Hi there Jimmy Joe or some variation on Bubba. Oh, excuse me, I
couldn’t see the nametag on your shirt Jim Bob. I guess I didn’t expect
someone so decked to the nines to be wearing a bowling shirt with his
name on it, but more than likely it was because of the other several
layers of military grade camouflage and Kevlar that were draped over
I must say you certainly spooked me while I was meandering down the isle. All that camo and a bright orange hat really made you blend in amongst the beef jerky. Hey, is that a case of Old Milwaukee with your chum there? Man all dressed up in your best fatigues and your “I hunt white tail all-year round” hat. I’d guess you boys are headed to a South Carolina wedding or possibly some sort of military coup in Bolivia.
Hunting you say? Really?!? I never would have guessed two dapper cosmopolitans like yourselves would be interested in a barbaric endeavor such as the hunting and maiming innocent animals while drunkenly stumbling through the woods telling stories about that one time you almost bagged a 2,000 lb boar and an ample young lady down at the local drinking establishment.
That is impressive! Bagging two hogs in one day must be some sort of personal best for you. And you say she had a Harley tattoo? I’m sorry, it was where? Well my good man, it’s difficult to find a paradigm of the finer sex that's lovely as she sounds. As your counterpart so aptly stated, “That there is a keeper” indeed. That my dear friend is someone you could tussle with until a constable arrived and would still keep the wheels on your mobile castle polished long after you made bail. I bet she saunters around your “park” with only one black eye because she certainly sounds like a listener.
What’s that? You buy your beer, ammo and chewing tobacco all at the same Wal-Mart. You sir are a scholar AND a gentleman...No, I was not questioning your sexuality in my previous statement. I was imply implying it must be pretty tempting to just walk out of the emporium without paying, seeing as you have all the cunning and stealth of a highly trained/slightly inebriated ninja. I mean, I could barely recognize the 6 foot tall, 330 lb behemoth that you refer to as your compatriot and first cousin. Break out the guns because I bet your family reunions are a RIOT!
Excuse me. What’s that? I profusely apologize. Did I cross a line? There is no reason for fisticuffs my good man, for I am a lover not a fighter and am in no mood for a bloody rendezvous in the parking lot. Plus, I make it a rule never to become involved in an altercation with a fellow citizen holding a box of shotgun shells and “I kill for fun” stitched into the front pocket of his overalls.
I am sincerely apologetic for the inconvenience I have caused you and will now leave you to your difficult decision of what flavor of SKOAL to choose for your journey. I bid you farewell and happy hunting to you--you suave mother fuckers.
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