Welcome back, Charmy’s Army fans! In today’s uproarious new comic strip, Gooser Dadburn is back at the bar counter inside the Canyon City Coffee Saloon, letting out a thunderous, room-shaking burp that prompts the lovely lady beside him to yell to the barkeep, “BARTENDER! I’LL HAVE WHAT HE’S HAVING!” Striking up a conversation with his new companion, Gooser realizes he never caught her name. She introduces herself as “Sarsaparilla Sally,” explaining with a coy flutter of her eyelashes that she earned the moniker because she’s “sweet, bubbly, and makes men feel all warm and fuzzy inside.” Naturally, Gooser completely misses the romantic overture, bluntly replying that all sodas just make him feel “all warm and gassy inside”—prompting Sally to offer a fateful introduction: “I’ll introduce you later to Flatulent Fanny.”

The saloon was quiet save for the gentle hum of desert flies and the soft clink of Gooser’s coffee spoon against his porcelain mug. Sarsaparilla Sally adjusted the delicate pink bow perched in her curls, leaning her elbows against the polished counter and giving Gooser a sultry, side-eyed grin that would have stopped any ordinary cowboy dead in his tracks. But Gooser Dadburn was no ordinary cowboy; he was a man focused purely on the high-stakes logistics of frontier survival, digestion, and tracking fugitives.

Before Sally could say another word, the heavy wooden floorboards near the swinging front doors began to creak. A second lady stepped into the saloon. She wore an extravagant, multi-layered lavender prairie dress with enough petticoats to cushion a stagecoach rollover, topped off with a flamboyant feathered bonnet. She carried herself with the grand, sweeping posture of a high-society opera singer, gliding gracefully toward the bar.

“Well, speak of the devil,” Sally purred, waving a hand toward the newcomer. “Gooser, meet my dear acquaintance, Flatulent Fanny.”

“A pleasure, sir,” Fanny said, offering a demure curtsy as she reached the bar. She turned her large, doe-like eyes onto Gooser, batting her eyelashes so rapidly she nearly kicked up a localized dust storm. “I couldn’t help but overhear your manly, resonant burp from across the street. A true frontiersman isn’t afraid to let his presence be known.”

Gooser puffed out his chest, adjusting the strap of his eyepatch with his upper left hand while resting his lower three hands on the counter. “Thank you, ma’am. Diaphragmatic force is crucial when you’re signaling across deep canyons or letting a herd of cattle know who’s boss.”

Fanny smiled warmly, shifting her weight from one heel to the other.

PFFFFFFRRRRRRTTTT.

A loud, low-pitched rumble tore through the saloon, vibrating the wooden barstools and rattling a stack of dry saucers.

Fanny gasped, clapping both hands over her mouth and looking wildly around the empty room. “Mercy me! Did you two hear that?! A giant desert bullfrog must have hopped in through the cellar grate! The croaking on those amphibious varmints is downright deafening this time of year!”

Gooser blinked his single blue eye, slowly looking down at the pristine pine floorboards between their boots. “Ma’am… we are three hundred miles from the nearest swamp. The only moisture in this county is sitting in my coffee cup, and that noise didn’t sound like no bullfrog I ever wrestled.”

“Frogs migrate, Gooser,” Sally interjected quickly, flashing a nervous grin and nudging Fanny with her elbow. “They’re very resilient creatures out here in the West. But let’s not talk about wildlife. We want to hear more about you. A rugged, mysterious tracker with a black eyepatch and four strong arms… why, a man like that must have a terrifying amount of passion pent up inside.”

Sally leaned in close, resting her chin on her hand, her gaze locked onto Gooser with unmistakable flirtatious warmth. “Tell me, Gooser… when you’re out on the lonesome trail under the cold desert stars, don’t you ever crave a little extra warmth? Something sweet and fiery to keep your blood pumping?”

Gooser stroked his chin thoughtfully, completely oblivious to the invitation. “Well, Sally, funny you should mention it. Hypothermia is a serious hazard in the badlands. That’s why I always pack two extra flannel union suits and a tin of hot mustard plaster. If your blood stops pumping, you just rub that mustard right into your chest hair. Burns like a forest fire, but by golly, you stay warm!”

Sally’s smile froze. She slowly blinked, trying to process how a romantic proposition had just turned into a medical consultation on mustard plasters.

Fanny, determined not to be outdone by Sally, leaned against the counter on Gooser’s other side, pressing her shoulder gently against his vest. “A man who thinks about survival… that is so intoxicating. You know, Gooser, a delicate woman needs a strong protector. Someone with quick reflexes, iron endurance, and the raw physical stamina to handle unexpected turbulence.”

TOOOOOOOOOOT.

A high-pitched, trumpet-like squeak ripped through the air, sharp enough to make Gooser’s hat tilt on his head.

Fanny instantly threw her head back, clutching her bonnet in theatrical dismay. “Good heavens! The wind in Canyon City is simply uncontrollable today! A sudden gale-force updraft must have squeezed through the keyhole of the front door! It’s practically whistling a sea shanty!”

Gooser turned around, squinting suspiciously at the solid oak door. “The door is wide open, ma’am. There ain’t no draft whistling through a keyhole when the whole entryway is gaping like a barn.”

“It’s a micro-climate!” Fanny insisted with a delicate cough, waving her lacy handkerchief frantically behind her back. “The meteorological pressures in the canyon create localized vortexes! It’s pure science!”

