nogutsnostory
Member
Got one on Wednesday morning will add points soon.
Team 12
- Thread starter Fishbonker
- Start date
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Fishbonker
Life Member
Congrats.
For all you nonbelievers, see what drinking the beer/eel(leach if unable to find eels)/flaming vodka concoction and wearing the foil will lead to?
goatman
I hunt days ending in Y
Congrats nogutsnostory. Good one and way to pick the tinfoils up.
goatman
I hunt days ending in Y
We're not worthy. We're not worthy. I'm still going. Not going to resort to window licking.
Fishbonker
Life Member
Widows don't taste bad at all. At least that's what Muddy told me.
I'll be at it again this weekend. Deer hunting, not widow licking.
Fishbonker
Life Member
Fishbonker
Life Member
52 degrees on November 28th and I was freezing. Why? Well, because I was cold so the better question is why was I cold? The most obvious answer is, and let's say it all together because I know you're all thinking it, "Bonker, you're a wussy". Truer words were never spoken. The wind was north northwest and felt like it was blowing off of a glacier. My smarter than me phone said the speed was 17mph. The way the tree was rocking I'd guess it was a bit higher than that.
Tuesday’s plan was the result of several days of seeing deer pile into the west side of a very long food plot. I could see the west end from just about every stand on the place, again, better said; from every stand I wasn’t too big a wussy to climb into, but from a stand on the east end of the food plot I watched a nonstop food orgy at the west end, over 200 yards away. Does would come in from the west, pull out turnips, chew, swallow repeat. They’d eat their fill, go back to bed in the timber as the next shift had at the turnips.
To further describe the food plot, it’s 200 yards long by 80 to 100 yards wide running east to west. There is a ridge running the length of it with the longer slope running down to the north into cedar trees and hardwoods. To the south, the shorter slope runs to incredibly dense cedars. The plot is in the Dbltree mix, brassicas on the north, rye in the middle and clover with an oats nurse crop on the south.
The deer would normally come up an old over grown access trail on the northwest corner of the food plot and graze like cattle from there. Most stayed in the brassicas, some would venture into the rye which was bifurcated by the ridge, very few even slowed down for the clover, the clover wasn’t very well established yet.
What I had noticed was once the deer got to the ridge they didn’t like being there so a few of them moved quickly to the south to the dense cedars or back north, downhill, to the brassicas.
The plan was to hunt a stand at the southwest corner of the plot. Screw the wind, just hunt, right? Remember the wind is NNW at 17. Given the bedding areas around the plot and the access to the stand the wind needs to northeast. The NNW wind will let the deer get into the plot from the area they have been entering but it was our guess with the strong NNW wind the deer would be bedded down in the dense cedars to the south.
This was to be my last day in deer camp so I elected not to go out early, not that I ever do anyway because I’m such a wussy. I packed up my mountain of gear and cleaned up the cabin so I could hit the road as soon after sundown as I could.
I packed, I cleaned, I checked the weather. Wind was still as forecast NNW at 15, the current 0900 temp was 46. With this wind I’d have to circle all the way around the plot and come in from the southwest turning a 400 yard as the crow flies walk into a ¾ mile trudge mostly uphill with a ton of my mostly unnecessary gear.
What happens when a guy “trudges”? He sweats. Even though I trudged very very slowly by the time I got to the stand with all of my base layers on and all of the mostly unnecessary gear I was pretty wet and out of breath.
I climbed up the ladder stand and sat down. I let the wind blow over me and cool me off as I caught my breath. I didn’t really care that I was blowing my stench into the bedding area we thought the deer may be in, I was out of breath and I was hot. Once I got all of my mostly unnecessary stuff hauled up and stowed I could breath again and my bases were drying out some. Just for time reference it was 1030 and the temp was 50.
By 1100 I was ready to zip the legs closed on my bibs and put on my next layer, a nice heavy wool sweater. Ahhhh, warmth and since it was on the hour I treated myself to a small Snickers bar. Like I said, my smarter than me phone said the wind was 17mph and still 50 degrees.
