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By: Moth Man I was out 4 days before the Juggalo New Year (Halloween). Wyoming is a vast state chuck full of ranches. I live on one so I got some hunting ground. Deer, nutrient that I crave every year. The hunt, the kill, the blood, the guts, the sweet taste of the muscle of that dead animal carcass. Me and my mom’s friend Steve (the manager of both the ranch and some government land.) were out scouting for any signs of mule deer. It was clouded over, snowing, and sundown. I was pissed to say the least…but I remembered things like honor, and pride. I kept those in mind and thought of the next day. Hunters were there for the past month and left that day. It put me in bad position because as the 31st rolled around I’d be out of time to kill. Next day, 3 days left. Did the schooling and busted out of there. Went home and got my ass ready for the taste of that red nectar flowing the veins of living animals. We left. Steve got the rifle; I got the orange colors and the knife. Three hours we would climb the mountains in our truck trying to find their furry white asses. And then we found a small herd: “Oh shit,” Steve said quickly in a monotone voice, ”there they are. The buck on top of the hill there looks nice, try and take him out.” I glided out of the pickup with haste. I naturally can’t find shit no matter what directions people give to see something. I have to find it on my own. I found the buck Steve was talking about. I couldn’t count the points on the antlers but I saw the rack was decent. I used the door as a prop to steady my rifle. Aimed at him from about 20 yards away or so. Deer aren’t frightened by a vehicle driving by usually, but when people get out of it and start getting excited is when they get suspicious. “Heh heh heeeh.” I chuckled to myself. CRACK!!!!!!!! Went the rifle. The flock scattered all over. Cows were on the other hill so I had to choose my shots with caution. We didn’t find the carcass were it should of been waiting for us. “I know you shot it cuz I saw the blood shoot out of his side.” “…Ok, that means he’s bleeding profusely. Look in the snow for bloo-“ “There that sonovabitch goes! Careful of the cows careful of the cows!” Aim, CRACK!!!!! , Echo. Checked for dead cows. “I missed didn’t I?” “…Yeah. He went in that patch of sage over there.” “Then we should look there incase he fled more.” We went there and trudged through the snow looking for the patch of sagebrush and he lay motion less. As still as the plant life around him. Camouflage couldn’t help the poor bastard this time. I took aim one more time CRACK! Thuck, moan. We walked up to it a lil' more and the Fucker was still alive! “Tough lil’ bastard aint he?” Steve spoke. I took my murder weapon out: Poison Ivy. A knife that you hold like brass knux only a blade is attached on one side. I slit its throat once, then twice, the thrice, then four. Soon a huge gap was missing out of its windpipe and it was still breathing. I was little uneasy to say the least. Bt soon I could hear it gurgle in its own blood with on, last, painful breath. Holy shit. I gutted him out and his muscles were still twitching. The chest cavity was a pool of blood. The liver was demolished, which I was hoping to dine, but the heart was untouched. Steve went to get the truck as far down as he could without getting stuck, I had a little fun out of sheer mental sickness. I scooped a hand full of blood and drank it like wine. It didn’t taste like human blood. Ours is kinda copper-ish tasting. But animals taste like their flesh almost. My hands were bloody from the gutting so I passed it of as I wiped my nose. I dragged the deer up hill about 30 yards. Even with most of the weight laying in the snow behind us it was still a heavy bastard. Steve came with the truck, I ran back and got the heart, we loaded up and headed for home. I looked back at the kill site, and I almost shit a brick. Despite the cold, there, resting on some sagebrush, perched…a crow. When we got to the homestead, me moms took a few pictures of my prize and me. And we headed to the shop so we could string it up. We did and there it hung for about 2 weeks. The meat was still good. So later we cut off the meat. But back to that day… A few days passed and it was Halloween. The heart was prepared and headed with me to town. My homie Juggalo Josh is a gourmet chef (he’s chillin’ somewhere down in the Everglades for all y’all Florida Juggalos) and he said he’d get the heart broiled in some brandy. I was like iaght. I went into town and give it to him. He wasn’t doing shit for the holiday so I went into the darkness to cause some more madness. 4 weeks later after Josh left for the Everglades, me and his girlfriend Jamie found the heart in his little walk in frigerator. I sniffed it to see if it was good (yeah right): “Sniff, sniff. Mmmm, still good. Here smell.” “Sni-OH MY GOD GET THAT SHIT OUTTA HERE. Jesus Christ!” “Yes? Hehehehe” I took it out side and fed it to Jamies two dogs. Macho got it first. A little three legged chiwowua and Jack Rustle terrier mix. I laughed like hell. Christmas, 2002. I got a jerky set to make me some bad ass jerky. The meat is still in the freeze frozen harder than rock. I’ll be getting that taken care of soon. All I can say is I love to hunt. It sharpens my killing skills for, how did J and Shags say? “When there is fire in the sky.” T H E M O T H M A N
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