Ladies and gentlemen, thank you, thank you. It’s wonderful to be here tonight. I’m Il Dottore, and, uh, I’ve been thinking lately about history. You know, they say those who don’t learn from history are doomed to repeat it. But I figure, with my luck, I’ll be doomed whether I learn from it or not.
I’ve been pondering the Wild West. Can you imagine living back then? The Wild West was a time when the most advanced technology was a pair of spurs and a good horse. I mean, I complain when my Wi-Fi is slow, but back then, your biggest complaint could be, "Hey, I think the buffalo are stampeding again!"
Picture this: you're in a saloon, right? It's all rough wood and questionable hygiene. There’s no soft lighting or mood music, just the constant sound of out-of-tune pianos and the clink of whiskey glasses. Every time you order a drink, you have to hope it doesn't come with a side of smallpox.
And the fashion, oh my goodness, the fashion. Everyone's wearing ten-gallon hats and chaps. Chaps, for heaven’s sake! You know what chaps are? They're basically leather pants with built-in air conditioning. They probably had more holes than my tax returns.
Let’s not forget the gunfights. Today, a heated argument is someone subtweeting you on Twitter. Back then, it was a duel at high noon. Can you imagine that? "Hey, I don't like your face." "Fine, let's settle this like gentlemen, with a shootout!" I don’t even like settling disputes over the last bagel.
And transportation. Now, we complain if Uber takes more than five minutes. Back then, you'd hitch up a horse and buggy. If you had to go anywhere, it was like, "I'll be back in three days, maybe a week if I get caught in a stampede or a sandstorm." And don't even get me started on the bathroom situation. Indoor plumbing? Forget it. It was just you, a moonlit night, and a very suspicious-looking outhouse.
Dating in the Wild West must have been a nightmare too. Today, you swipe right on Tinder. Back then, you'd swipe right on, well, a rattlesnake if you weren't careful. And your idea of a romantic night out? A dusty trail, a campfire, and the sweet serenade of coyotes in the distance. No wonder everyone had such short lifespans; they were probably dying from sheer romantic frustration.
Medicine was practically medieval. You get a cough, they give you a shot of whiskey and tell you to bite down on a piece of leather. Surgery was performed with tools that looked like they belonged in a blacksmith's workshop. You go in for a toothache and come out minus an arm.
But you know, there is something to admire about that rugged individualism. People back then were tough. They didn’t worry about gluten-free diets or their step count. They worried about surviving. I mean, if I had to live back then, I’d probably last about as long as it takes for the first tumbleweed to roll by. I’d be the guy in the corner, trying to negotiate peace with a rattlesnake, “No, no, I insist, you take the saloon. I’ll just be on my way.”
Thank you, you’ve been a wonderful audience. Try not to get caught in any stampedes on your way home!