1200 found me putting on yet another layer, the ubiquitous Under Armor hoody and since it was the top of the hour I had another Snickers bar. There should be deer out there eating turnips. But there weren’t. Did I let my stench get blown into the bedding area and chase them all away? After all I hadn’t showered in 4 days and the walk in could only have made my earthy aroma worse.
I’m going to take a moment here to talk about the wind and the stand. The ladder stand is over 20 feet up in a cedar tree. The trunk just above the top of the stand is probably 6 inches in diameter. The stand has extra bracing between the tree and the ladder, the seat portion, which is big enough for two men or one fully loaded Bonker, is strapped three different ways to the tree, the shooting rail is behind the trunk so the stand can’t fall forward. I mean this thing is up there, it is safe and I trust it, but that didn’t keep my seat cushion from getting a pucker mark in it. I felt like I was riding in a row boat in a class 5 hurricane. There were a few gusts that had me concerned. The stand faces north so the wind would blow me backwards far enough to pucker, but the spring back when the gust was past was just as bad. That was by far the most I’ve ever been whipped around in a tree.
I checked my smarter than me phone. 1230 52 degrees and I’m starting to get cold. I told myself to wait until 1300 to put on my last layer. I’d reward myself with two Snickers bars if I could hold off putting on my last layer until then.
I can’t believe with this wind I actually dosed off for just a moment. Usually I don’t mind that, but I have to stay awake because this is my last day in the stand. There aren’t enough layers to get me out in late season if I’m cold at 52 degrees, so this is it. Did I dare risk the side effects I knew I’d experience form consuming the energy drink I carry in my mostly unnecessary gear? I’ll make that decision at 1300, which must be just a couple of minutes away.
I snuck another peek at my smarter than I’ll ever be phone. 1241. Screw it. I pulled my last layer, a big heavy wind proof pullover hoody out of my pack and slid it on. Ahhhh, instant warmth. I pulled the energy drink out of my other pack and downed it. Ahhhhh instant energy. I pulled two Snickers bars out of the same pack. Ahhhhhh, instant self-gratification.
Now I was warm, I was energized and I was gratified and soon I was sure I’d be even more gratified by deer in the food plot.
Too be continued………..
Only because this is already up to 1300 words and probably up against the total character allotment of 10,000. And because goatman needs to take a nap.
Tuesday’s plan was the result of several days of seeing deer pile into the west side of a very long food plot. I could see the west end from just about every stand on the place, again, better said; from every stand I wasn’t too big a wussy to climb into, but from a stand on the east end of the food plot I watched a nonstop food orgy at the west end, over 200 yards away. Does would come in from the west, pull out turnips, chew, swallow repeat. They’d eat their fill, go back to bed in the timber as the next shift had at the turnips.
To further describe the food plot, it’s 200 yards long by 80 to 100 yards wide running east to west. There is a ridge running the length of it with the longer slope running down to the north into cedar trees and hardwoods. To the south, the shorter slope runs to incredibly dense cedars. The plot is in the Dbltree mix, brassicas on the north, rye in the middle and clover with an oats nurse crop on the south.
The deer would normally come up an old over grown access trail on the northwest corner of the food plot and graze like cattle from there. Most stayed in the brassicas, some would venture into the rye which was bifurcated by the ridge, very few even slowed down for the clover, the clover wasn’t very well established yet.
What I had noticed was once the deer got to the ridge they didn’t like being there so a few of them moved quickly to the south to the dense cedars or back north, downhill, to the brassicas.
The plan was to hunt a stand at the southwest corner of the plot. Screw the wind, just hunt, right? Remember the wind is NNW at 17. Given the bedding areas around the plot and the access to the stand the wind needs to northeast. The NNW wind will let the deer get into the plot from the area they have been entering but it was our guess with the strong NNW wind the deer would be bedded down in the dense cedars to the south.
