The Hard Way

I have always been a fan of the more difficult path for all my vocational activities. I’m not sure I can explain this, but I prefer it. I’d pick shovel over a backhoe, command line over GUI and lifting over pushing. I would much rather do something hard and then fail then do something simple and succeed. Additionally I would much rather work hard and then finally succeed rather than know that something is inherently simple while I flop miserably at it.

There is no expression for the feelings that well up in you when you cannot master something that its instructions state as, ‘so simple a child could do it’. For may of us these are the most feared words in the English language. Now you've been setup so that if you do fail you're more stupid than a piece of wrapping paper. This is never as obvious as when playing a console type video game. The feeling that children everywhere are bored to death with the lack of complexity and you can’t make your brightly colored cartoon slave follow any of the instructions you give it.

I am a computer gamer with many years of experience. I’m a tower of dexterity armed with a mouse and keyboard, but put a console game pad with twelve buttons and mini joystick in my hand and I look like drooling ape at the zoo. I feel like an absolute imbecile where it comes to the ‘simple’ games. My character is running around in circles while seven year-olds snicker in the background.

“Do what I want you to, you stupid little plumber! I said ‘wall jump’ not ‘back flip!’”

This is why I would rather try something that is accepted as difficult. That way when I do ‘get it’, it’s not viewed as me finally achieving a mediocre standard, but rather succeeding at something truly impressive. Who wants to pour time and effort into something that average people are doing all day long without even trying? Not me. Additionally if someone says “I don't think you can do it that way.” I’m all over it.

Mostly I fail. I fall flat on my face, in the dirt with embarrassment coated thickly on my clothes. This is a place I've been many times. That’s fine with me; it just means I’m going to keep trying till I get it. Along the way if I get frustrated, unhappy or mean, just know, it’s perfectly normal and I’m still having fun. Underneath the mask of a lunatic foaming at the mouth, is a happy kid with a new bike.

I like to fail before success. It just feels better. There is some feeling of severe gratification to know that you overcame the odds, naysayers, or some defiant inanimate object. As a rule I always have to have some technical difficulty before pleasure begins. Whether it’s just computers misbehaving, tools malfunctioning, or some other part of life is interfering. This makes enjoyment so much more enjoyable. It feels good to know you earned it.

People are constantly pointing out to me an easier way to do things. I generally just furrow my brow and give them the “Why would I want to do that?” look. They then walk away confused and I go back to whatever absurd endeavor I’m engaged in. It not that I don’t agree their way is easier, but understand, beneath all the grunting and groaning, I’m really having a blast and in the end I'd much rather do it, the hard way.

Lazy Thursday Blues: Caption 24

It is once again Caption Thursday. I everyone's captions were great last week! I've got two more great pictures that are aching for your wit. So don't let them down!

Take your pick and caption whichever you prefer. Or try your hand at both! As always we need to adhere to good taste. Please keep it clean.

1Here's one to get you started:
It looked like the locals were in for yet another dry summer in Dustbucket!

2Here's one to get you started:
If Spot ever let this get back to the guys at the dog park..."

Stuff I've found this week:

Common Cents Can you pick the correct Lincoln Cent from the lineup? For the record, I was wrong.

The Oddest Thing Online? Quite Possibly.

Pour plaster in an anthill and what do you get? No, I'm not joking.

This just makes me laugh. The newest Internet joke:

20 Things I Learned From LAN Parties

  • While Cheetos are nice, they aren’t worth losing for.

  • No one should be able to hit 27 headshots in a row. No one.

  • Alliances were made to be broken.

  • Save a life. Strafe.

  • You can always find a bigger gun.

  • Campers are the dregs of the planet.

  • A friend at the chip bowl is an enemy at the bulkhead.

  • There are never enough health packs.

  • When in doubt, shoot to kill.

  • Severely over caffeinated. It's a gamers way of life.

  • Circulation is irrelevant.

