Strange as it might sound, in one way hunters are like dentists and college professors, both of whom frequently mistake their captive audience for an interested audience. Most of the hunters I've encountered have shown an almost pathological need to discuss—in excruciatingly graphic detail—their killing, field-dressing and/or taxidermy exploits amongst groups of people who couldn't possibly care less and who are simply too polite to say so, thus held captive by their manners and desire not to offend. Worse still, most of these aforementioned "sportsmen" seemed to become particularly vociferant right around mealtime. Everyone's favorite dinner guests.
I was at a cookout not too long ago when a fellow guest and slack-jawed mouth-breather whom we'll call Elmer suddenly decided to enthrall everyone within earshot with the pants-shittingly uproarious tale of how he'd recently shot an arrow through the throat of a fox.
An arrow...right though its throat! Now we can all agree that that's some pretty hilarious shit right there. Yet unbelievably not everyone was enjoying Elmer’s story as much as he was and more than a few of us were quickly becoming visibly uncomfortable with where this was going. Not that Elmer noticed, of course. Like many hunters, Elmer was good at a shootin’ but inept when it came to simple social interaction.
You see, our friend the fox didn't die right away. The arrow which tore into its throat didn't go all the way through but instead ended up pinning its head to the ground, causing the fox to run around and around in the most adorable little circles for several minutes until it finally expired in a hellish orgy of gore, terror and agony. By this point in his story Emler was chortling so excitedly that that he failed to notice the horrified looks of revulsion and disgust on everyone's faces, such was his giddy delight in sharing with us his heartwarming, Disneyesque tale.
Note to Hunters: You want to while away countless hours, days and weeks blasting the fuck out of bunnies, birdies and deer? Knock yourselves out. Those of us without miniscule penises wish you well. I suggest you hunt in large groups, drink heavily and not get too hung up on that whole “careful aim” thing and maybe give natural selection a helping hand. In the meantime, please maintain enough social awareness to realize that not everyone finds your exploits to be amusing or even tolerable. If you're going to hunt then hunt, just don't be an overbearing asshole and get all up in our faces about it.
When people turn and walk away while you're in the middle of your story about having bravely splattered the brains of that bloodthirsty, rampaging woodchuck it's a safe bet that they're doing so because they think you're an insensitive, overcompensating douchebag and are silently praying to God that you'll contract one of the more painful forms of cancer and die, preferably within the hour. That or they have to go to the bathroom. But probably the cancer thing.
Hunters of the world, unlike dwarf-tossing hunting is a legal activity and you have every right to do so, no matter how barbaric, pathetic and psychotic I find it to be. At the same time, I have the right to think that you're thoughtless, socially retarded dicks when you go on and on about your manly bloodsport in the presence of people who obviously don't want to hear about it, not to mention the right--no, the responsibility--to question the size of your genitalia and to do so in a public forum that is read by literally tens of people each week worldwide.
God bless the US of A.
|"For me, a day without killing something or shooting an old man in the face is like a day without waterboarding."|
--Dick Cheney, Former Vice President of the United States