fitzwell
10-03-2006, 07:09 AM
Newt Witherspoon, the famous Big Game hunter, was sitting around a bar, getting drunk and bragging about how great he was in the Wilderness.
"I bet a round of drinks that, BLINDFOLDED, I can feel the hide of any animal and not ONLY tell you what animial it's from, but the weapon that killed it."
So, bets were laid, the blindfold was tied tight and the first hide was laid before Newt. He rubbed it, he stroked it, gave it a sniff...he felt for the bullet hole...
"Bobcat... killed with a Remington .22" he said.
Sure enough... so they drank and the next challenge was put in front of him. He rubbed it, he felt for the bullet hole, he flipped it... gave it a little sniff...
"Wolf... killed with a Winchester 30-30", he said.
Sure enough... so they drank and the next challenge was put in front of him. He rubbed it, he flipped it, he felt for the bullet hole... gave it a little sniff...
"Elk... killed with a Weatherby .300 mag", was his guess.
Sure enough... and it went on...
finally, Newt staggered home and went to bed.
The next morning, he woke to find his face was beat to shit.
Black eyes, fat lips... beat.
"Honey!" he said, "I don't remember getting in a fight at the bar. What happened to me?"
She said, "Well, you came home drunk, as usual, but when you climbed into bed, you crammed your hand down my pants, gave it a little sniff and "Skunk... killed with an ax."
"I bet a round of drinks that, BLINDFOLDED, I can feel the hide of any animal and not ONLY tell you what animial it's from, but the weapon that killed it."
So, bets were laid, the blindfold was tied tight and the first hide was laid before Newt. He rubbed it, he stroked it, gave it a sniff...he felt for the bullet hole...
"Bobcat... killed with a Remington .22" he said.
Sure enough... so they drank and the next challenge was put in front of him. He rubbed it, he felt for the bullet hole, he flipped it... gave it a little sniff...
"Wolf... killed with a Winchester 30-30", he said.
Sure enough... so they drank and the next challenge was put in front of him. He rubbed it, he flipped it, he felt for the bullet hole... gave it a little sniff...
"Elk... killed with a Weatherby .300 mag", was his guess.
Sure enough... and it went on...
finally, Newt staggered home and went to bed.
The next morning, he woke to find his face was beat to shit.
Black eyes, fat lips... beat.
"Honey!" he said, "I don't remember getting in a fight at the bar. What happened to me?"
She said, "Well, you came home drunk, as usual, but when you climbed into bed, you crammed your hand down my pants, gave it a little sniff and "Skunk... killed with an ax."