  • Your mouse hand is supposed to be cold, yes it’s perfectly normal.

  • Playing within earshot of your enemies is always more enjoyable. Screams fuel frags.

  • Someone has to guard the flag. Sorry but it might be you.

  • Thirst is irrelevant.

  • Mercy is like a magnet for every backstabber in the game. Avoid it at all costs.

  • No one likes a whiny loser. Play to win.

  • Taunt the dead. It's the law.

  • If there’s no way to win, gang up on the leader.

  • It’s time to stop when the last player falls asleep on their keyboard.
  • Don't Break The Chain

    This letter was started by a widower in Des Moines who believed he had the ability to talk to barnyard animals. He sent this letter to 12 of his friends and the next week a local paper paid him $10,000 for his life story.

    A man in Denver received this letter and mailed it to 12 of his closest friends. The next day he won the town raffle and brought home a new pet guinea pig! A woman in Lancaster foolishly rejected this letter and broke the chain. Two weeks later her children dropped out of college and returned home to live with her while they ‘looked for other options’. That was three years ago! This letter has been around the world seven times! Don’t break the chain.

    I miss the old chain letters. Strange as it might sound, I actually enjoyed reading them. It felt good to know that somewhere, someone believed that good things were going to happen to them because they read an implausible set of anecdotal evidence and took the time to copy the letter and mail it out. Someone somewhere spent $0.39 cents to send me a bit of entertainment. I was grateful.

    I loved hearing about the crazy people in this fanciful letter and how misfortune struck the poor soul in Wichita or a great new job opened up for an individual in Miami. I believe that I used to think the people in the letters were real, and that somehow this mysterious author knew about them and their life. He knew about them even though he didn’t know anything about me, a horrible chain breaker! I guess I’m just lucky no one told the letter writer about my misdeeds.

    I’m not sure when I realized that it was all a fabrication but I don’t recall finding it to be a letdown. No in fact that means that this exciting bit of post just changed from a documentary to something far better. An engaging work of fiction! Someone poured themselves into this ridiculous letter and provided me with a chunk of unsolicited amusement. I know that there are a number of these chain type letters that urge you to send money to a number of people on the list, but there were a few I got that just wanted you to mail it off. ‘Send this to 12 people you know within the next 7 days and good things will happen to you.’

    So for nothing more than 12 postage stamps, envelopes and the price of copies, you got to feel good for the next week or so. In addition 12 more people received unsolicited entertainment in their mailbox. It was a win-win situation.

    Sadly the Internet has changed all that. I no longer get chain letters. In fact I haven’t seen one since I was in high school. The Internet has pretty much done away with the old chain letter. Now I get a mail box full of SPAM. Very little creativity and most of it just full of vulgarities and medication solicitations. It’s odd the things we miss sometimes.

    Anyway please leave a message and keep this post going. 'A man in Santa Rosa broke the chain and later that same week a group of street evangelists knocked on his front door while he was eating dinner. A woman in …'

    All In A Days Work

    There you are, playing Blackjack in a posh Monte Carlo casino. Cuban cigar in one hand, stack of thousand dollar chips in the other. You are exchanging looks with woman in a white satin evening gown and a man in a neatly pressed tuxedo with a patch over one eye. Knowing that while you sit here either of these people could be working on a plot to sell secret government documents to the highest bidder or overthrow the world’s turnip industry and leave the hearty stew business a smoldering wreckage for many years to come. You are a spy.

    It wasn’t always like this though; no you used to just be a regular person. You never decided to be a spy, you were selected. You see, no one volunteers to be a covert agent, they’re just picked. There is no application process. Clearly this would do little good.

    Somewhere somehow, someone looks at you and says, this person looks really sneaky. I believe I could mold them into a disguise loving, bullet dodging, gadget craving spy!