This was to be my last day in deer camp so I elected not to go out early, not that I ever do anyway because I’m such a wussy. I packed up my mountain of gear and cleaned up the cabin so I could hit the road as soon after sundown as I could.
I packed, I cleaned, I checked the weather. Wind was still as forecast NNW at 15, the current 0900 temp was 46. With this wind I’d have to circle all the way around the plot and come in from the southwest turning a 400 yard as the crow flies walk into a ¾ mile trudge mostly uphill with a ton of my mostly unnecessary gear.
What happens when a guy “trudges”? He sweats. Even though I trudged very very slowly by the time I got to the stand with all of my base layers on and all of the mostly unnecessary gear I was pretty wet and out of breath.
I climbed up the ladder stand and sat down. I let the wind blow over me and cool me off as I caught my breath. I didn’t really care that I was blowing my stench into the bedding area we thought the deer may be in, I was out of breath and I was hot. Once I got all of my mostly unnecessary stuff hauled up and stowed I could breath again and my bases were drying out some. Just for time reference it was 1030 and the temp was 50.
By 1100 I was ready to zip the legs closed on my bibs and put on my next layer, a nice heavy wool sweater. Ahhhh, warmth and since it was on the hour I treated myself to a small Snickers bar. Like I said, my smarter than me phone said the wind was 17mph and still 50 degrees.
1200 found me putting on yet another layer, the ubiquitous Under Armor hoody and since it was the top of the hour I had another Snickers bar. There should be deer out there eating turnips. But there weren’t. Did I let my stench get blown into the bedding area and chase them all away? After all I hadn’t showered in 4 days and the walk in could only have made my earthy aroma worse.
I’m going to take a moment here to talk about the wind and the stand. The ladder stand is over 20 feet up in a cedar tree. The trunk just above the top of the stand is probably 6 inches in diameter. The stand has extra bracing between the tree and the ladder, the seat portion, which is big enough for two men or one fully loaded Bonker, is strapped three different ways to the tree, the shooting rail is behind the trunk so the stand can’t fall forward. I mean this thing is up there, it is safe and I trust it, but that didn’t keep my seat cushion from getting a pucker mark in it. I felt like I was riding in a row boat in a class 5 hurricane. There were a few gusts that had me concerned. The stand faces north so the wind would blow me backwards far enough to pucker, but the spring back when the gust was past was just as bad. That was by far the most I’ve ever been whipped around in a tree.
I checked my smarter than me phone. 1230 52 degrees and I’m starting to get cold. I told myself to wait until 1300 to put on my last layer. I’d reward myself with two Snickers bars if I could hold off putting on my last layer until then.
I can’t believe with this wind I actually dosed off for just a moment. Usually I don’t mind that, but I have to stay awake because this is my last day in the stand. There aren’t enough layers to get me out in late season if I’m cold at 52 degrees, so this is it. Did I dare risk the side effects I knew I’d experience form consuming the energy drink I carry in my mostly unnecessary gear? I’ll make that decision at 1300, which must be just a couple of minutes away.
I snuck another peek at my smarter than I’ll ever be phone. 1241. Screw it. I pulled my last layer, a big heavy wind proof pullover hoody out of my pack and slid it on. Ahhhh, instant warmth. I pulled the energy drink out of my other pack and downed it. Ahhhhh instant energy. I pulled two Snickers bars out of the same pack. Ahhhhhh, instant self-gratification.
Now I was warm, I was energized and I was gratified and soon I was sure I’d be even more gratified by deer in the food plot.
Too be continued………..
Only because this is already up to 1300 words and probably up against the total character allotment of 10,000. And because goatman needs to take a nap.
Fishbonker
Life Member
Let’s see, where was I? Oh yeah, it was 1300, I was finally warm, I was wide awake and I was full of Snickers. It was time for the deer to show up. And show up it did. A fawn appeared on the plot right where I’d watched them come out all season. It spent the next 15 minutes eating turnips before it decided it was time to go back to bed, but instead of going back into the timber from where it came it decided to come over to my side of the plot and go down into the dense cedars.
