My advice is don’t read this. If you do read it and complain that it’s too long I’ll give you one of my two standard replies to that: A. some girls like having their cervix poked, or B. wait until you find out about books.
I hate deer. I think hunting it boring as fuck and if you’re willing to kill you can get way better stuff with a gun than raw venison, but I hope more people hunt deer.
About a decade ago, I was driving back home at around midnight after having a few beers and blunts at a BBQ. I was sober, but Johnny Law is always looking for an excuse to ruin the evening of young Eastern Europeans with some long forgotten coke baggie under the seat. Two lane country road with big hills and no curves, sleepy upscale neighborhood, speed limit 45, and I just had a catback installed in a little 3.5l V6 VTEC coupe that I wanted to hear.
You can see this buck standing in my lane, frozen, from a long way. But not long enough to be able to stop, even with tight breaks and good tires. Swerving off the road is not an option as the ditches are deep enough to bury Dawgs91 standing up. I smash the brakes, and prepare to die from an antler piercing my face through the windshield. My biggest regret is not telling enough people that I hate them.
Through some miracle I manage to almost stop in time, to where I barely tap this dumb beast. But enough to knock him over. Fuck. He’s down like Penei Sewell and I’m the dastardly Washington DB, waiting for his fat dad to get mad at me for hurting his meal ticket. The buck is injured, his back hip looks broken and he’s looking at me like I just killed him. Now, I don’t know much about deer except for Bambi, the time I saw two of them licking each others asses, and that if they can’t run they die. It’s just a matter of time before the coyotes come for it. I have to put it out if it’s misery. It’s the right thing to do. And drag it into the ditch. It’s the smart thing to do.
At the time I didn’t have a gun, well not one I kept on me. Shit, I didn’t even have a knife on me. Just a tire iron. And one of those X shaped ones, way easier to use. For taking lug nuts off, not for executing deer. So I take this tire iron, realizing how ridiculous this will look if someone sees me, assuming they don’t run me over. As I’m walking over the buck sees me and his eyes get all big, he’s stupid - but not stupid enough to think he needs a tire changed. Shit, he’s gonna try to gore me and I’m just trying to do him a favor and bash his skull in.
As he struggles to get upright I’m pondering fate, maybe you can’t escape your face being impaled by antlers if that’s what the string decided. Instead he takes a tenuous step the other way and leaps off into the woods like nothing happened, just a minor inconvenience. He left behind a few giant clumps of fur and some blood on my front bumper and grille. I got the fuck outta there, went straight home, googled body shops, and decided that I’ll start telling people that I hate them more often.
My advice is don’t read this. If you do read it and complain that it’s too long I’ll give you one of my two standard replies to that: A. some girls like having their cervix poked, or B. wait until you find out about books.
I hate deer. I think hunting it boring as fuck and if you’re willing to kill you can get way better stuff with a gun than raw venison, but I hope more people hunt deer.
About a decade ago, I was driving back home at around midnight after having a few beers and blunts at a BBQ. I was sober, but Johnny Law is always looking for an excuse to ruin the evening of young Eastern Europeans with some long forgotten coke baggie under the seat. Two lane country road with big hills and no curves, sleepy upscale neighborhood, speed limit 45, and I just had a catback installed in a little 3.5l V6 VTEC coupe that I wanted to hear.
You can see this buck standing in my lane, frozen, from a long way. But not long enough to be able to stop, even with tight breaks and good tires. Swerving off the road is not an option as the ditches are deep enough to bury Dawgs91 standing up. I smash the brakes, and prepare to die from an antler piercing my face through the windshield. My biggest regret is not telling enough people that I hate them.
