Naked Cowpeople, Inc.

A few weeks ago, the early fall day sunny and bright, I winced past tourists thronging around the Naked Cowboy in Times Square.  I hadn't seen him for eons (I avoid Times Square).  He hadn't changed:  same white cowboy hat and pointey boots, same thin blond hair hanging to his shoulders, same overly tanned skin, same low hanging white guitar leaving not much to the imagination, same tighty whities, same bulbous body parts.  A new thought occurred to me:  does the Naked Cowboy have a significant other?  There's not enough love in this world and I advocate there being someone for everyone, including the Naked Cowboy.  Last week, I thought I found the answer.  Walking a similarly crowded route through Times Square, I almost mowed down the Naked Cowgirl (she's short, I'm not).  She wore a white cowgirl hat on top of stringy blond hair, white pointed boots, and an itsy bitsy star spangled string bikini stretched over muscles that bulged in a feminine way.  Like her male counterpart, she was remotely past thirty.  Her buttocks, though firm from weight lifting, had sunken into vague ripples of cellulite.  I was pondering the mysteries of being a Naked Cowcouple (do they roll in the hay?), when I saw it:  on the face of her guitar a bumper sticker read "Naked" in professional looking letters.  I wondered: is there more than one Naked Cowboy, more than one Naked Cowgirl?  Maybe there's an entire fleet of out of work Broadway types (the economy has taken a nosedive) who fit the description and rotate through Times Square, taking the money of unsuspecting tourists.  Maybe there's a Naked Cowpeople Inc., with tiny warehouses somewhere in Yonkers that stock all the tighty whities and microscopic star spangled string bikinis? Let's face it, nobody really looks at the Naked Cowpeople's faces (we're too busy gazing southward.) So I have resolved, next time I elbow my way through Times Square, to take a good, hard look at the Naked Cowpeople.  Somebody has to search for truth in this world.