“Sounds more like an exhaust leak,” Gooser muttered, leaning away from the sudden warm breeze.

Sally rolled her eyes, clearing her throat to regain control of the conversation. She reached across the counter, lightly brushing her fingers against Gooser’s upper right sleeve. “Pay no attention to the weather, handsome. Look at these arms! Four powerful limbs. You know, Gooser, most men only have two hands to hold a woman. But you… a girl could get completely lost in a four-armed embrace. You could hold a lady close, stroke her hair, and pour a drink all at the same time. Doesn’t that sound heavenly?”

Gooser looked down at his four arms, then back at Sally with absolute, deadpan seriousness.

“Well, sure, Sally, the multitasking advantages are undeniable,” Gooser explained proudly. “Last winter, I was able to shuck corn, clean a rifle barrel, peel a turnip, and swat horseflies without ever getting up from my rocking chair. But if I’m holding a lady with all four arms, who’s holding the perimeter rifle? What if a bobcat jumps out of the brush? We’d be completely defenseless!”

Sally dropped her forehead onto the counter with a quiet, defeated thud.

Fanny took her chance, stepping closer and giving Gooser a seductive, playful wink. “Forget the bobcats, sugar. A real man knows that danger only makes the heart beat faster. When I look at you, Gooser Dadburn, I feel an uncontrollable, building pressure right in the core of my being. A fiery build-up that just needs to be released!”

SQUEEEEEEAAAK-BOOM.

A violent, two-stage explosive blast erupted from the back of Fanny’s petticoats. The sheer acoustic resonance shook the salt shaker across the bar counter, sending it skittering three inches to the left.

Fanny leapt six inches into the air, landing with a frantic gasp. “HOLY SMOKES! Did lightning just strike the telegraph pole outside?! The thunderclaps in this territory are getting downright aggressive! My delicate constitution can barely take the shock!”

Gooser stood completely motionless. His single exposed eye widened as he slowly turned his gaze toward the ceiling, then down to the floor, and finally right into Fanny’s blushing, sweating face.

“Ma’am,” Gooser said, his voice dropping to a stern, investigative whisper. “There is not a single cloud in the sky. The sun is blazing at high noon. And thunder don’t usually smell like a mixture of boiled cabbage and burnt axle grease.”

“It’s sulfur in the soil!” Fanny squeaked, fanning herself furiously with her handkerchief. “The desert mineral deposits are venting natural thermal gases! It’s a geological phenomenon!”

“Geological?” Gooser repeated, leaning his head to the side.

Sally lifted her head from the counter, shooting Fanny a venomous glare before turning back to Gooser with one last desperate attempt at seduction. “Gooser, ignore the thermal venting. Look at me. I’m sweet, I’m bubbly, and I want a man who knows how to tame a wild, passionate spirit. Are you ready to take a ride with a woman who knows what she wants?”

Fanny immediately shoved her way in, batting her eyelashes at Gooser again. “Or perhaps you prefer a woman of explosive temperament? A woman whose raw, unbridled energy can blow the roof clean off this town?”

Gooser looked back and forth between the two women. The intense flirting, the strange excuses, the localized atmospheric anomalies, and the continuous seismic disturbances finally began to click together in his analytical mind. The puzzle pieces fell into place with a resounding mental clatter.

Gooser gasped, his jaw dropping in sheer horror.

“HOLY MACCA NOODLE!” Gooser shouted, stumbling backward off his barstool. “I figured it out!”

Sally and Fanny both smiled, leaning forward in anticipation. “You did?” they purred in unison.

“YES!” Gooser yelled, pointing an accusing finger at both of them with all four hands. “You two aren’t trying to court me at all! You’re suffering from Stage-Four Acute High-Altitude Pneumatic Intestinal Compression!”

Sally stared at him. “We’re what?”

“It’s a medical emergency!” Gooser shouted, pacing frantically across the floorboards. “The combination of Sally’s sarsaparilla intake and Fanny’s localized atmospheric eruptions means your internal pressure valves have suffered catastrophic structural failure! You’re hallucinating about bullfrogs, you’re mistaking your own internal combustions for lightning strikes, and the oxygen deprivation is making you say crazy nonsense about holding hands and flannel blankets!”

Fanny’s mouth hung open in utter disbelief. “Gooser… you fool, we were flirting with you!”

“Don’t try to be brave, Fanny!” Gooser barked, running behind the bar and grabbing a heavy wooden rolling pin, a cork from a cider jug, and a bucket of cold mop water. “As a certified frontier tracker and amateur mechanic, I know an impending boiler explosion when I hear one! If we don’t vent this saloon in the next thirty seconds, this whole block is going up in a cloud of cabbage and methane!”

PFFFFFT-POP-PRRRRRTTTT.

Fanny let out one last, defeated squeak.

“SHE’S BLOWING!” Gooser screamed, diving over the counter, tossing the cork onto the table, and kicking the back doors open with both boots. “EVERYBODY EVACUATE! THE CANYON HAS RUPTURED!”

As Gooser bolted out into the dusty street screaming for the town medic, Sally and Fanny sat in dead silence at the bar counter. Sally slowly picked up her mug of chicory coffee, took a long, quiet sip, and looked over at Fanny.

“Well,” Sally sighed dryly. “At least he noticed the draft.”