It passed in front of me at 15 yards, cut my trail and kept on walking. Well, that was a start. I had been texting back and forth with Winterkill the guy who was gracious enough to let me befoul his pristine hunting ground, stink up his cabin, use all his firewood and drink all his bourbon. He was trying to decide if he wanted to go hunting or not. Based on what I was seeing, or better put not seeing, he had decided to stay home.
I sat there in the stand contemplating all the problems of the world waiting for it to be 1400 so I could have another Snickers. Just when I was reaching into my pack for my hourly reward two more fawns came out right where they were supposed to and this time following them was momma. The three of them did what I had seen hundreds of times before; they grazed in the turnips.
They turned their backsides to me so I snuck a Snickers anyway. Just when I was unwrapping it another threesome came out to chow on the turnips. Now I had six deer about 60 yards away. I decided if the mommas came my way I’d take one. Eventually one of the mommas turned toward me and decided it was time to go into the dense cedars. She was moving along at a slow pace, take a few steps, eat a turnip, look around and repeat.
Again, just as I’d seen before, she got to the rye, grazed a little and when she got to the top of the ridge decided it was time to pick up the pace and get into cover. She fast walked right for a well-used trail that would keep the branches of the cedar tree between us.
I shifted for a shot that would be to my right through a small lane. She was at ten yards when she heard the stand creak and stopped just short of the lane. I had to ask myself why did that particular creak stop her? The wind was still blowing hard enough that the stand had been making creaking sounds the whole time she had been in the turnips. Why stop now?
She stood there for what seemed like forever then took the steps necessary to move into the lane. By now her fawns had caught up to her. I shouldered the crossbow, lowered the barrel to get the sights on her and tinked it on the backwards facing shooting rail. That was all it took. She and her twins were gone in a split second.
I was shaking. Was it because of the close encounter or the energy drink? Who knows. I looked back out to the food plot thinking for sure the other three deer would be long gone. Nope, still feeding. I had plenty of time to study them and again decided the doe was big enough to whack.
I tell you what; if range finders could kill, those deer would have been toast many times over. Once again, the doe grazed to the edge of the rye but this time she moved enough just to be over on my side of the ridge and of course as luck would have it she stopped in front of a branch.
This was no regular branch, it was a spindly little cedar bough that was hanging down a yard or so in front of me. With the relative closeness of the bough and the relative distance of the doe the bough was just big enough that it covered her vitals so I couldn’t take the shot. The crazy part was when the wind gusted it would blow the bough out of the way giving me a perfect 20 yard broadside shot. Had the doe been a few more feet in any direction or the bough a few more inches out of the way the shot would not have been a problem. But no, she had to stop right there.
I actually contemplated getting ready and when the wind blew the bough out of the way I’d take the shot, but it just wouldn’t be right because the wind would blow the bough, then me, then the stand and could have altered the shot so I passed.
Again, after what seemed like forever she moved toward the same trail as the first doe and again the same thing happened. I tinked the shooting rail. I had even sat taller thinking I could clear the rail, but nope, the tink was all it took. She gone and her fawns right behind her.
If I had the shakes before now I was having convulsions. I tried to text Winterkill and had a heck of a time with the touch screen. Every letter was repeated several times because my finger, I’m a one finger texter, would hit the same letter several times before I could move to the next. I’m sure it was the result of that energy drink.
Even though it seemed as if that sequence of events had taken an eternity to unfold, it had only been 30 minutes. Too soon for another Snickers bar, not that I needed any more stimulation from carbs but I wanted one. No, I needed one. I had to have one. I needed to feed my Snickers habit. The only thing I can compare my attempts at opening the Snickers bar in my current state of the shakes would be to a monkey on crack trying to do brain surgery. It was ugly, it was messy and something was going to die. But the Snickers bar died a valiant death, it fought me to the end.
