my cowboy spurs rattle ominously. the sun is high over my head and i tip my cowboy hat as i spit my shewing tobacco. banjo music plays in the background. in a southern drawl, just barely loud enough to hear, i whisper “no you fucking yankee its peh-con

*is southern and has been switching between pee-con, pee-can, and pee-c'n her entire life*