As purveyors of American doses of Americanism, we like to have our finger on the pulse of the acceptably badass American occupations. When alcohol was being flavored like cupcakes, we were there. When Pizza hut started cramming bacon and sausage inside of their crusts, we were there. And that’s why we’re here to tell you that we have encountered a small pocket of Americans who enjoy hunting, except for anything that has ever been invented to make hunting easier.
“My point be obsidian/ my beats ain’t opinion/ grizzled beard cause delirium/ fuck up boars and all of ‘em.”