Then it started all over again; another deer came onto the plot from the very same place as the others. This time it looked to be a doe by herself. Hmmm, does that mean there is a buck in the bushes? While I waited for the buck to step out I had a good look at the doe. She had a long neck, long snout, wide nose, wide brisket and looked tasty on the hoof. I looked back to where the doe had come and sure enough I could see brown in the brush. But how much brown?
The deer in question stepped into the plot. It was a buck alright, the doe’s button. I was disappointed to say the least. All season long from afar I had seen buck after buck after buck come from that trail on to the food plot. Where were they today? I guess they were wherever they wanted to be and they didn’t want to be on the plot.
This doe’s actions were a carbon copy of the two previous does. Until she got to the rye. Instead of going to my right and staying behind the tree she came to my left. She slowed down just before she got to my huge shooting lane and I thought I was going to have to play peek a boo again.
When she got into my lane she must have spotted the only clover plant that was growing and stopped to nibble it. It was a fatal mistake. She was just under twenty yards and slightly quartering to, I touched the trigger, heard a good hit, she jumped and came down dragging her front leg. She made it the few yards to cover and seconds later I heard her pile up and wheeze her last breath.
As long as I’ve been hunting I’ll never get used the paradoxical feeling of exhilaration and sadness. Exhilarated that I had just put meat on the table yet a profound sadness that I had to take a life to do it. Unless it’s a possum, then all feelings are null and void.
I sat in the stand for a few more minutes. I shakily texted Winterkill that I thought I had one down and I was going to climb down and look for her. I went to where she had been standing when I shot her but didn’t see any blood or hair. I went to the edge of the cedars where she had gone in and didn’t see any blood but I was confident she was down. I moved to the trail I had come in on and walked back down the hill looking into and under the cedars.
Then I spotted her. She had piled up under a cedar on a well used deer trail. I went into where she laid and back tracked the blood. There wasn’t much but I could follow it the 40 yards back out to the plot. I looked for the arrow but couldn’t find it.
I went back to where she laid and tagged her. The best news was it would be a short downhill drag to an easy place to gut her and get her into a truck. I had just got her pulled out and Winterkill pulled up. He went to look for my arrow as I got ready to gut her. I had lost two other arrows in the same food plot turkey hunting. Neither Winterkill nor I liked the idea of a broadhead in a tractor tire. It took him about 2 minutes to find the arrow. I still can’t figure how it got to where he found it. Those crossbow arrows take funny paths through game.
Anyhow, to finish up the incredibly long telling of a very short story here is the obligatory and official contest picture complete with the foil, Bonkerflauge and the extremely rare IW stocking hat.
Go team Tinfoil!
It passed in front of me at 15 yards, cut my trail and kept on walking. Well, that was a start. I had been texting back and forth with Winterkill the guy who was gracious enough to let me befoul his pristine hunting ground, stink up his cabin, use all his firewood and drink all his bourbon. He was trying to decide if he wanted to go hunting or not. Based on what I was seeing, or better put not seeing, he had decided to stay home.
I sat there in the stand contemplating all the problems of the world waiting for it to be 1400 so I could have another Snickers. Just when I was reaching into my pack for my hourly reward two more fawns came out right where they were supposed to and this time following them was momma. The three of them did what I had seen hundreds of times before; they grazed in the turnips.
They turned their backsides to me so I snuck a Snickers anyway. Just when I was unwrapping it another threesome came out to chow on the turnips. Now I had six deer about 60 yards away. I decided if the mommas came my way I’d take one. Eventually one of the mommas turned toward me and decided it was time to go into the dense cedars. She was moving along at a slow pace, take a few steps, eat a turnip, look around and repeat.
Again, just as I’d seen before, she got to the rye, grazed a little and when she got to the top of the ridge decided it was time to pick up the pace and get into cover. She fast walked right for a well-used trail that would keep the branches of the cedar tree between us.
I shifted for a shot that would be to my right through a small lane. She was at ten yards when she heard the stand creak and stopped just short of the lane. I had to ask myself why did that particular creak stop her? The wind was still blowing hard enough that the stand had been making creaking sounds the whole time she had been in the turnips. Why stop now?
