It’s impossible to argue with hunters over the legitimacy of their passion. The decent hunters blend seamlessly with the yahoos. The guys who respect nature are out there with the drunk dudes blowing birds away with AK’s. It’s like trying to pick out the convicts from the latest Alabama recruiting class. Just do evens and odds for NFL or prison.
Theunis Botha ran a hunting excursion operation out of South Africa. Somebody has to help middle aged dentists and toothpaste marketing managers kill the adorable talking creatures from the Lion King. Botha was something of a legend, insomuch as he was one of those guys who routinely posted his kill pictures so that animal lovers could swallow their own tongues in fits of apoplexy.
During a recent hunt, Botha and his squad of big game hunters were set upon by four pregnant elephant moms. Imagine Target on Black Friday morning. Botha was snatched up by one of the charging elephant moms in her hulking trunk. A fellow hunter shot the fuck out of the elephant tossing Botha around like a rag doll. The 10,000 pound elephant toppled over. Right on top of Botha. Like a pig pile with forty of your biggest fattest friends. It’s the smell you’ll last remember as you leave this earth.
Who can explain why a guy who shoots elephants might be crushed to death by a shot elephant. Plain old bad luck. Though there do seem to be ways to decrease your odds of death by elephant toppling. Consider golf. It’s not particularly manly, but nobody calls you an irresponsible golfer for being fat and inebriated.
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