    Once someone decides that you’ve got what it takes to become an agent you still have a lot of work ahead of you. In order to become who you are, you had to go though years of extensive training. You had to be the best at everything. No one wants a mediocre spy. You should be the best card player, the best drinker, the best puncher. You equally excel at flying jet airplanes, riding motorcycles, and piloting boats while engaged in a fist fight and hurtling biting personal comments at your spy foes. A spy who can not belittle their enemy while defending themselves will be bounced out the program faster than you can say "fake passport".

    In addition to vehicular navigation 101, judo sessions and your next biting retort lessons; you also have to learn how to use your spy gadgets. When you become a spy you will have to know how to use a variety of improbable devices. Anything from decoder rings, camera tripods that assemble into guns and secret clothing compartments that store acid toothpaste or radio pencil transmitters. First off you need to know how to use them, so you don’t inadvertently brush your gleaming white spy teeth with glass eating acid toothpaste. This always makes for a bad mission.

    Secondly though you need to have a hoard of excuses up your sleeve. It’s not just a matter of understanding how to identify acid toothpaste from your Colgate but also good way to wriggle out of a tight spot when you're caught using it.

    “Why were you on the outside of the building around the twenty-second floor smearing toothpaste on my office window?”

    “Ah, yes. Well you see I'm on the night cleaning crew...”

    If you make it through your training, you will be the elite of the elite. Then the real work begins. Now you’re a secret agent. It’s your job to do whatever the home office tells you. Mostly this will involve having to insert yourself into the local political machine and direct the world, as required by your government, all the while maintaining your cover. Better keep your weekends free from now on.

    So it seems you’re off to the Malaysian capital to thwart a plan hatched by a villainous mastermind to harvest refined plutonium from the moons of Jupiter. {Sigh} All in a days work.

    The Rub

    “Hey. How are things?”

    “Not so great.”

    “What’s wrong? Are you feeling okay?”

    “Don't pretend that you don’t know.”

    “Why should I know anything about it?”

    “You're the cause of all this!”

    “How is your feeling bad my fault?”

    “Because you tried to kill me!”


    “Don’t act like you haven’t got any idea what I’m talking about! Look, I know that you know that I now know! You know?”


    “Give it a rest! You can’t hide it from me! You've been trying to do me in for the past three days!”

    “Honestly I haven’t got a clue what you’re talking about. You seem like some crazed lunatic.

    “Of course I’m crazed! You’re trying to murder me! Assassinate! Bump off! Kill, slay, execute…”

    “This is ridiculous. I mean haven’t we been having fun these last few days? We’ve been going out to great restaurants, enjoying exciting cuisine!”

    “…slaughter, massacre, rub out, snuff…”

    “Stop. Honestly. We’ve been having a good time as far as I can tell. I don’t recall anytime in the last three days even saying anything mean to you, let alone try and kill you! ”

    “That’s because you don’t want me to know what you’re up to.”

    “I don’t?”

    “No! But I figured it out! I understand how your brain works! You’d rather I didn’t catch on! You’d like me to do the work for you! You want me to kill myself off while you seem to be nothing more than my jocular counterpart, encouraging me from the sidelines and pressuring me to further indulgence. ”

    “That’s what I wanted?”

    “Of course! Because you knew, if I knew what you knew, I wouldn’t let it happen! I would resist your urging and influences. I would understand that you weren’t just out to have a good time but that there was a devious duplicity deep below your decent demeanor!”

    “I knew that?”

    “Yes! Obviously I can’t believe it took me this long to figure it out. I mean a few more days of this behavior and your plan might have come to fruition! And then where would I be?”

    “I’m not positive that I follow you…”

    “I’d be DEAD! That’s where!”

    “Right. But you figured out my plan in time?”

    “Clearly, as we are now having this rather revealing exchange! Luckily for me, I saw right through your Machiavellian like manner.”


    “Crafty, cunning, deceitful, furtive, underhanded, tricky! Your sly little arrangement for my death.”

    “Oh… So I almost out crafted you then? I tried to maneuver you into killing yourself though my wicked use of innate slyness?”

