REDNECK PERSPECTIVE: Are hunters Nazis or Klansman?
JACKSON HOLE, WYO – After reading News&Guide editorials for the last month, I find myself in the midst of an identity crisis. Am I a Nazi or a member of the Klan?
It was suggested by Todd Wilkinson in the NaG’s “New West” column that because I hunt, use poor grammar and don’t hug trees I might be a Klansman. (Note: While not a tree hugger in the traditional sense of the word, there was this drunken Utah girl named Aspen I hugged and … well that’s a story for another column).
The main issue I have with this is that KKK folks have no fashion sense. To impress the bagel shop girls it requires a Patagonia or at least a Mountain Hardware tag. The sheets that pass for active wear amongst Klan types are from Kmart, and it shows. Of course there also is that bad rap for, in addition to hunting, blowing up churches, synagogues, and killing people with different color skin or religious convictions.
A letter to the editor in the NaG answering the “New West” column suggested that if I don’t drive around Town Square, tailgate down, showing off my recently killed elk, I must be a bark-eating Nazi. Also mentioned was something confusing in that letter about killing Goliath with rocks thrown from a helicopter piloted by Jim Bridger, but that’s not to the point.
Now, I have seen enough John Wayne movies and watched Casablanca enough times (Bogart reminds me of myself) to know that Nazis (both the bark eating and non-bark eating type) are bad guys. No one wants to be associated with a group whose sins include genocide, torture, world wars, and, like Klansmen, killing people with different color skin or religious convictions. Worse, according to the NaG letter, Nazis not only work for the devil, but they make occasional donations to the Sierra Club.
The sad reality is that both Nazis and Klansmen are held in low esteem by local progressive chicks. With a long cold winter in front of me, I don’t want to rule out any options. Is there not some middle ground for those of us who live and let live, or in my case drink Budweiser, eat ribs, and enjoy an occasional Utah girl?
I decided to ask Alice, my Republican lover, this question. I found her at her favorite store, Ella’s Room, checking out the new Christmas inventory in the Xccessory closet. “Acceptance and compromise are code words for un-American commie liberals,” she replied to my query. “And preaching hate gets more votes than promising moderation anyway. Just ask Liz Cheney.”
Alice took a whip from the shelf and slashed it through the air with surprising expertise. With a flick of her wrist, she made it crack like a pistol shot. “This would make a wonderful Christmas present from you to me.”
I cringed, but was resigned. It was the off-season with a long winter to come. A man has to do what a man has to do.