About fifteen years ago, a friend of mine showed up at my house with a DVD in hand. (Stay with me—I promise this story relates to this utterly unhinged book filled with basilisk banging.) The movie in question: Gentlemen Broncos. And if you’ve seen this cinematic fever dream, you probably know where I’m going with this. If you haven’t—add it to your watch list—you can thank me later. For the record, I watched all 90 Yeast-Lord-filled minutes of Gentlemen Broncos. I didn’t fall asleep. I didn’t pause to pee. I’m not entirely sure I blinked—or breathed. I was utterly […]