    “I’m suddenly beginning to doubt that hypothesis…”

    “Look, will you please just tell me what’s going on? I can honestly swear that I’m not trying to kill you.”

    “Then why do I feel like this? I thought we were suppose to be having a good time?”

    “Haven’t we been?”

    “I feel like death warmed over.”


    “Honey, you don’t look so hot.”

    “I feel like death warmed over. My stomach is so upset.”

    “Yea, I bet! It probably thinks your trying to kill it with the way you’ve been eating lately.”

    “[ughn] oooww…”

    “Yea. I’d lay off the spicy foods for a few days.”

    Lazy Thursday Blues: Caption 23

    Well Surprise, Surprise! Look it's Thursday and here we are yet again for another caption day. I'm not sure how much longer to continue these. Are you bored of them yet? 'This is for posterity so honest.'

    Two great pictures for today. Take your pick and caption whichever you prefer. Or try your hand at both! As always we need to adhere to good taste. Please keep it clean.

    1Here's one to get you started:
    The newest economy cars really hold fast to the road!

    2Here's one to get you started:
    The new suit sure did fit better, but Superman wondered if catching criminals because they were doubled over laughing was really worth it.

    Stuff I've found this week:

    Jurassic Ken See it through to the end...if you can stand it!

    Unibrow Song A Classic.

    This just makes me laugh :

    20 Things I Learned From Hotdogs

  • Never read the ingredients.

  • If you want to know what’s in a hotdog, it’s not your type of food.

  • Never read the nutritional information.

  • Who needs loose fitting pants when you have hotdogs?

  • Buns, relish and mustard are just extras, not necessities.

  • Extras are nice when you have them.

  • Some extras are better than others.

  • Cooked or uncooked, it’s your preference.

  • Preservatives taste great.

  • Even a bad hotdog is better than the alternative. No hotdog.

  • Eight is never enough.

  • Since hotdogs come in packages of 10 and buns come in packages of 8, 40 might be the perfect number of hotdogs.

  • Thankfully there is no shortage of hotdogs, so you can always buy more.

  • Not everyone likes hotdogs. This means they won’t eat yours.

  • Chili and cheese go with everything. Hotdogs are not above the law.

  • Putting cheese inside a hotdog, means you had to remove some of the meat. This is never an acceptable practice.

  • There are no extra hotdogs in the package, every hotdog has a purpose and should not be dismissed as an extra.

  • Hotdogs shouldn’t sit alone in the refrigerator for too long. It makes them feel unwanted.

  • No hotdog should feel unwanted.

  • There is always room for one more hotdog.

  • Feel free to add your own revelations.

    TED Is A State Of Being

    As I was standing outside a van pulled up. A blue van. A blue van with a rather large smooth viewing surface. It was at this point that I realized that I was being reflected back with a rather distorted image. Normally when this happens it is a major bash to both my confidence and my perceived understanding of what I must look like to others. You know what I mean. You see the rather smallish version of yourself staring back at you with a sort of wrinkled brow and pursed lips as if to say, “I don’t like the look of you either scrawny!”

    For reasons I cannot begin to explain, this didn’t happen this time. For some reason I saw the thick dwarfed version of myself and thought, “Wow…I look cool!” I found the vision rather roguish looking. I mean sure I wouldn’t be able to reach the kitchen counter anymore or fit into my shoes, but at least I could touch the ground without bending over!

    I figure, what I experienced furthered me down the path of Total Esteem Detachment or TED. TED is a state of being. Not caring what others think of you, because you can feel good as a 6’1” network analyst or a 3’5” bluish dwarven image. Those who are totally TEDified could be seen anywhere wearing anything and not feel self conscience.

    For instance someone who had reached inner TED-ZEN, could go to the mall in a toga and not for one moment feel out of place. They place that feeling, instead, squarely in everyone else’s lap. Mostly those select few who choose to, or are required to, interact with them. As they exit they leave a wake of gapers and uncontrollable gigglers. The TEDler dismisses them completely. In addition they get an enormous amount of discounts due to distracted sales clerks. Shopping in a toga is a bargain lovers dream come true!

