Me: “Hi. I’d like to please be removed from your mailing list?”
Well-Spoken Southern Accent Customer Service Girl: “Ok sir, I can do that for you, but can I please ask why you’d like to not continue to be informed about our fine offerings?”
Extremely Polite Southern Accent Customer Service Girl:“Hello, welcome to “_______.” How can I help you?”
Me: “Yeah, hi. I’m not sure how I got on your mailing list, but I’d like to be removed, please.”
EPSACSG:“Ok sir, I can do that for you, but can I ask why you’d like to not continue to be informed about our fine offerings?”
Me: “Uh, you’d like to know why I don’t want to receive your catalog?
Well, since you’re asking…to be honest, I don’t think I’m exactly your “target clientele.” You see, I live in the West, and hunt for wild birds on public lands, on foot. I’ve never been to a private $7k/week plantation lodge. In fact, I’m pretty sure that someone in a position of influence would make sure I never even made it to the front door of such an establishment.
Nor have I ever been transported from one planted bird location to another in a horse-drawn carriage. Do those things have a wet bar?
I’ve also never faced the peculiar dilemma of which sportcoat I should pack for standing around the fireplace after a day “afield,” while discussing my many and varied accomplishments in both the realm of canned hunting and finance.
Me: Great. Also, I can’t ever imagine myself in a pair of your $200 bright green jackass slacks with the embroidered Labradors and ducks on them. In fact, I would fully expect that these pants come with a clown nose, a ball gag and a pair of handcuffs. Is this true, or are these accessories extra?”
Me: “Hello? Ma’am? I still have a few more reasons I’d like to share… Hello?”
“Is there chukar in Wyoming?” – This is a popular question, so I want to answer it correctly. No. The good news is with your fancy talkin’ skills you goin’ to fit right in in Wyoming.
Some of you are here intentionally, I know this because I have access to the site stats and you found us using search terms like “chukar hunting blog” or “how to hunt gambles quail.”
Many of you will be sadly disappointed, like those of you who came here after searching “hunting breeks.” I’m also sad for those of you who came here while searching for the location of “Giffy Butte.”
It makes perfect sense to me that after “Mouthful of Feathers” and its variants, the most used search term that brought people to MOF is “WTF.” WTF indeed.
A fair number of the searched phrases are questions. I thought I’d answer some of the questions that folks have searched for and ended up at MOF seeking answers.
“What is a ditch parrott?” – Good question. It’s one of those pink decorative birds on a stake that rednecks put in front of their mobil homes. “What does quail taste like?” – Imagine a marshmallow peep grew up then raised a clutch of little marshmallow peep chicks exclusively on a diet of butter and roasted peanuts. And then, when those baby peeps were as cute as they could possibly be, you ate them.
“What do feathers taste like?” – What kind of sick bastard are you? “When is too old for bird hunting?” – The people who write here and many of the ones who read this blog would happily breathe their last breath while climbing a scree slope towards a dog on point. So I guess never.
“Is there chukar in Wyoming?” – This is a popular question, so I want to answer it correctly. No. The good news is with your fancy talkin’ skills you goin’ to fit right in in Wyoming. “When you go pheasant hunting do you eat the birds?” – That’s like asking “When you go to bars, do you drink the beer?” “Why does a ruffed grouse defecate in one place?” – I like this question and I hope whoever searched for it contacts us to become a contributor. This question has a real hillbilly Confucius feel to it. “Are nice guns meant to be used?” – Yes. Use it, or give it to me and I’ll keep it safe for you. “Wtf images?” – Is this a question about our photography or lack of? Some strategically placed punctuation could be really helpful here. “How to keep a cigarette out of a mouthful.” – Don’t drink out of the urinal. This brings up another point, folks, keep your dogs off the interweb. It’s just not a safe environment for setters.
“What does chukar taste like?” – It tastes like victory. Sweet, delicious victory. “Is bourbon flaskable?” – Does a ruffed grouse defecate in the woods?
The team at Mouthful of Feathers is proud and excited to announce our new “Luxury Tours” division!
Deluxe transportation and 5-star meals are included:
Our experienced guides uphold the highest standard of professional behavior at all times:
You can count on your unique accommodations having been prepared in advance of your arrival by expert local craftsmen:
Evenings are typically spent sipping rare single malt and recalling days afield around a roaring fire in our turn-of-the-century fireplace, located in the grand lodge:
Previous client testimonial:
“I really didn’t know what to expect when I booked my first trip with MOF Luxury Tours. I had done classic driven shooting at castles in England, amassed thousands of doves per day in Argentina, and even hunted elusive guinea fowl driven by natives on the plains of South Africa. My standards and expectations were high, but I was ready for something different. That’s when I came across the full page ad for MOF Luxury Tours in Gray’s Sporting Journal. I was intrigued, and decided to give it a try. After that first life-changing experience, I immediately booked for next year and can’t wait!”
– Frank Lee Schwetty III
We’re confident that you’ll find MOF Luxury Tours tours to be the most exclusive, lavish and unique wingshooting experiences currently being offered by anyone, anywhere.
My beer has been stolen. Pabst. Blue. Ribbon. It’s been stolen by the bro-bras. You know them. Nice enough guys, well-intentioned. Fun to hang out with. But the fuckers stole my beer.
My dad drank it. So I did too. Drank it for years. Chanted the famous Dennis Hopper quote: “What kind of beer do you drink? Heineken?! Fuck that shit!!! Pabst! Blue! Ribbon!!!” Thought about making the t-shirt. Didn’t. Better to just drink it.
Then I noticed everyone was drinking it. It was served in the trendiest bars in the trendiest towns. For four freakin’ dollars a can! You know the towns: the ones with good stuff on the edges like rivers and fields full of Huns. The kinds of places that sadly show up on Top Ten Outdoor Town lists. The places where people move and get the “Insert-Town-Name-Here Starter Kit.” Example, the Bozeman, Montana, starter kit is a drift boat, a Tacoma and a bird dog.
Then I overheard things like: “Bra, want to go drink some Peebers?” and “Hey bro, ‘nother PBR?” To which I thought: “WTF?”
This for a beer that won the blue ribbon in Chicago in another century. This for a beer that has been held in the calloused hands of loggers and miners and union head-crackers and oilfield trash for decades. Now poached by the New West minions and the Subaru cavalry. Alas. One of my pals, a bro-bra, even puts Clamato into his Peeber. To which I say: “WTF?”
So I’ve got a new brand. Or maybe I should say, a new old brand. Stay the fuck away from my Hamm’s. And my Oly. And my Old Milwaukee. And my Schlitz.