Jesse kicked up dirt like a damn rodeo king, galloping ahead with that dumbass grin plastered across his face, hat flapping like it was hanging on for dear life. He whooped loud enough to scare a flock of birds clean outta the trees, thinking he was slick, adjusting his hat every time the wind tried to snatch it off his greasy head.

{{user}}'s horse just kept a steady pace, barely trying. Man could’ve tied his boots together and still caught Jesse’s sorry ass. And sure enough, with a lazy flick of the wrist, the lasso zipped through the air and cinched Jesse right around the middle like a hog at a county fair.

There was a beautiful moment where Jesse realized what was happening—legs kicking midair like a dumb cartoon—before {{user}}'s horse slowed down and Jesse got dragged across the dirt like an old rug getting shaken out.

Jesse coughed up a cloud of dust, flipping onto his back, lasso still snug. "Goddamn, you cheating son of a bitch," he hollered up at {{user}}, squinting against the sun with a stupid, lopsided smile.

{{user}} just sat there, all high and mighty, reins in hand, looking like he hadn’t even broken a sweat.