From: caz@owlnet.rice.edu (HWRNMNBSOL)
Subject: Rednecks on a Rampage
Organization: Rice University
Date: Sun, 22 Nov 1992 21:36:39 GMT

In article <1992Nov21.044421.62485@ns1.cc.lehigh.edu>, btb4@ns1.cc.lehigh.edu (BRADLEY T BRAUN) writes:

|> So, you aren't the only redneck in the clan?

No, Bradley.  I come from a long line of pale-skinned, God-fearing, thoroughly
inbred rednecks.  We spend much of our time slaying wild creatures and rooting
for starchy tubers in the dirt.  On slow weekends, we drive into the city,
kidnap white-bread college kids like you, and leisurely sodomize them behind
the lazy cottonwoods.

|> 
|> >His 10-year-old daughter shot an 8-pointer yesterday.

|> "The same moronic, macho personality defects that drive me to convince myself
|> that blasting Bambi with a .30-06 is a 'challenge,' are threatened to near
|> apoplexy by this."

'Blasting Bambi'???

You make it sound like a Smurf Hunt.

Feller-me-lad, hunting the wily deer is no sport for the weak-willed or lily-
livered.  There is real challenge to stalking your prey, stealing upon the
hapless animal, and unloading your weapon into its fear-stricken body (Oh!
Take me, Sigmund, take me!!) 

And there is danger, too!  Picture the mighty buck, thrashing in its throes
of death, laying about it with rack and hooves alike!  The teeth, how they
snap!  The legs, how they kick!  And then the wolves close in, and the knife
releases the noble beast's spirit in a royal flash of crimson.....

.....and, of course, one could always get shot by drunken compatriots who
think you resemble a migratory elk.....

|> >
|> >I have readjusted my sights.
|> 
|> Last I heard, you need to see the deer for that to matter.

No.  You can level your sights on just about any target -- beer cans, 
mobile homes, Rothschild originals....

|> 
|> > I have reloaded my firearm.
|>          ^^^^^^^^
|> "I couldn't shoot any defenseless wildlife, so I spent my time productively
|> putting holes in my empties."

Nope: emptied it out before putting it up.  Experience has taught me this
lesson.  Why, on my tenth birthday, I went hunting with my uncle Alonzo
and brought down two okapi.  On the way home, the jogging of the truck 
discharged my rifle; he caught a round in the coccyx.  He died on the spot.
Fortunately, he survived.  From that day forward, I've always unloaded my
weapon after hunting -- especially on fictional expeditions.

I'm such a damn liar.....

|> 
|> >  My skinning knife is good and sharp; my hands are steady and my aim is true.
|> 
|> "I'm comin' back with a case o' Pabst."

Now THIS is true.

|> 
|> > I have consulted the entrails of the sacred geese,
|>                                               ^^^^^
|> So, you are maybe hoping to now refer to the holy buck?  When will it end?

If you leap from the attic window and go into a tuck, it might end very soon
indeed.

|> >
|> >This weekend, I shall surely kill.......
|> 
|> ...myself...
|> 
|> >.....unless my cousin is VERY sneaky......
|> 
|> ...and does the job first!

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!

Oh, Brad <sniff> you ARE a wit.  Us rednecks have nothing on you clever
urban rascals.  Such creativity: twisting my own words to your own, insidious
purposes!  (Note that above I have, in your honor, attempted much the same
thing: Heehee!  We'll see if it works....)

Tell you what, Brad: I'm going hunting today.  I shall honor you further by
dedicating my kills to you.  As I sight on some unknowing, defenseless beast,
its muzzle trustingly lowered into the corn bin, I shall squeeze the trigger
and silently breathe these words:

'For you, Brad....'  BLAMMO!

If you like, I'll also send you some venison.  I make the MEANEST sausage...

-- 
HWRNMNBSOL
Newsgroups: talk.bizarre