She stood there for what seemed like forever then took the steps necessary to move into the lane. By now her fawns had caught up to her. I shouldered the crossbow, lowered the barrel to get the sights on her and tinked it on the backwards facing shooting rail. That was all it took. She and her twins were gone in a split second.
I was shaking. Was it because of the close encounter or the energy drink? Who knows. I looked back out to the food plot thinking for sure the other three deer would be long gone. Nope, still feeding. I had plenty of time to study them and again decided the doe was big enough to whack.
I tell you what; if range finders could kill, those deer would have been toast many times over. Once again, the doe grazed to the edge of the rye but this time she moved enough just to be over on my side of the ridge and of course as luck would have it she stopped in front of a branch.
This was no regular branch, it was a spindly little cedar bough that was hanging down a yard or so in front of me. With the relative closeness of the bough and the relative distance of the doe the bough was just big enough that it covered her vitals so I couldn’t take the shot. The crazy part was when the wind gusted it would blow the bough out of the way giving me a perfect 20 yard broadside shot. Had the doe been a few more feet in any direction or the bough a few more inches out of the way the shot would not have been a problem. But no, she had to stop right there.
I actually contemplated getting ready and when the wind blew the bough out of the way I’d take the shot, but it just wouldn’t be right because the wind would blow the bough, then me, then the stand and could have altered the shot so I passed.
Again, after what seemed like forever she moved toward the same trail as the first doe and again the same thing happened. I tinked the shooting rail. I had even sat taller thinking I could clear the rail, but nope, the tink was all it took. She gone and her fawns right behind her.
If I had the shakes before now I was having convulsions. I tried to text Winterkill and had a heck of a time with the touch screen. Every letter was repeated several times because my finger, I’m a one finger texter, would hit the same letter several times before I could move to the next. I’m sure it was the result of that energy drink.
Even though it seemed as if that sequence of events had taken an eternity to unfold, it had only been 30 minutes. Too soon for another Snickers bar, not that I needed any more stimulation from carbs but I wanted one. No, I needed one. I had to have one. I needed to feed my Snickers habit. The only thing I can compare my attempts at opening the Snickers bar in my current state of the shakes would be to a monkey on crack trying to do brain surgery. It was ugly, it was messy and something was going to die. But the Snickers bar died a valiant death, it fought me to the end.
Then it started all over again; another deer came onto the plot from the very same place as the others. This time it looked to be a doe by herself. Hmmm, does that mean there is a buck in the bushes? While I waited for the buck to step out I had a good look at the doe. She had a long neck, long snout, wide nose, wide brisket and looked tasty on the hoof. I looked back to where the doe had come and sure enough I could see brown in the brush. But how much brown?
The deer in question stepped into the plot. It was a buck alright, the doe’s button. I was disappointed to say the least. All season long from afar I had seen buck after buck after buck come from that trail on to the food plot. Where were they today? I guess they were wherever they wanted to be and they didn’t want to be on the plot.
This doe’s actions were a carbon copy of the two previous does. Until she got to the rye. Instead of going to my right and staying behind the tree she came to my left. She slowed down just before she got to my huge shooting lane and I thought I was going to have to play peek a boo again.
When she got into my lane she must have spotted the only clover plant that was growing and stopped to nibble it. It was a fatal mistake. She was just under twenty yards and slightly quartering to, I touched the trigger, heard a good hit, she jumped and came down dragging her front leg. She made it the few yards to cover and seconds later I heard her pile up and wheeze her last breath.
As long as I’ve been hunting I’ll never get used the paradoxical feeling of exhilaration and sadness. Exhilarated that I had just put meat on the table yet a profound sadness that I had to take a life to do it. Unless it’s a possum, then all feelings are null and void.
I sat in the stand for a few more minutes. I shakily texted Winterkill that I thought I had one down and I was going to climb down and look for her. I went to where she had been standing when I shot her but didn’t see any blood or hair. I went to the edge of the cedars where she had gone in and didn’t see any blood but I was confident she was down. I moved to the trail I had come in on and walked back down the hill looking into and under the cedars.
