I love ticking off as many vapid, anti-American and anti-traditional values blowhards as I can. It is one of the chief joys of my life. However, sometimes I need a reprieve from the rancor and the hell razing.

Aside from needing a break from the bellicosity that is my life, I need a break from the place where I live, i.e. Miami. This place is more plastic than Joan River’s face, breasts, ear lobes, tummy, or . . . yecch! I’m sorry. I just made myself vomit. Excuse me for a sec . . . okay, I’m back.

In addition to the synthetic scene here in South Florida, the metrosexual madness down here is so sassy and solid it leaves a redneck refugee like me shaking like a junkie for a testosterone reality fix away from the weapons-grade foolishness that unfortunately inundates one of the most beautiful spots on the planet.

Also, I get ill thinking about having to go to the mall, again, and having to ford through all the mall rats, with their fake (or real, I don’t care) Louis Vuitton purses, Gucci shades, and their angst over, “whether they should get A/X’s skinny jeans or Abercrombie’s new ones.” Yeah, having to share air with these helix-missing morons and being forced to overhear how bad their lives reek as they scream on their cell phones leaves me with an intense desire to get the hell outta Dodge. Y’know what I’m sayin’?

Furthermore (and I know I’m not supposed to say this), I get weary at times of talk radio and TV talk shows, which are quickly becoming my life. Doesn’t it get old, occasionally, hearing the left and right go at each other night after night after night after night? Call me a wussy, but since I don’t drop acid or smoke ganja any more I need to escape.

A cruise is out of the question for me. Being on a disease laced, slow moving diarrhea ship, filled with stretch pant wearing, buffet loving, overweight, pink-skinned drunks that are paraded like lemmings from one overpriced port to the next is not my idea of recreating.

Nothing, as far as I’m concerned, does more for me than getting away and going hunting with my family and friends. Putting massive distance between me and the mall, my cell phone and my email and going beyond the pavement in pursuit of the planet’s magnificent game animals or birds is b-e-a-u-tiful to me.

What do I like about it?

My cell phone usually doesn’t work.

Just getting out in the wild connects me back to my primal spiritual and physical roots. God didn’t create Adam to live in a condo. He made a feral crib for his first man to live and whup it up in with Eve. There is something that the undomesticated does to me that no Lysol disinfected, five star hotel can provide.

Everything slows down. I’m forced to chill out. I’m not going mach2 with my hair on fire. I’m forced to shut up and quit screaming. I’m forced to breathe, and the air I inhale in the woods is clean and not some germ laden, stale, fart loaded, re-circulated office oxygen (I office out of my home). Continued...