Redneck Musings

Red-Neck Musings
or
A Letter Home From Deer Camp

Dear Bubba,

My momma warned me about days like this here. It’s about 11:15AM here in Erath County, Texas where I have just came down off of my tripod huntin' quarters. I climbed inta her cold swivel seat about 5 this mornin'. It looked like everything wuz gonna to be hunky-dory for a while 'ere ‘cause it wuz about 50 degrees and I wuz sitting in my long-sleeve chamyflage shirt and bore-tex camo jacket and felt real good. The humidity wuz about 99% and I felt a rain drop or two, but it wuddun nothing to write home about which is the reason fer this here letter. Then when the sun kept rizin' I noticed the wind had done changed from a south blow to a north blow and the goose bumps wuz commencin' to crawl up and down my back. Later on, by around 7:30 I had seen no deer and I had concluded that the temperature wuz gettin' colder. I stuck it out another 35 minutes or so until them goose bumps done mutated into buffalo bumps which began to stampede me up and down my spine an' all over. Yew have made the point befor that I’m a little slow, but I ain’t stupid, so a snap decision wuz made to leave everthang like it wuz and head back to deer camp to put on more clothes an warm up.

I had decided that a slow retreat would be in order so no wildlife would know that anythang wuz amiss, however, once I started my trip back ta camp I began to move faster and faster. When I finally reached the camp skool bus, 20 seconds or so after my departure, I wuz at a dead run busting through bushes n' brambles like daddy's Pit bull chasing yore aunt Martha from his dinner bone.

15 minutes and a cup'a coffee later, (I guess that’d be ‘bout a'hour on real clock time.) I wuz rejuvernated, warm, and quite con-tent, (I’m sorry Bubba I did not mean to remind you about you bein’ a ex-con) anyway, I initial-ated my trek and began to mosey on back to the tripod so I could once again attempt to “ambush Bambi” as yore wife Flo calls it.

Once I done arrived back however, I found that the tripod wuz fighting for its life with a large male type bovine bull-cow rubbing up against its cold metal legs. Now I done lived around these here bull-cow critters before and dare say I even been chased by a few, but I swear I ain't never seen one of ‘em so intendent about scratchin’. From the looks on ‘dis here bull-cows face, you would’ve thought he wuz straight up in the middle of a high dollar Gay-eisha maysage. He wuz rubbing up against those tripod legs like… ummmmm… well… I guess I ain’t goin’ ta put that in writin' since yew might let Flo read dis here. Fact is… he wuz in bovine bull-cow heaven that’s where he wuz.

Well… while I wuz down'ere in the deer bus, I’d had the notion to bring some water back wit me so I wouldn’t die of thirst seein’ how it wuz 30 degrees outside and I wuz sweatin’ away all my bodily fluids workin’ so hard huntin’ whilst goin to an frum the huntin camp bus. But now I had to figure out how to reclaim my propity… So after thinking a spell, I decided that I had no choice but to see if this here male counterpart wuz in the mood for a baptizin’.

I opened the water bottle and began to slang my arm a dousing him like a Catholite Priest baptizing a host of Shiites. He give me a look or two that at the onset what caused me a mite of concern, but I wuzn’t gonna budge. After I’d assaulted him betwixt the eyes with the unholey water several times he commensed to backing off a few feet, a mite of disgust came up in his eyes an' he completely retreated from his aforementioned ritual.

I finally got back into my deer stand and sat up there and didn't see no deer no armordillos no hogs or nuthin'. Now... when I came back here in the deer bus to take care of fixing myself something to eat I seen a deer outside an took a shot at it which I shoud not have did. I caint heer nuthin' now cause my head is rangin' so bad, an' I had to plug up the whole in the winder with a paper grocery sack, which takes me back to thinkin' about the beginnin' of this here huntin’ trip.

When I wuz derivin' down here, I decided that I might get a bit hungry since I hadn’t brought any food for the trip, therefore—being the gene-yous that I am—I stopped at a little mom-n-pop grocery store in Patillo, Texas (population fifteen give or take) to pick up a few items. I would'a stopped at a Wal-Mart Super centery or somethin' like'at but I fergot about not havin' any food until it were miles behind me. I normally get myself some chiken raymond noodle cup thangs that can be cooked at the same time as my coffee water. Yew know the kind. They come in steeryfoam cups, and'ya heat up some water and pour in'it and 'bout 3 minutes later you have something that resembles soup with spastical swoll-up blonde poodle hair shape noodles in'it. So anyways—I’m in’is mom’n pop store lookin’ for peenut butter and jelly, raymond noodles and cookies or whatever will be easy. After locatin' the soup aisle, 'bout two steps inside the door, there wuz a box of raymond noodles packaged separately in these here little square plastic sacks. They didn' have no steeryfoam cup ones. When you pick one of these up you think you’ve picked up an very light brick. They is hard as rocks, and if you throw them at the floor they will not bounce. I had these before but they tend to be a might messier than what I wuz actually wontin', and it really wuzn’t what I wuz lookin' for, but they didn’t have anything in them easy cups so I started loading my basket. Now, while I’us loadin', I noticed that this wuz'nt not the normal chiken, shrimp, or beef flavored variety that I wuz used to buyin'. Instead, it wuz something called “Oriental” flavor.

Now I have eat many things in my lifetime; venison, sow's ear, elk, squirrel, bear, rattlesnake, mountain oysters, cabri’to, all kinds of fishes and quite a few other things that I won’t take time to mention right now… But of a sudden it struck me… never in my life can I ever recollect eatin’ a “Oriental.” Heck, I don’t even know what a Oriental critter is! I don’t know if it are a fish or foul… but I don’t thank it can be anything that walks on four feet so it must be some kinda bird.

Hmmm… I look back at the shelf and I see I have a differn’t choice which is a total relief until I read its contents. “Spicy Oriental,” now how am I supposed to know if I like “Spicy Oriental” if I never had a reg’lar Oriental before? With no other choosin’s, I decided on just plain “Oriental.”

Soup’s ready… be right back.

Well… I just finished my first samplin’s of “Oriental” flavored noodles. I don’t know what part of the world them critters come from but it must be near the Dead Sea somewheres ‘cause those “Oriental’s” are mighty salty birds. Oh well, it wuzn’t too bad except for that. Hold on a minute, curiosity is banging on my noggin… Be right back…

I’ve just come from my trusty electronic type encyclopedee where I looked to see exact what an “Oriental” is.

Definition: Oriental – of or “derived” from the Far East.

“Derived from the far east?” Hmmm… These birds can derive! I been derivin' for 40 years an' I ain't never seen a bird that kin derive! And, here it say they derived from the far east!

Well… about as Far East that I have ever derived, wuz to Naw’lens. One time back in the Seventies, me and my wife Esther got into our Datsun and we derived all the way to Nawlens frum Foat Wuth without stopping, and it wuz a long derive I’m here to tell. While we wuz there, we had something to eat that wuz impaled on a stick kind of like a State Fair corny dog with no corn. They called it gator-sausage and it wuz undee-niable salty and spicy. I wonder if these here Oriental critters are akin to gators?

Well… gotta go. Is time for the evenin’ hunt. I'll get this in the mail to ya as soon as I get home to put a stamp on it.

Bye,

Unkle Tater Raskley