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Date Posted: 07:37:25 10/16/02 Wed
Author: Jim Dann
Author Host/IP: 1Cust137.tnt11.krk1.da.uu.net / 67.250.80.137
Subject: Gawn Huntin

Not a short-story, precisely, but whut de hey?

It’s October, when the clouds come in from the coast, and the lust to live in the woods like a hermit is not just an option, but a fucking imperative. Crouching, clutching a rifle, rain all around, waiting for some large defenseless (but delicious) animal to stumble accidentally into your sights. Rocking on your heels, eyes roving all around like a junky, muttering under your breath: “A doe, a deer, a female—BLAM!—Venison!”
(You bread it, fry it in oil, then put it all in a glass dish with some butter and onions, salt and pepper, and bake it in the oven until it is nice and tender and swimming in a greasy kind of gravy and serve with fried potatoes—goddamn, it’s enough to make me wild with lust, drool dripping on my chest!)
Yes, to bathe in the blood of some furry animal and leap wildly around a bonfire, flinging your rifle around like a spear, like those boys in “Lord Of The Flies”. Only no loincloths in the Northwest. We need leathers, like Dan’l Boone, or Loosen Clark.. Oh where is Sacagawea when we need her? With her suede dress, her brown face and black eyes. Oh, and her hair! All smelling of sweat and rain and woodsmoke! (I’ve got a fetish for Raven-Haired wimmin!)
Yah ever wonder what really went on with them? Loose waking up, rolling over, reaching for Sacagawea but finding only furs. Eyes wide open now: “Whut the fu…?” Getting up, going outside, fastening that little flap in his long underwear so his ass won’t get cold, wearing one of those stocking caps like in “The Night Before Christmas”. Then seeing Sacagawea, and getting all angry: “Whut the fuck YOU doin comin out of Clark’s tent two a.m.? Cheeks flushed and forehead sweaty and a big fucking grin on your face? I’m Merriwedder Goddamn LOOSE and nobuddy cain’t even remember CLARK’S first fucking name!”
Then Clark getting up, trying to smooth things over. “Hey, Loose, relax! We was just comin ta getcha! Sacy wanted to get some tag team action on her fine ol Indian ass!” And Loose all reluctant, not buying it at all, but then a malicious grin coming across his face because it’s THEIR lie, and they can’t back out of it now!
Yes, crouching in the woods around a bonfire with your friends, getting drunk on bourbon and blackberry brandy, saying, “Shit, there’s that town across the hill! Let’s attack ‘em! Run off with all ‘em wimmin! Shit, it’s a small town, there’s prolly only eight of ‘em! We can handle that many!” Then standing up in the dark, waving your whiskey, the firelight flickering across your features, making you look mean, fierce, some strange primordial beast! You howl something about Jack London’s Law Of Club And Fang, and how you all can live in the woods like wildmen, savages, barbarians, HUNS! Attacking towns and villages all up and down the Dewato River, getting rich from the spoils, raping the wimmins, and bathing in the blood of our enemies!
Then your friend standing up, slapping you, removing your whiskey, going, “Goddamnit, Jim, You already used that ‘bathing in the blood line!’ You know you get repetitive when you’re drunk? And if I hear that fucking Robert Service pome one more fucking time, I swear I’m gunna stick this knifeblade in your heart and eat your fucking carcus. We’ll get some good Donner Party Action to round out your stupid fucking story!”

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