Simone Prina

Freak dalla nascita, leggo carta quadricromatica e provo a scriverci due righe 🗞️ 🗯️

[Simone Prina @Freak4Comics]

🧵 La mia rubrica Freaked Comics su Substsck:

[Jules 🪐 @schumisnoopy]

the coats and suits of mulder and scully

[Ramin Nasibov @RaminNasibov]

by Yuval Robichek

[Old Media @oldmedia]

The Matrix (1999)

[御粗相 @oh_sosou]

ようこそ
#Gengar

[੯‧̀͡⬮ @cozysnoopys]

#mood

[Were In Stock @WereInStock]

Spider-Man

[⚡️ @idiotsyncratic0]

You can hear him laughing from all the way over in the home and appliances section

[THE X FILES AESTHETICS @XFilesAesthetic]

One of the best X Files quotes of all time 🙌

[90s Pokemon @90sPKMN]

🏄

[Traces of Texas @TracesofTexas]

Here's a photo of Bat Masterson in New York City circa 1920. Bat's life story reads like something straight off the shelves of a dusty dime novel, only every bit of it was true.

Born Bartholomew Masterson on a Quebec farm in 1853, he drifted west with his family as a boy and by his late teens was already chasing buffalo across the plains. Somewhere along the way, he decided plain old “Bartholomew” wasn’t the name for a man of adventure and started signing his name William Barclay Masterson—though the world would always know him as “Bat.”

He cut his teeth on the buffalo range alongside legends like Billy Dixon and Wyatt Earp, and by the time he was twenty he’d already seen more than most men twice his age. In 1874, he was at Adobe Walls in the Texas Panhandle when several hundred Comanche, Kiowa and Arapaho warriors charged the trading post, and he fought through the famous battle from the safety—or maybe the chaos—of Jim Hanrahan’s saloon.

The very next year he signed on as a scout for the U.S. Army during the Red River War, then tried his hand as a buffalo hunter, teamster, and hide trader in wild Texas towns like Sweetwater (later called Mobeetie).

A saloon shootout in 1876 left Bat wounded and gave him a reputation as a gunfighter, though he actually killed very few men. He was soon wearing a badge in Dodge City, where as sheriff he hunted down train robbers, brought in horse thieves, and even captured a stage actress’s killer. His lawman days didn’t last—he lost reelection in 1879—but Bat never stayed in one place long.

Over the next few decades he drifted from Dodge to Leadville to Tombstone, Fort Worth, Denver, and back again, gambling, running saloons, and rubbing elbows with the likes of Doc Holliday and Luke Short. He even tried to start a newspaper once, though it folded after a single issue.

By the 1890s he’d married Emma Walters, a dancer, and the pair made their life mostly in Denver, with Bat promoting prizefights and occasionally wearing a marshal’s badge. But by 1902 he’d had enough of the West and shifted his base of operations to New York City. There, with a push from writer Alfred Henry Lewis and a little help from President Teddy Roosevelt, he reinvented himself yet again—this time as a sportswriter and columnist for the New York Morning Telegraph. Bat’s columns were sharp, funny, and unapologetic, and his name carried just enough Western mystique to keep readers hooked.

On October 25, 1921, Bat Masterson died at his desk, pen still in hand. He was 67 years old, buried far from the Texas buffalo plains and saloons of his youth, laid to rest in Woodlawn Cemetery in the Bronx. Not bad for a farm boy from Quebec who spent his life chasing the horizon.

[Black Lodge Cult @BlackLCult]

Thursday.