Just read the whole series (courtesy of the Rev) coming in and out of flu-induced fever dreams, which seems like the right way to do it. Steve Dillon's art is gritty (especially love the Saint, who looks like a walking monument to evil), and Garth Ennis--as fine a foul bastard as you could hope to meet--rips the guts out of the Western and builds it back into an obscene, blasphemous multi-beast that attacks the biggest of issues with serious irreverence. Frequently sick and wrong, but ultimately riveting and, in the end, surprisingly moving.