From: caz@owlnet.rice.edu (HWRNMNBSOL)
Subject: Re: Personal Bests
Organization: Rice University
Date: Wed, 11 Nov 1992 05:59:42 GMT


In article <1992Nov10.204013.28483@cs.ucla.edu>, jperry@oahu.cs.ucla.edu (John Perry) writes:
|> curtis@cs.berkeley.edu (Curtis Yarvin) writes:
|> > mdw@theory.TC.Cornell.EDU (Matt Welsh) writes:
|> >>caz@owlnet.rice.edu (HWRNMNBSOL) writes:
|> >>>
|> >>>Most Deer in One Day: 4
|> >>
|> >>You must've been full!
|> >
|> >No, he was empty.
|> >

Yeah, I forgot to reload after bringing down all those trout....

|> 
|>    No, he was exceedingly horny!  Tell us, HWRNMNBSOL, whats the most sheep
|>    you've boned in a day?

John, you're a swell guy, so I'll tell you: YOU CAN'T BONE A SHEEP.

As any experienced hunter knows, sheep are boneless creatures.  The more
puerile and ignorant among us tend to group them with goats and other
ungulants, but in reality, sheep are close relatives of the Paramecium.
They are, in fact, large and fuzzy unicellular organisms; when we shear a
sheep, we are simultaneously removing their cilia and depriving them of
a mode of locomotion.  

This reminds me of a story, which you will now suffer through or die:

                           - * -

My brother tells this tale of his travels across the southwestern United
States, and usually gets a silly look on his face in the process.  It goes
something like this:

My sibling, one "Peter" by name, was travelling the hard way: by foot, or
train, or anything but a car or bus or plane.  Very Zen.  At one point,
he finds himself in a mostly abandoned train stop, waiting to hitch a ride
on a freighter.  He is very dusty from spending the night on the ground
(Peter goes in for some odd kicks, I tell you) and looks like a total hick.
He was a top-notch medical school student at the time, but he did not look
the part.

A few minutes before the train is scheduled to pull in, another guy wanders
in.  This man looks like the archetypical bumpkin: overalls, stetson, a
couple pounds of grime.  Additionally, the man has the glazed stare of a
man who has lost his marbles, and wants to borrow yours.  Pete takes a 
gander at the fellow, and decides that his best shot at survival involves
the gentle and cowardly art of camoflage.  Hence, he adopts his best hick
slouch and ignores the interloper completely.  The yokel sits down on the
bench to wait.

Pete waits.  After a bit, he notices that the man is staring at him oddly.
In fact, the chap is sloooooowly leaning toward Pete, that same peculiar
look in his eye.  Pete braces himself for the expected big, sloppy smooch,
and reviews what he knows about tae kwan do; that is to say, nothing.

The man's face stops about a foot from Pete's.  Pete turns his own head
slowly around and stares right back at the man.  They lock gazes for about
ten seconds.  Then the newcomer breaks the ice:

     "Ever done a goat?"

Pete's mind races.  Miss Manners is very explicit on matters such as table
etiquette and good grooming, but she has little to mention on the subject
of loopy bumpkins and bestiality.  Aw, hell, thinks my brother, you only
live once; might as well play with this pervert and see where we get...

     "Yup.    .......good, ain't it?"  he forces out.

The stranger nods sagely, and the beginnings of a smile cross his face.

     "Sure is."

They sit in silence.  Pete begins to think he's safe.  He can hear the
train coming, too.

But hick-boy is not done:

     "Now, myself, I prefer a chicken....."
     "...chickens? Yep, 'specially a veteran layer...."
     "You said it.  The hole gets all stretchy....."

Pete gets bold:

     "Can't beat a pig."
     "Really?"
     "Yup.  They get into it, they do."
     "........"
     "Sure 'nuff.  They grunt, 'n rub up and down...."
     "........"
     "....but ya gotta watch out, or they'll enjoy it so much...."
     "...?!...."
     ".....they'll crap right down your boots!"
     "...!!!!!..."

The man has been growing steadily more uncomfortable as the train arrives.
In this last exchange, he said nothing, and grew more and more perturbed
as Pete described his (fictional) porcine escapades.  Finally, as the train
was rolling in, the stranger leapt to his feet.

"Look, man.....look.....I was only kidding around.  I'm not from this part
of the country -- I'm a visual arts professor at Kent State, for God's sake --
.....look, I was only kidding around; I didn't think anybody actually DID
any of that stuff.....God, you're DISGUSTING!"

And with that, the frightened man got on the train.  Pete sat on the bench,
in a daze, and watched the car roll away from the station.  It was only
much later, as he was walking through the scrub towards the next town, that
he had to stop for an hour or so to howl with laughter.

                           - * -

My brother claims that every word of this tale is true.  However, you will have
to temper this assertion with the fact that both my brother and I come from a
long line of God-Damned Liars.

--
HWRNMNBSOL 


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