    I would guess that a lot of celebrities are completely TEDed. How else could some of those rather unglamorous roles be filed?

    “John? It’s Phil your agent!”

    “Hey Phil, what do you have?”

    “Well I just landed you the perfect role. The producer called and said that they needed an ugly, balding, overweight guy that is berated by the rest of the cast and I was like ‘I’ve got just what you need!’”


    I’m not sure I’d be so hot to clue in all my friends if I got this gig. The other ones that blow my mind are the billboard people. In my home town there is a billboard with a close-up picture of an overweight person grasping their sagging belly while thousands of drivers pass under it, on our only major thoroughfare.

    “SO, Laura, I heard you got a modeling job! I can’t wait to see it!”
    “You probably already have!”

    While we might not all take TED this far, there certainly are lessons to be learned. Because just like Laura you too can achieve greater esteem detachment through deep meditation and heavy medication. Relax and just try to be happy with what you see. Remember TED is a state of being!


    I did it. I made it. I'm One.

    Technically Kludge Spot was one on April 14th, but I don't want to split hairs, it's close enough.

    For a year I've been posting here and I have to say, I feel pretty good about it. It's a lot more work than I ever envisioned a hobby to be. Not the physical pounding out on the keyboard so much, but rather the grasping of ideas and the manufacturing of those ideas into posts. As I look back I see loads of paragraphs about embarrassing moments, Thursday games, poems, conversations and of course the severely inconsequential.

    Either way, I'm still here and Kludge Spot will continue on.

    PS. Try not to get any cake or ice cream on the carpet, I just had it cleaned.

    Something Funny.


    I found something funny.

    "No, that's not my son either... I told you, he only has one hand!"

    Animal Caption

    It's Friday and I'm not in the mood to type. SOOO....
    I'm Extending The Games For Another Day!

    Today is Animal Caption Day! I have some photos that are just begging for some good captions! Have fun.

    #1:Here's one to get you started:
    George's plan to infiltrate the aquarium.

    Here's one to get you started:
    A handy tool on any safe cracking job!

    Here's one to get you started:
    'Ninja Cat' appears from nowhere to take possession of the ball!

    Here's one to get you started:
    What started as a great tool for opening acorns, turned into a bloody battle for supremacy of the oak tree!

    Lazy Thursday Blues: Caption 22

    It is once again Caption Thursday! I'll provide a picture and you provide the caption. Today's picture is well...see for yourself!

    As always we need to adhere to good taste. Please keep it clean.

    Here's one to get you started:

    Can You Catch The Fashion Faux Pas?
    RIGHT! - Never wear a neon green handbag with yellow shoes!

    Stuff I've found this week:

    Farming In Skyscrapers? What a cool idea!

    Convert any Screen to Touch Screen Total geek, and very cool.

    Top Figures It's a game. But the directions are lousy. Here's the deal. You need to remove a piece of the structure and not put the boy in the drink. The more piece you remove the more points, but you only need to remove one to move to the next level. It starts getting really fun in the higher levels.

    20 Things I Learned In Traffic

  • Make opportunities where you find them, including the small space between two Mac trucks.

  • Every car should be required by law to have bumper stickers to read. Traffic is way too dull without them.

  • Yellow lights are irrelevant.

  • Red lights are too sometimes.

  • Coffee always tastes more bitter in traffic.

  • Theory of Relativity - Whenever you are running late or your gas tank is nearing empty you're relatively sure to hit heavy traffic.

  • Sometimes, it just feels good to tailgate.

  • The amount of time you will be stuck in traffic is directly proportional to how bad you need to get somewhere.

  • Yelling at motorcycles flying past your car is acceptable when in heavy traffic. Opening your doors on them is not. Unless you can do it without getting caught.

