"Bear Mountain Badlands Podcast" On Youtube - Eps #711 The Sleeman Brothers Hosts: Mad Dog McKally and Brickjaw Malone

 

Watch "Bear Mountain Badlands Podcast" On Youtube - Eps #711 The Sleeman Brothers

Hosts: Mad Dog McKally and Brickjaw Malone do a deep dive into the new Western TV series, Bear Mountain Badlands: Deadly Justice, along with details on its connection to a best-selling novel. The series, created by the Sleeman brothers, tells the story of a group of characters who fight to maintain their own sense of justice in a brutal and unforgiving frontier setting. The text highlights key moments and themes, such as the importance of family legacy, the struggle against darkness, and the raw, visceral nature of life in the Wild West. It also showcases the dynamic characters, gritty atmosphere, and the series' potential to become a modern classic.

The doors crash open, slamming against the wall with a booming thud, and in strides Paul Rennell, flanked by Jack, Steve Jugs, and Megumi, the four of them walking in like they own the place—because tonight, they do. Their boots echo on the floorboards, dirt and blood still caked on from the day’s battle, but they wear their wounds like badges of honor.

Paul, his face hard as granite, raises a hand. The room goes silent, the only sound the low, menacing strum of Whitey’s guitar, keeping the tension hanging heavy in the air. He steps up onto a chair, towering above the crowd, his eyes scanning the sea of rowdy cowboys, ranchers, loggers, and drifters who’ve packed in for the night. His voice cuts through the silence like a whip.

PAUL
(shouting)
Attention, cocksuckers!

The crowd stills, eyes wide, necks craning to catch what comes next. Even the women on the bar stop dancing, frozen mid-move, waiting for the next word.

PAUL
One shot of whiskey is on the house, and for the next 30 minutes, pussy is on the house!

For a second, the room holds its breath, and then—pandemonium. The place erupts into a roar of cheers, glasses held high, fists pounding on tables, boots stomping the floor like the rumble of a cavalry charge. Men leap from their seats, slapping each other on the back, and the women on the bar kick back into gear, pouring beer down their fronts, their shirts clinging like second skin as they grind to the rhythm of the music.

Paul, grinning like a devil who just signed a soul away, raises his arms, soaking in the chaos.

PAUL
(laughing, yelling)
Ladies, git to work!

The women flood the room, sliding off the bar, pulling cowboys out of their seats, straddling laps, whiskey bottles in hand as they pour shots straight into wide, grinning mouths. The music kicks up another notch, Whitey Morgan's voice growling through the speakers, drowning in the howls of men too drunk and too wild to give a damn about tomorrow.

At the back of the room, Steve Jugs slams his massive fist into the table, sending glasses jumping, and laughs like a madman. He grabs a bottle of bourbon, takes a deep pull, then tosses it to the next guy, all while the women grind on his lap.

STEVE JUGS
(growling)
This is how you fuckin’ celebrate, you motherfuckers!

GIT SOM'! 

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