A Hunter's Journal

Deer hunting season comes but once a year and provides real Americans with the chance to get in touch with their inner hunter-gatherers and bond with those souls everywhere who respond to the call of the wild. Those of us on the liberal fringes of society never experience this, because so many of us are vegans or PETA members or anti-gun or too bookish. Whatever it is, there is a huge chasm separating us. So we provide here a hunter's diary that we believe will bridge this gap by showing how the pursuit of deer with guns has shaped America and made American men the most independent and strong in the world. We liberals should learn much from this so that we, too, can be strong and independent.

It’s cold, it’s wet, and I can’t feel my toes. God, I love hunting. . . . Hope I don’t fall out of my deer stand again this year.

It’s the fresh air, the call of the wild, the guys, the guns, the bad jokes, peeing outdoors. I even like the planning. Where do we stay? Who’s buying the food? The booze? Who will cook and clean up? Women aren’t there to help with these things. Men have to do it all, and that’s what hunting is all about – strong, independent men bonding so the species survives for another generation.

I’m in my deer stand. Nothing can see me. Not any deer. Not any hunters. But bullets whiz by. What are they shooting at? I don’t see anyone, anything. Is there a deer out there? Wait a second . . . is that a deer? I shoot. I listen . . . I hear a moo. . . .

Wow, my feet are cold. Too bad about Joe. I miss him this year. Maybe he’ll be walking without pain next year. I bet Joe could have climbed up into the stand this year. I think he didn’t want to. I miss him. I miss just sitting here with our guns and cold feet. Maybe a little whiskey. Listening to the bullets whiz by. . .

Lunch time! Finally! Warm up my feet and fingers. Nothing like a couple burgers and fries. Comfort food. Whoa - hit the deck! Who’s shooting at this cabin? God, they hit the TV - damn, I wanted to watch some porn tonight. Wonder what they’re shooting at out there.

Back in my stand, still really cold. I see something move - I shoot. What is it? Dunno, but I probably missed. I’m such a bad shot!

Damn, if I don’t get something this year, I’ll never hear the end of it. Not after falling out of my stand last year and pulling Joe down with me. It really wasn’t my fault. Joe brought the whiskey up there and I was just standing up to piss over the edge when a couple of bullets whizzed by awfully close to me. They surprised me - anyone could have lost their balance. So I grabbed Joe.

Anyway, I don’t think the fall is what really hurt Joe so it’s not really my fault. I think that stray bullet that came out of nowhere and hit him in the leg while we were driving to the hospital is why his leg still hurts today. Can you imagine that? Driving down a county road and a bullet hits a passenger in the leg. A big black SUV doesn’t look anything like a deer . . . What are hunters thinking?

I’m feeling my toes again. That’s a good sign - it means I'm really alive! It's not like sitting in the office, falling asleep . . . Wait . . . I see something moving over there. I aim, squeeze the trigger slowly. Then a second shot. Did I hit it? Probably not. Damn! I thought for sure this was my year to get a dear, not a cow like last year. I tell you, if you shoot a cow and then fall out of your blind and break your friend’s leg - well, guys being guys, they won’t let you forget. I’ve heard jokes for a year.

Dinnertime. No one got a deer. Got a few shots off but no one is sure at what. But so what? What is important is that we are men. We are bonding, we are renewed, we are in touch with all the men of generations past who, like us, did what they had to do to ensure the species survived. And on our own, without women . . .

We’re eating steaks and drinking good whiskey. Another day has passed and the species has survived. But too bad about the TV. Plus our truck took a few bullets - one rear window is out and a couple holes in the side panel - nothing major, though.

But next year . . . we have to start planning . . . where should we go . . . where is the best hunting?

Jon Voight’s new movie fights the good fight

Can the universe be saved? Can America and Christians everywhere be kept from falling under the influence of secular humanists, liberals and all those unreal Americans from big cities and other planets?

Or will a few strong-willed, rugged men — all of whom have great hair, deep voices, and children who love them, by the way — somehow snap the hold these fake Americans have on us?

Those are the themes in this new, still untitled, Jon Voight sci-fi romance thriller. In it, Col. Chuck Williams, played by Voight, is retired and doing what he loves most — trying to convince his neighbors to keep guns around in case a band of “those unreal American, socialist, public-option, atheist, ACORN lovers come to town someday to register poor people to vote!”