  • A good getaway is hard moving at 12 MPH.

  • Singing in your car is much more likely to attract an audience while in traffic. Not all of them cheerful.

  • No one likes to see a happy driver while stuck in traffic. Turn off your music and look miserable like the rest of us.

  • Anyone being courteous in traffic is a new arrival. Take advantage of their kindness for they will soon be jaded like everyone else.

  • Everything outside is more interesting than the traffic; this includes the poor chump changing his tire, or just counting yellow stripes.

  • Getting mad, yelling, weeping or banging your head on the steering wheel is okay in heavy traffic. It gives everyone else something to look at.

  • Your car is always more uncomfortable in traffic.

  • Get to know your traffic neighbors. That way you can try and keep them from passing you.

  • As long as the Earth is still spinning, the other lane will always be moving faster.

  • You will never be in the ‘other’ lane.

  • Everyone is out to get you.

  • Feel free to add your own traffic revelations.

    Into The Mists- Revisted

    As is customary in all great adventures, this one started with a journey. I knew not entirely what awaited me, but the camera of my mind was loaded and I would be capable of plenty of snapshots. I was going to take a daring trek. I was to travel to the "Ballpark." My traveling companions were quite familiar with the terrain, and would assist me as much as possible. For the first leg of our journey we would ride in hospitable surroundings, a posh Mercury station wagon. Here my mates and I chatted and prepared ourselves, as we ventured into the mists. Our final destination: AT&T Park in San Francisco.

    Sitting on a jetting peninsula in the cold waters of the north, as millions had done before us, we arrived at the park. My guide, a ballpark veteran and my father-in-law, was responsible for the expedition and bartered passage into the mighty fortress. I was amazed at the sheer size of this place and the number of locals it supported. It seemed to me that we would never reach its inner bowels as we climbed the concrete steps leading up to it’s gaping opening. Once inside my survival instincts kicked in. I deftly maneuvered the crowds in an attempt to locate our dwelling for the next few hours. A choice location by which to study the locals and their customs.

    Once our seats had been secured we were off for the second necessity of survival, nourishment. The local food supply leaves little to complain about, pork in abundance, pizza, and a local favorite: garlic fries. This last item, coupled with a fermented beverage, was the locals way of securing what little territory they were able to occupy. As was the custom, one buys pork products, garlic fries, and beer. The main goal is to return to your seat with the majority of your food still in your possession. Understand that this is no small feat, given the shear number of arms, legs and steps to navigate.

    Once you have resumed your seat, the trick is to find a spot to store your spoils. Nothing is to be lost, and a garlic fry that falls from it’s paper nest is to be regarded as a stray offspring and mourned to this effect. The only exception to this is the beer. As best I could make out, beer is sloshed on your feet, pants, and shirt as you return to your chair, sort of like a ballpark style perfume.

    For those unwilling to give up their post, food is carted around the stadium in crates. You need a keen eye and loud voice to catch the attention of passing vittles. Additionally you need a strong stomach as your meal is past from strange hand to strange hand before it reaches you. I imagine an isle seat would better suit me in the future.

    Being an outsider, I proceeded at once to the local mercantile and purchased a headpiece. I have to say, this camouflage turned out to be a very wise choice. I was able to walk amongst the locals unnoticed. With the smell of garlic fries and sausage on my breath, my disguise was complete. Apparently it is acceptable to holler and beat others as long as they bear your markings. These are friendly approaches by the locals. Remain calm, laugh, slap them back and then slosh a portion of your beer on them. This will ensure you are accepted into the clan.

    As titans battled for supremacy in the center of our arena, the locals observed their own customs. Our job, besides watching the battle unfold, was to respond to a large glowing billboard that bombarded us with commands. "Stand", "Make Noise", "Louder", "Stretch", and so forth. No one seemed to find these instruction odd, and in fact, many enjoyed the events thoroughly. Not wanting to show my lack of experience to fellow clan-members, I followed with the group. Enthusiasm for these activities built to a deafening roar. I also believe that the excitement was directly proportional to the ever growing aroma of beer. Clearly a further study on the matter would prove interesting.

