Hey you! Yeah, YOU! Quit yer lollygaggin'! Don't you know that we're rounding up cutthroats, murderers, bounty hunters, desperados, mugs, pugs, thugs, nitwits, halfwits, dimwits, vipers, snipers, con men, Indian agents, Mexican bandits, muggers, buggerers, bushwhackers, hornswogglers, horse thieves, bull dykes, train robbers, bank robbers, ass-kickers, shit-kickers and Methodists for the Blazing Saddles Quote-Along and Bar-B-Que Run!? Jump on the wacky wagon train to the Alamo Ritz and be sure to bring some dimes, as we may encounter a toll booth or two along the trail.

We can't remember the first time that we encountered this Mel Brooks pièce de résistance; whether it was fore or aft our introduction to History of the World: Part 1 and Young Frankenstein is of no consequence at this juncture, as Blazing Saddles is truly the cement shoes that plunged us into the deep river of anti-politically correct absurdity that flows from Mr. Brooks' brain. The n-word is thrown about with reckless abandon, sexual innuendo (which we didn't completely catch in our formative years) is layered thicker than saddle sores on a two dollar whore and the laughs are drawn faster than a six shooter from an ornery bandit's holster.

As a social commentary and loving spoof of 1960's westerns, Blazing Saddles succeeds in not only making fun of itself, but also in making fun of everything and everyone thinkable, which is the true genius of it. No one is spared, thereby creating an air of comfort for all audiences, who can freely chuckle at every slanderous word and political jab, knowing that there is an accompanying wink and smile. Laying the groundwork for the likes of the Farrelly Brothers, the fireside symphony of bean-induced flatulation is enough to make a grown wo/man cry, and that is just one freakin' scene. Now imagine it at the Ritz, with a theater full of (most likely) intoxicated people, with unlimited access to a gigantic cauldron of beans!!!

If that just isn't enough excitement for you, and you think your bowels should be subjected to a greater test, then perhaps you would be interested in the accompanying Saturday afternoon Bar-B-Que run. You and a a gaggle of keg-beer-infused friends will head em' up on a bus and move 'em out to four of the best BBQ joints in the area, where you will commence in filling your bellies with two pounds of animal deliciousness. Then, in the midst of your meat coma, you will be delivered back to the Ritz and into the loving arms of Lilly Von Schtupp.