Rock Action Posted February 12, 2008 Share Posted February 12, 2008 A variant on the ol' story....rewritten by yours truly. Once upon a fuckin' time, There were these two guys I used to go huntin' with up in the north woods of Ontario. Most of the time it was simply an opportunity to get away from nagging wives and screaming kids, but we actually DID hunt a little. And catch a few brookies for dinner. And drink every goddamn drop of booze in sight. And lie like rugs 'till dawn.... Well, I got along great with my buddies Scott and Ron. But we always fought over who'd be the camp chef. None of us were all that keen on cooking, and cleaning up the subsequent mess. I can't speak for either Ron or Scott, but I had to do all that shit at home anyway. Lazy-assed wife of mine could barely lift a glass of Pepsi whilst watching soap operas, American Idol or some other worthless shit. So we kept taking turns, one guy after the other trying to cook something that nobody else would eat, so he could be eliminated from kitchen duties. Nobody would bitch, because it meant that the person who bitched would be elected camp cook. It was a seemingly endless dilemma. Then one morning, I had to drag my hung-over ass outta bed and take a walk in the spruces, to go pinch my daily loaf. Upon completion of the dastardly deed, I slipped and nearly fell on a deposit much larger than what I'd left about twenty yards back. At first I winced, then a revelation came to me.... MOOSE SHIT!! Bet those lazy assholes won't eat that! Aha! I grabbed the ziplock bag that held my toilet paper roll, removed the paper and put it back into my jacket pocket. I then took the plastic bag and a flat stick, and proceeded to uh..well, get my shit together. I waited outside the cabin behind some trees and waited for the other two guys to set about the woods, then brought the shit into the cabin. I made a real nice pie crust, then stuffed the moose muffin mix into the crust, covering it over with nice flaky crust strips. I waited 'till about half a hour before they were expected back then baked the sucker. So, Scott & Ron came on back from yet another unsuccessful hunt, starving. I cut each one a nice big piece and served them at the table, explaining that I already ate. Ron takes a bite, but other than making a bit of a face he says nothing and eats it all. I swear I saw him gag, but he somehow kept it down. Scott takes a bite of the offal offering, looks right up at me and exclaims "HEY! THAT'S MOOSE SHIT, ISN'T IT?? Damn dude, only YOU could make it edible! Mmmm-mmmm, bitch!" Well, now I have dish pan hands. I've cut myself from cleaning all the trout and butchering the one moose we got. I smell like cooking oil and fish guts. And my back is killin' me. OK, so they got the best of me, right? Sure seems that way. But not so fast, eh? All the beer they brought for themselves had twist-off caps. I stuck to the imports with the old-fashioned bottles you need an opener for. So, once in a while they'd take a pull off their beers and look at me puzzled, wondering why I'm smiling. Revenge IS best served cold. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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