es347fan
04-30-2003, 05:17 PM
Three strangers at a small airport in Montana are awaiting their shuttle flight.
One is Native American passing through from Lame Deer, MT.
Another is a cowboy on his way to Billings, MT for a rodeo.
The third passenger is a fundamentalist Arab student, newly arrived at Montana State University from the Middle East.
To pass the time the three strike up a conversation on recent events, and the discussion drifts to their diverse cultures.
Soon the Westerners learn that the Arab is a devout, radical Muslim, and the conversation falls into an uneasy lull. The cowboy leans back in his chair, crosses his boots on a magazine table, and tips his big sweat-stained hat forward over his face. The wind outside blows tumbleweeds, and the old windsock flaps; but no plane comes.
Finally, the Native American clears his throat and softly, he speaks: "Once, my people were many, now we are few."
The radical Muslim raises an eyebrow and leans towards the Cowboy and Indian.
"Once my people were few," he sneers, "and now we are many. Why do you suppose that is?"
The Montana Cowboy casually shifts his toothpick to one side of his mouth and from the darkness beneath his Stetson says in a drawl, "That's 'cause we ain't played Cowboys and Muslims yet!"
One is Native American passing through from Lame Deer, MT.
Another is a cowboy on his way to Billings, MT for a rodeo.
The third passenger is a fundamentalist Arab student, newly arrived at Montana State University from the Middle East.
To pass the time the three strike up a conversation on recent events, and the discussion drifts to their diverse cultures.
Soon the Westerners learn that the Arab is a devout, radical Muslim, and the conversation falls into an uneasy lull. The cowboy leans back in his chair, crosses his boots on a magazine table, and tips his big sweat-stained hat forward over his face. The wind outside blows tumbleweeds, and the old windsock flaps; but no plane comes.
Finally, the Native American clears his throat and softly, he speaks: "Once, my people were many, now we are few."
The radical Muslim raises an eyebrow and leans towards the Cowboy and Indian.
"Once my people were few," he sneers, "and now we are many. Why do you suppose that is?"
The Montana Cowboy casually shifts his toothpick to one side of his mouth and from the darkness beneath his Stetson says in a drawl, "That's 'cause we ain't played Cowboys and Muslims yet!"