“Hunting’s for MEN!” Artie yelled, shaking his fist.
Then he turned, pointed at the tractor and plow in the shed alongside the camp, and yelled: “But farming’s for WOMEN!” […]
Artie suddenly put down his basting brush, clapped his hands, and bellowed.
“So who wants squirrel sauce piquante next week for the LSU-Florida tailgate PAAAW-TY?” he howled. […]
“And all my rowdy friends have settled down!” Artie yelled while making his grand entrance through the back door to Doc’s Shell Beach camp, which was strangely dark and quiet. […]
“My name is Chadwick, and I’ll be your waiter for this evening,” the poor guy said, with an accent that was obviously not local. “Tonight’s special is grilled bay snapper, topped with crab meat and served with braised brussels sprouts.” […]
“What a joke!” came the yell. “Why do I even bother watching this stuff? Deze guys ain’t hunting — not the way we do it down here in South Louisiana! They’re hunting a different animal on a different planet! Geeesh!” […]