“. . . we need to conserve that bitter impulse that we have inherited from primitive man. It alone permits us the greatest luxury of all, the ability to enjoy a vacation from the human condition through an authentic, ‘immersion in Nature’ . . . and this, in turn, can be achieved only by placing himself in relation to another animal. But there is no animal, pure animal, other than a wild one, and the relationship with him is the hunt.” - Jose Ortega y Gasset.
Is anyone else out there in what’s left of traditional America sick of the election yet? This thing has become about as appealing to me as watching Carrot Top slowly work a stubborn booger loose from the side wall of his left nostril.
Not only has the election become tedious but it is also sad (and hilarious, if it wasn’t so scary) watching the Barack punch drinkers buy into the Obama camp’s hype that this guy is the black Jesus that America needs. Good God, folks. He’s a junior state senator from Chicago who has two more years experience than I do—and I’m not even running for president.
Listen, even though McCain ain’t my Mr. McDream candidate, he kills the boy wonder from an experience standpoint, and I’ll go with age and understanding over young Robin’s Rembrandt veneers any day.
He’s a simple little executive breakdown of our two candidates:
Congress: 26 years
Military: 22 years
Congress: 143 days
When I need a break from the Obama brainwashing and my daily grind of writing and hosting ClashRadio.com, not only do I drink six gallons of Ketel One, dance on tables in Greek restaurants, and chill with mi familia (as Obama would have us say), but I dream about and prepare for my next hunt.
Herewith are ten reasons why I dig hunting . . .
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—but the world will continue to turn without your input.
9. Our sport is 99.9% devoid of nasty, whiny man-hating stretch pant wearing mullet sporting anti-American nerve-grating feminists, lesbos and nutty liberals. Yep, around the campfire and in the field the lunatic left’s yarbling is non-existence. 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 onlooking 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. The hunter understands what King David meant in Psalm 23 when he says that God “makes me lie down in green pastures, he leads me beside quiet waters, he restores my soul.” Call me crazy, but God’s art crushes any Abstract/Modern art which usually looks like someone whipped their butt on a piece of paper, framed it and called it good.
To be continued . . .