I kill. I kill a lot. I like killing a lot. I like killing a lot a lot. I feed many, many people and balance many, many acres. I’m a killer. It’s my job. It is probably the most perfect job known to mankind. Tooth, fang and claw is also my religion, and in my religion we don’t kill people, we kill food. Excuse me whilst I adjust my bloody halo, again.
As I stated most emphatically in my musical masterpiece “The Great White Buffalo” way back in 1970 and every night on stage each summer since: “It happened longtime ago, in the new magicland. The Indian and the buffalo existed hand in hand. The Indian needed food and skins for a roof, but they only took what they needed, millions of buffalo were the proof.”
Hello! So there is no Buffalo 101 course in the American school system? No wonder epidemic gluttony, slovenliness, obesity, denial and dishonesty run rampant in our runaway decaying culture rot. No wonder the big vulgar lie of “animal rights” took hold in the dumbest segment of society. No wonder they call it dope.
Now I am well aware that my fellow hunting, fishing, trapping conservation Blood Brothers reading and celebrating this ridiculously obvious self-evident truth know damn well that there is no need to state the obvious amongst us, but I disagree.
At the very root of America’s demise as manifested by the most power-abusing, corrupt, race-focused regime in America’s history under Barak Obama and his gunrunning Attorney General Eric Holder is the spiritually bankrupt denial on all fronts that I am convinced began with the dishonesty in our own shooting sports community/industry.
The same clowns in our sport that feigned shock with our celebratory honesty of “whack em and stack em” and other cute, fun statements joyously celebrating successful hunts were the same clowns that told us not to wear camo in public or initiate the conversation about hunting or guns.
These are the same soulless hacks that begged us not to display our dead deer in the back of our trucks or hang them where they could be seen by sensitive non-hunters.
I am convinced that that depth of dishonest apologetic spinelessness was at the core of the ever-expanding curse of denial that opened the floodgates to everything wrong with America today.
Only a society so stoned and stupid to think that animals could somehow have rights before, during or after a BBQ could accept as normal that there is an official category of Americans who have “given up looking for work” or that there is an embarrassing list of “jobs Americans are not willing to do” or that it would become some vile badge of honor to be happy to milk as many years’ worth of unemployment as possible instead of taking one of the many jobs available across the country, to use foodstamps for bling, hairdos, manicures and pedicures, wigs, dope, booze, meth, crack, cash etc., etc. That the media has so lost its mind to equate the legal use of a firearm to save innocent lives to that of paroled gangbangers slaughtering each other in the gunfreezone of Chicago, and I could go ad nauseum ad infinitum, is proof positive that a growing segment of America has lost it completely.
I faced the enemies of America before most would, when conducting media interviews way back in the 1960s where interviewers would condemn me for being a gun nut and a deer hunter.
Thank God I was raised by a tough-ass U.S. Army Cavalry drill sergeant who taught me to never backdown and stand my ground no matter what. I immediately crushed these doped-up punks with facts and logic and unlimited common sense that self-defense and venison were two of the most perfect things is life, and that they should be ashamed of themselves for claiming otherwise.
I went Piers Morgan on many idiots long before there was a Piers Morgan. It really was too easy, but oh such fun destroying their lies and insanity. Taking on the gun-controllers made for great media then and makes for great media now. I think I will kill more (animals for food, of course).
One of my most timeless rock refrains is, “When in doubt I whip it out,” and obviously I have never been in doubt. But if indeed any of you are ever in doubt and run into the rancid cult-of-denial freaks out there, and you are inclined to not ruffle feathers or appear confrontational, I beseech you to reconsider.
If ever in doubt when encountering braindead buffoons, do not let such an opportunity go to waste, and by all means, do whip it out.
Whip out the facts, whip out the truth, whip out the common sense you believe in. And whip it out like you mean it. We owe no one any apologies, we owe no one any tolerance for lies and fantasy-driven nonsense.
What we owe is standing up for what we believe in with 100% confidence and authority to crush the dangerous lies and denial that have nearly destroyed the last best place on earth.
In the street terminology of my life: kill. Kill the lies, kill the BS, kill the nonsense. And during the hunting season, kill lots of food. Kill as much as you need and are legally allowed to kill, but by all means, kill on.
Even considering the killing orgy I enjoy each season, statistically, believe it or not, during my average 200-plus days each year of hunting I actually don’t kill enough. I failed to kill 25% of does last season on both of my properties, and God knows I need to kill more varmints. I’m such a slacker.
Sending a ton of pure venison jerky to the warriors of the U.S. military each year isn’t quite enough. I’m going to get serious this season and whip it out more and better. I’m not in doubt, but I will whip it out anyway.