Then I spotted her. She had piled up under a cedar on a well used deer trail. I went into where she laid and back tracked the blood. There wasn’t much but I could follow it the 40 yards back out to the plot. I looked for the arrow but couldn’t find it.
I went back to where she laid and tagged her. The best news was it would be a short downhill drag to an easy place to gut her and get her into a truck. I had just got her pulled out and Winterkill pulled up. He went to look for my arrow as I got ready to gut her. I had lost two other arrows in the same food plot turkey hunting. Neither Winterkill nor I liked the idea of a broadhead in a tractor tire. It took him about 2 minutes to find the arrow. I still can’t figure how it got to where he found it. Those crossbow arrows take funny paths through game.
Anyhow, to finish up the incredibly long telling of a very short story here is the obligatory and official contest picture complete with the foil, Bonkerflauge and the extremely rare IW stocking hat.
Go team Tinfoil!
HorseDoctor
PMA Member
Sounds like you could use a little foam pipe insulation on your shooting rail! 
Congrats!!! Try Lumenoks on your bolts... easier to find.
Congrats!!! Try Lumenoks on your bolts... easier to find.
nogutsnostory
Member
Way to keep the tinfoils in the contest Red Leader!!
goatman
I hunt days ending in Y
Whew just finished 2 naps. I didn't get to read iowawhitetail.com last night so didn't catch this till now. First you need another older fat man to help keep that 2 man stand steady. Two you can't keep warm eating snickers. Kit Kat all the way. Third you got to give up the tinfoil on your head in cold weather. Cover that noggin. Congrats on the heifer. When's the next novel?
goatman
I hunt days ending in Y
Boy fishbonker I read the trespasser caught thread and thought Sligh1's flamethrower would be just the ticket to keep you warm. Then thought bubbles. Probably wouldn't be a good idea in a cedar tree. Mental thought. Christmas Vacation movie. Poor cat. Poor Bonker.
Fishbonker
Life Member
I know right? I was a Kit Kataholic until early this fall. I took three fun sized Kit Kats to work for lunch dessert every day for several years and I'd supplement with more Kit Kats at home. I liked the lightness of the wafers. Once in awhile I'd find the dark chocolate ones. The whole bag wouldn't last a day.
I was shopping at the Man Store also known as Theisen's in September and for some reason picked up a bag of fun sized Snickers. Was it fate or perhaps Devine Intervention or maybe just good marketing that the Snickers were the first thing you saw in the store before you fill up on free popcorn. It didn't take my wife long to figure out that taking her out to lunch meant free popcorn at Theisen's. My record for popcorn at Theisen's is three bags. I was hungry that day. I think they have one guy assigned to watch the popper and if it gets low he starts another batch. What kills me though is they sell day old popcorn. Why would anyone buy it when you can eat all the fresh for free?
Anyhoo, ever since that bag of Snickers I bought on a whim I've been stuck on Snickers. In fact, I think I'll have a couple for breakfast.
Fishbonker
Life Member
8th place. Well, not too bad considering the competition. The contest isn't over. Our goal should be to finish in the top 6 or above the 50th percentile. I'm still trying to contribute even though at this point I'll have to hit one with the Chevy to get any more points. I wonder how State Farm feels about contributing to Team Tinfoil's pursuit of infamy.
Fishbonker
Life Member
Your bones rattling as you climb into the stand and the breath wheezing out of you would probably suffice as a rattle and snort wheeze sequence. You might also try to rattle and wheeze your way back down to drop trouw, scratch a cat hole and grunt one out. That way you have the entire sequence of "rattle, wheeze and grunt" covered. Just remember two things. Thing one: take your Ginko so you don't forget to bring your arrow flinger back down with you because those boys will be running right to ya and thing two, bury the pile you grunted out so you don't step in it. Another tip is be sure there aren't any trail cams in the area that may document the sequence. You may lose the marketing rights.