"Hey, you got your Wild West lawman story in my skiing story!"
"No, YOU got YOUR skiing story in MY Wild West lawman story!"
"NO, BOTH OF YOU have mixed YOUR Wild West lawman and skiing stories in MY outer space story!"

That's how this one happened, and all it took was a clumsy intern, a box full of loosely bound scripts, and a preventable tripping hazard to create a work of art that says maybe comic book companies don't actually have to print everything submitted to them.


No, we wern't kidding! This is the story of a tough sheriff, his freshly waxed skis, and their schuss through outer space towards an unknown, planet-filled destiny!


Consarn it, this plumb loco Western dialogue has, uh, enturbulated my congnizance factorization. Sorry, got a little mixed up here.


Sure, endanger your horse by assuming those armed desperate criminals will suddenly lose their desperation and their criminality. Why not? What's the worst that could happen? (cut to black, sound of screeching tires, thump, silence, gunshot, horse funeral)


Those bank-banditos picked the wrong time to do their bank banditoing, because this sheriff is minutes away from the vacation he's been waiting for! Usually when police talk like this, they're about to get killed. But not our guy, he's got a date with skis. And space!


"I took my private Lear jet and soon I was face deep in a giant pile of white, powdery cocaine! Wait! Cut that last part."


I get that "Bronc" is a cowboy cop, and "Schuss" is probably a skier, but "Chet" isn't very descriptive. Maybe he works for CHET-FM in British Columbia? That's probably it.


So Bronc, basically your job is chasing men, and then your vacation is spent... chasing men? Maybe there's an underlying theme in your life that you might not be consciously aware of? Think about it.


This ski-sheriff is going to have to stunt-pull a real time-gainer to catch those chase-veterans during this snow-pursuit filled with compound-descriptors!


Bronc has had this particular ski jump in mind for a year, he's been thinking about speed and trajectory and the precise feel of the snow and the coefficent of drag as his ski sweater flutters in the wind. However, he hasn't actually practiced this jump anywhere in real life, ever. Which is why the sudden mysterious force dragging him upwards is probably a good thing.


"Well, that's funny, I'm surrounded by that kinda snow they tell me I shouldn't eat!"


Those are some finely tuned man-hunting instincts there, instantly realizing that the masked jet-pack hover-skiiers firing their deadly ski-pole zap beams aren't friendly.


It's a rule of the universe that interstellar consciousness-switching always switches mentalities between beings that are engaged in reasonably similar activities. Football players switch with football players, tool and die operators switch with tool and die operators, ski-bum sheriffs switch with ski-bum sheriffs. Something about the nature of quantum physics - or hacky comic book writing, either one.


Well, hover-ski marshall Melc-X-101, looks like there are ladies on this hover-ski planet! So get to diggin' it already.


Here on Planet Whatever, the custom is that your fiancee follows you around during your day to judge your job performance. I don't make the rules!


Let me see, what do I have for this one... uh... something about not getting to see her Valganian Gulch until after their space-ski wedding, or something. Yeah, that'll work.


Mercury is "molten" at room temperature here on Earth, so maybe this isn't quite as exotic as the comic would have us believe. Those fumes will totally mess you up, though!


Time for some actual skiing terms here in our space skiing comic! Do NOT try to snowplough your way down a sheer cliff, however. It will result in death. And then some shocked tourist finds your corpse in the springtime, and nobody wants that.


They're gonna use their Pole-Rays! (insert terrible 1970s Polish joke here)


First he puts a horse in danger, now he's talking about whacking steers with sticks? Somebody call the Humane Society on this guy!


"I reckon women are all alike, in that any intimate contact I have with one will involve a wild coincidence that defies billion-to-one odds."


Once more, he goes skiing through space, with only the voice of Melc-X-101 in his head thanking him for being his stand-in for the most desperate adventure of his life, which is "kissing a girl."


Just like in Ghostbusters, amazing things happen at the intersection of powerful particle beams! Usually radiation burns. But not this time!


So Melc-X-101 just sort of... sat around in the snow for an hour while Bronc did all the heavy lifting back on Three-Sun. Thanks for the pneumonia, Melc. Now get on your feet Bronc, and maybe you can find a marryin' woman of your own!

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