Through some miracle I manage to almost stop in time, to where I barely tap this dumb beast. But enough to knock him over. Fuck. He’s down like Penei Sewell and I’m the dastardly Washington DB, waiting for his fat dad to get mad at me for hurting his meal ticket. The buck is injured, his back hip looks broken and he’s looking at me like I just killed him. Now, I don’t know much about deer except for Bambi, the time I saw two of them licking each others asses, and that if they can’t run they die. It’s just a matter of time before the coyotes come for it. I have to put it out if it’s misery. It’s the right thing to do. And drag it into the ditch. It’s the smart thing to do.
At the time I didn’t have a gun, well not one I kept on me. Shit, I didn’t even have a knife on me. Just a tire iron. And one of those X shaped ones, way easier to use. For taking lug nuts off, not for executing deer. So I take this tire iron, realizing how ridiculous this will look if someone sees me, assuming they don’t run me over. As I’m walking over the buck sees me and his eyes get all big, he’s stupid - but not stupid enough to think he needs a tire changed. Shit, he’s gonna try to gore me and I’m just trying to do him a favor and bash his skull in.
As he struggles to get upright I’m pondering fate, maybe you can’t escape your face being impaled by antlers if that’s what the string decided. Instead he takes a tenuous step the other way and leaps off into the woods like nothing happened, just a minor inconvenience. He left behind a few giant clumps of fur and some blood on my front bumper and grille. I got the fuck outta there, went straight home, googled body shops, and decided that I’ll start telling people that I hate them more often.
Give Norm McDonald and his two liners some credit. He’s one of the few comedians to have the balls to call out Hitler’s dog. Which must make it super awkward when they run into each other at the dog park in hell.
Neighbor2972
Member Posts: 4,294
Comments
I hate deer. I think hunting it boring as fuck and if you’re willing to kill you can get way better stuff with a gun than raw venison, but I hope more people hunt deer.
About a decade ago, I was driving back home at around midnight after having a few beers and blunts at a BBQ. I was sober, but Johnny Law is always looking for an excuse to ruin the evening of young Eastern Europeans with some long forgotten coke baggie under the seat. Two lane country road with big hills and no curves, sleepy upscale neighborhood, speed limit 45, and I just had a catback installed in a little 3.5l V6 VTEC coupe that I wanted to hear.
You can see this buck standing in my lane, frozen, from a long way. But not long enough to be able to stop, even with tight breaks and good tires. Swerving off the road is not an option as the ditches are deep enough to bury Dawgs91 standing up. I smash the brakes, and prepare to die from an antler piercing my face through the windshield. My biggest regret is not telling enough people that I hate them.
Through some miracle I manage to almost stop in time, to where I barely tap this dumb beast. But enough to knock him over. Fuck. He’s down like Penei Sewell and I’m the dastardly Washington DB, waiting for his fat dad to get mad at me for hurting his meal ticket. The buck is injured, his back hip looks broken and he’s looking at me like I just killed him. Now, I don’t know much about deer except for Bambi, the time I saw two of them licking each others asses, and that if they can’t run they die. It’s just a matter of time before the coyotes come for it. I have to put it out if it’s misery. It’s the right thing to do. And drag it into the ditch. It’s the smart thing to do.
At the time I didn’t have a gun, well not one I kept on me. Shit, I didn’t even have a knife on me. Just a tire iron. And one of those X shaped ones, way easier to use. For taking lug nuts off, not for executing deer. So I take this tire iron, realizing how ridiculous this will look if someone sees me, assuming they don’t run me over. As I’m walking over the buck sees me and his eyes get all big, he’s stupid - but not stupid enough to think he needs a tire changed. Shit, he’s gonna try to gore me and I’m just trying to do him a favor and bash his skull in.
As he struggles to get upright I’m pondering fate, maybe you can’t escape your face being impaled by antlers if that’s what the string decided. Instead he takes a tenuous step the other way and leaps off into the woods like nothing happened, just a minor inconvenience. He left behind a few giant clumps of fur and some blood on my front bumper and grille. I got the fuck outta there, went straight home, googled body shops, and decided that I’ll start telling people that I hate them more often.
Good one
TL, DR