Jeff Hoover
Blackhawk
- Joined
- Feb 25, 2009
- Messages
- 919
Well, I've been home for about 4 days now, and I have it bad. I thought huckleberry shake withdrawal was bad, but what I have now, could be considered darn right fatal. My wife, daughter, and myself went out to dinner, the other night, mexican(not El Toro, tho'), and our waitress, noticed my condition, and asked if I'd like a drink. I responded, "More than You'd ever know ." When asked what, I responded, "How about a couple shots ?" She wanted to know shots of what. I responded,"Do you have any 'sixshots' or Callshots" She stared at me blankly, and said I had it bad. She was right, she knew.
I was the victim of MISSSHOTIDAHOASS. Symptoms include a wanting to go back west, to Idaho, hunting, eating, laughing, eating, b s ing, telling stories, eating, meeting great folks, sight seeing, eating, and just plain having fun.
To ease my symptoms, I built an altar, to honor my new idols. It is constructed, of what else, Dutch ovens. Mines not as big as Callshots tho, as he has known Dick alot longer than me. And mine are not seasoned with bear grease, as Callshots. On top of my totem pole of cast iron, is the secrete to life and flavor, the humble huckleberry. Below, is a LBT mold, for a 250 gr. WFN, .41 cal. PB bullet, the tool used to manufacture the "MEAT HAMMERS" favored pistol. Below that, is a picture of a mear mortal, me, next to these two Idahoan gods, drinking our favorite elixir, hucklebery shake. The next picture, is of something of a god like status itself, the huckleberry shake. At the base of my offering to the western gods, are two revolvers that made the magic journey west.
When really feeling bad, I face west, bow my head, and make sure I have some food in both hands, and start to eat, alternating hands, as I do so. This is followed by a glass of ice water, one of the favorites of one of the gods.
After praying to my altar, all is well. A peacefullness fullfills me, the world is right, and all is forgiven. This last about 15 minutes, and I have to do it all over again.
Here is a picture of my altar. You can't see the puddle in front of it, from all the tears, or as Callshot likes to say, all the excessive secreation of lacrimal fluid.
So there it is guys, My salute to you two. When I have to disassemble my altar, to cook some great western food, and the ovens need to be re-seasoned, I will sit idly under the full moon, and wait patiently for Callshot, covered in bear grease, donned in indian garb, to magically appear, and spread some grease on the dry ovens. I will then give him a hug, and a cold glass of ice water :lol: .
I was the victim of MISSSHOTIDAHOASS. Symptoms include a wanting to go back west, to Idaho, hunting, eating, laughing, eating, b s ing, telling stories, eating, meeting great folks, sight seeing, eating, and just plain having fun.
To ease my symptoms, I built an altar, to honor my new idols. It is constructed, of what else, Dutch ovens. Mines not as big as Callshots tho, as he has known Dick alot longer than me. And mine are not seasoned with bear grease, as Callshots. On top of my totem pole of cast iron, is the secrete to life and flavor, the humble huckleberry. Below, is a LBT mold, for a 250 gr. WFN, .41 cal. PB bullet, the tool used to manufacture the "MEAT HAMMERS" favored pistol. Below that, is a picture of a mear mortal, me, next to these two Idahoan gods, drinking our favorite elixir, hucklebery shake. The next picture, is of something of a god like status itself, the huckleberry shake. At the base of my offering to the western gods, are two revolvers that made the magic journey west.
When really feeling bad, I face west, bow my head, and make sure I have some food in both hands, and start to eat, alternating hands, as I do so. This is followed by a glass of ice water, one of the favorites of one of the gods.
After praying to my altar, all is well. A peacefullness fullfills me, the world is right, and all is forgiven. This last about 15 minutes, and I have to do it all over again.
Here is a picture of my altar. You can't see the puddle in front of it, from all the tears, or as Callshot likes to say, all the excessive secreation of lacrimal fluid.
So there it is guys, My salute to you two. When I have to disassemble my altar, to cook some great western food, and the ovens need to be re-seasoned, I will sit idly under the full moon, and wait patiently for Callshot, covered in bear grease, donned in indian garb, to magically appear, and spread some grease on the dry ovens. I will then give him a hug, and a cold glass of ice water :lol: .