    While this was taking place we were also required to quarrel with each other. This took the form of breast beating, arm waving and taunting. At this point I could only watch. The dance was quite complex, and the language needed to be scary, loud, or witty to win support from your clan. Some were skilled and elevated by the others to near celebrity heights. Others were removed due to poor performances. This is referred to as the drunken walk of shame. There is very little love for those that have fallen from the clans good graces. Numerous interaction of this nature took place, and many disgraced clans people were ushered out of their dwelling places by the local constabulary.

    All in all it was a night well spent. Our team was victorious and our efforts on their behalf were most welcomed. Those not wearing our colors were sadden, pitied and severely jeered. After a time we all stood in unison as the glowing board went out. We followed its lead once again, and also departed. My throat was horse, my odor horrific, but my spirits were high. I cant wait to return to those ballplayers in the mists.


    Come to Africa! Bask in the warmth and excitement of the bush. Enjoy the slights and sounds of an Africa you’ve only imagined! Visit the infamous Skeleton Coast or spend a day at the Cape Cross Seal Colony, breeding grounds for literately thousands of Cape Fur Seals. They won’t miss one or two more! See the graceful Gemsbok, the beautiful Hartman Mountain Zebra, and the powerful Greater Kudu!

    Sure, some of them are on the endangered species list, but that’s no reason we can take a shot or two at them, and if by chance one happened to get hurt and die while we are there, we could skin it for you! No sense in letting it go to waste, when that lovely pelt could be hanging on your wall, looking handsome and regal. In addition you can take a photo with the poor beast and do it one last indignity as your lord over it with your gun while in authentic African safari attire! Come to Africa on safari and shoot stuff for fun! It’ll be a blast.

    Doesn’t that sound like a hoot? I have to say I never understood the whole 'shooting animals for fun' bit. I guess it just isn’t my thing. I have no problem with hunting as a sport, honestly. If you are going to feed people with the animal, the animal doesn’t experience extended suffering, and it is on a legal hunting grounds within the correct season. I suppose in many ways the animals life is much more satisfying in the wild than one bred for livestock. At least they have some degree of enjoyment in their life. That is up to the point of being shot, by some guy in camouflage pants and a bright orange hat, who hasn’t showered in three days and is then is going to tie you to the top of his wifes station wagon and drag you home to hang on his wall. Then their quality of life dips a bit.

    Clearly I am not a hunter. I have done a bit of shooting in my life though. All of if was at some inanimate object like a paper target or large metal fence. I now recall I once fired several rounds off at a pigeon colony that was on my roof. This was from a neighbors authentic Dasiy rifle BB gun. The pigeons didn’t seem to mind as I was such a bad shot I would have had more luck reasoning them off the roof, than hitting them with the gun. I told my neighbor that there was something wrong with the gun, and he said he knew exactly what was wrong with the gun and returned it to his garage.

    I once did some work for an office that looked like an outpost on the Kenya gaming frontier. There were more lifeless bodies than a bingo parlor! I mean stuffed pheasants on the desks, lions heads and elephant tusks on the walls, and dozens of photos of men in khaki! I couldn’t help myself I had to ask. The owner told me his family had gone out on many safaris and even showed me a picture of his father with one foot triumphantly atop and toppled elephant. I didn’t know what to say, as he was my customer.

    “Wow. Uh...That’s cool...”

    “Nah. Not really. I mean, who do you think going to win? Hello, Dad’s got a freaking gun! I mean it was like, BAM! or maybe BAM, BAM! And then they took the picture. Big deal. Now if my father would have gone at him with a buck knife or something then that would have been cool, and worth a picture like this!”

    He was right of course, and all I could think at the time was if that had happened I wonder if the elephant would have put up his fathers head in his study? I mean of course, after the triumphant picture!