ve heard that there is a thread here that needs killin’. I hear this town ain’t had a sheriff in over three weeks and trouble has come to town. Set me up with another whiskey and point me to the man who has had dealings with this here thread.
(I was wondering what role you would take. And I think we all know who will play the drunk in the corner.)
SSG Schwartz
SSG Schwartz lights a match off his chin and touches it to the tip of an old cigar. He blows smoke and says, "I shouldn’t concern you with this, purty lady, but I’ve heard that there is a thread here that needs killin’. I hear this town ain’t had a sheriff in over three weeks and trouble has come to town. Set me up with another whiskey and point me to the man who has had dealings with this here thread.
(I was wondering what role you would take. And I think we all know who will play the drunk in the corner.)
SSG Schwartz
*“Ya looking for me?” snarls a light skinned, no a white skinned man in a white hat and a silver badge. “I’m the law here and if anyone does any killin’ in this town, it’s me.”
Damn, Sheriff Player, is back in town.*
T*he troubles first started when the **Thief **started blustering on about how he was a big man thread killer. See us folks, when we see threads coming, we’ll talk to 'em politely, or cuss 'em out, or generally jist ignore them. But **the Thief *warn’t happy with the way things were, no sir. He had to go and provoke one of them.
AH CRAP
That was fun until I realised I’d posted too late.
Never mind.
Stop me if you already heard this from you dating life, but.
Let’s not define things. Putting labels on it will just ruin it.
Way Harsh dude.
I’m viewing all of this from the card game in the corner of the bar (nice dress, fisha). I’ve got a Killer Hand…and the means to kill a thread or two.
*SSG Schwartz puts down the bottle and grinds his cigar out on the bar. “I reckon I am, Player”, he says in a gruff voice.
“There’s no law in this town. You, Sheriff Player, or Tokyo Rose, as you used to be known, ain’t the law here. You got threads running wild. I can take care of this for you. Now you can either have a drink with me, or you can meet me out in the streets. Either way, I ain’t leaving until the thread is dead.”
The gunslinger takes a step toward the Sheriff and picks up the bottle again.*
SSG Schwartz
*“Whoa, whoa, slow down boys.” Miss fisha gently wedges herself between the two bristling men, glaring at each other. 'I’m sure you’all can settle this like gentlemen. Why don’t we all set down and I’ll get you boys another round."
"Baby? Hey, Big Baby, why don’t you get these fine gentlemen a bottle of our aged whiskey from the back. And a round for the poker players, too. "
*
*Miss fisha wanders back behind the bar with a tight smile, then kicks a prostrate Auto in the head on the way by.
“Where’d that girl get to? I swear it is jist damn hard to find a good whore these days. These wimmin’ be puttin’ on airs.”*
*SSG Schwartz returns to his table. Bloodletting has been averted for now. SSG Schwartz requires strong drink, companionship, and a cot for the night. For now, he will drink, and think.
He looks at **Miss fisha *behind the bar. She will have a part to play in this. He can see that already. The man in white he has dealt with before. SSG Schwartz thinks he may have to use him to. He must wait.
Could that drunk Miss fisha calls Auto be relied upon.
There maybe one more. He has heard that the fastest gunslinger in these parts frequents this watering hole. Who could he be?
SSG Schwartz
*“Big baby, where are you? You need to get that bottle out here, and track down that whore. I can’t reckon where she’s off to, and there’s rooms to be made up for our guests.”
**Mr. Labtrash ** returned to his card game, but not before he secured his Peacemaker again. Thirteen notches adorned the handgrip - and he was aching to add another.
*Big baby, she said again. This time it rang in SSG Schwartz’s head. Big baby had been called the fastest gunslinger in the territory. A long period of celibacy had given him a nasty cramp in his right hand when under pressure. The man in black arose and walked back to the poker table.
This couldn’t be the team of Thread Killers this town had produced. No wonder the thread was still running wild.
SSG Schwartz looked into the fading daylight and wished for a miracle.*
SSG Schwartz