Written by Doug Giles of ClashDaily.com
10. When I’m out hunting, the locations are usually so remote that my necessary evil, i.e. cell phone and my buddies’ cell phones, do not work and thus, depending on the length of the hunt, I have a 3-14 day timeframe to be left the heck alone. Thank you, Jesus. No doubt some of you are thinking, “I can’t live, if living is without you” in relation to your electronic appendage. Trust me, you’ll survive, and believe it or not — and this might hurt some of you egoists — the world will continue to turn without your input.
9. Our sport is 99.9% devoid of nasty, whiny, man-hating, stretch-pants-wearing, mullet-sporting, anti-American, nerve-grating feminists and nutty liberals. Yep, around the campfire and in the field, the lunatic left’s yarbling is non-existent. Why the absence of the left’s asininity out in the brush? The answer is simple: The tree humpers don’t hunt, which is awesome! For my God and country-loving tribe, this makes the air smell fresher, the food taste better, the wine taste sweeter, the buzz last longer, the stars shine brighter, the voice of God clearer, and the trip overwhelmingly blissful with such jackanapes missing from our mix. Yep, the hunting camp is a traditional values paradise.
8. Less noise. One of the things I hate about city life is the noise. Daily I find myself walking around yelling like Yosemite Sam, ”I hate noise . . . can’t stand noise . . . Noise . . . Noise . . . noise!”, which inadvertently adds to the racket, which explains much of my life. Where I live (Miami) everything is frickin’ noisy. Horns honkin’, people yelling on their cell phones, folks fighting, screaming and complaining in English, Spanish, Russian, Portuguese and Yiddish — and that’s just in the foyer of our church. (By the way, can Starbucks get a coffee steamer that doesn’t sound like a wild boar being gutted with a dull chainsaw? Is that too much to ask?) Out in the field and away from the concrete, the hunter enjoys the magical perk of peace and quiet.
7. Art by God. The hunter gets an ocular overload, as he is fortunate to behold the handiwork of the Creator in an intimate and intimidating way. Yes, away from the manmade stercore tauri one gets to behold the Designer showing off his flora and fauna in a funkalicious fashion. Explosive colors, an endless variety of birds, animals, fish, reptiles, freaky insects, threatening mountains, trickling and raging rivers, and brilliant stars are the canvas God rolls out and slaps the on looking hunter with. I know this will upset some indoor Nancy-boy pastors, but I get more God out of nature than I do your dull church service.
6. Hunting revives the hunter’s primal roots. Just getting out in the wild reconnects me with my original spiritual and physical moorings. When God created Adam and Eve, He made certain that their initial crib didn’t have cable TV or a home association. Yep, God didn’t want His kids’ first experiences to be lame and tame. Adam and Eve were made to be wild, not mild, and were purposely crafted to interface 24/7 with wild beasts. Lucky bastards. Non-hunter: If you or your kids are screwed up, one of the many reasons could be that you have separated yourself and your brood from what they need, namely regular doses of the irregular wild. Try it. It’s magical.
5. Hunting takes the funk out of dysfunctional families. What I’ve seen in 30 plus years out in the hunting fields is this: The family that hunts together stays together. Hunting requires communication between the hunting parties. Most families communicate with each other about as often as Bill has sex with Hillary. Hunting cures this (the communication part, not the Bill and Hillary stuff).
4. Hunting provides veggies for the vegans.
I love the fact that the PETA vegans couldn’t eat their sassy salad or their edamame burger if it weren’t for the blistering fact that farmers/hunters have to shoot animals so that the vapid vegan can smugly eat his garbanzo bean patty. Yes, the “save the animal” dipsticks who don’t eat meat wouldn’t have their holy lettuce if it were not for farmers shooting PETA’s “friends” like the rabbits, deer, wild hogs and other critters that decimate the vegetarians’ victuals. However, I wouldn’t let it bug you now, PETA. Before you eat your salad, just smoke another doobie and forget about the fact that for you to have your cute little baby carrot, it entailed a farmer putting the bam to Bambi. Oh, the irony.
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