“They look like us,” he continually warns anyone in earshot. “They drive cars like ours, listen to music like ours. They read our books, eat in our restaurants, date our women. They are starting to dress like us, too! You probably had some in your homes without realizing it. You might even be emailing or Twittering some of them.”

He looks very sad as he tells his neighbors these things.
It reminds him of the other great failure in his life; his gun giveaway program. They give away condoms in school, he told everyone who would listen. Why don’t we give away guns, too? Then our youth will be ready for whatever these socialist atheist Obama-loving unreal Americans have in mind.

But he could not convince others of the truth of his messages. His neighbors continued to allow secular humanists and ACORN organizers into their homes, where they often discussed loudly, late into the night, things like unions, boycotts, organic foods, and global warming — even in front of children! “It’s part of the master plan,” he realized. “They are going after the young kids, whose minds are not yet strong like mine. When I and those like me die, those youth will be the puppets of the socialists who want government to ration health care and kill our grannies!”

A love interest appears in his life unexpectedly one day when he is digging a bunker somewhere in the middle of his gated community. Far from the inner city, far away from any bus lines carrying low-paid workers to their jobs, a twenty-something blonde wanders in and sits down next to his gas grill. She is near death and isn’t sure how she got there. She thinks she was kidnapped by an ACORN worker from outer space, who transported her to their space ship where they gave her a physical exam and showed her how to use condoms and then gave her a copy of Saul Alinsky's “Rules for Radicals.”

Then they released her and she found her way to Col. Chuck, where she discovered her pockets were full of free condoms and “that Alinsky book”, as Col Chuck calls it. She is traumatized and wants to help him, so she asks what she can do to help save America. He says, “Just don’t tempt me. I can’t be carnal.”

And so begins an intense, but platonic relationship that ends when she decides she does not want to learn how to shoot a gun or even carry a gun to a town hall meeting organized by public-option advocates.

Almost too late, the truth of his message soon becomes apparent. In scattered hot spots around the world, people begin to burn their health insurance cards. They hold sit-ins in the golf courses all over the world that are favored by health insurance CEOs. They also speak loudly against the right of health insurance companies to charge whatever they want. It's becoming bedlam in many areas of the country, but Col. Chuck Williams knows what to do before this great country becomes a formerly great country paralyzed by socialism, atheism, liberalism, ACORNism, and unreal Americanism.

He teams up with a popular talk show host named Sean, both of whom have great hair. That means they are good leaders, because lots of real Americans think anyone with good hair genes probably have lots of other good genes, too. So together Sean and Col Chuck form a movement and an army and fight the good fight against the secular humanists, atheists, liberals, gun control advocates and all those unreal Americans from another planet who all live in big cities because they are afraid of the freedom of the wide open spaces of the American West. It's a long battle that goes on for several days, but they end up fighting to a draw, after which they retreat to their respective encampments.

They didn't win, but “we didn't lose,” Col. Chuck tells everyone. “So that's a victory.”
But then Col. Chuck goes on to greater glory. He finds that his hair and his voice talent bring him great attention, and he becomes the leader of gun lover’s and and tea baggers and real Americans everywhere. They so love him that they want him to become president of the nation. Or Sean. Sean could be president, too. Their team is deep, they now realize, so they know they can take on the unreal Americans from outer space who think it's OK if President Obama isn't a citizen and wants to give our country to ACORN.

Men follow him and women are drawn to him. They want to love him, to help him, but he knows it will be a long, difficult fight. So he still refuses to become carnal. Carnalism will weaken his message, he says, and blur his focus so that he might lose sight of the real enemy of America: the usurper Obama who wants to create Civil War and destroy real Americans so aliens from outer space and other countries can take over and take jobs from everyone. And raise taxes. Not to mention kill granny.

He can't let that happen.

So he stays awake nights, always wary, with his trusty gun within reach, certain that someone will try to slip some Viagra into his drinking water, causing uncontrollable urges that would lead to carnalism and then besmirch his good name and destroy him. “It is truly dangerous out there,” he thinks to himself.

But for now he is contented. He is waiting. Soon, it will all be his for the taking.

Stay tuned for the sequel.