Bespoke western shirt?

[lefty]

I hesitate to post this as it falls under the Baskervillean, “I would love to tell you, but then, of course, I'd have to kill you,” but as few people know where I am, and those that do are reluctant to brave the road, I feel secure.

I have discovered that one of the last wild jackalope populations in the Northeast exists on my property.

First introduced to Wyoming by the Messrs. Herrick, jackalopes (Lepus antilocapra wyomingensis) traditionally flourish in the west. Fortunately, there are a few pockets throughout the continent where microclimates best mimic their natural environment in the Principality of Florin.

Though they are protected, occasionally one can get a nuisance permit. You see, when a male jackalope reaches a venerable age, he takes to stealing whisky, cigars and rhubarb pie from local cabins. And since they can often mimic human voices, a drunk jackalope will sit outside your window and taunt you by disparaging the quality of your cigars. Strangely, he will happily eat the most mundane rhubarb pie.

Since spring, I have been kept up at night by a particularly cruel jack insulting my Crown Royal and cheap Dominican cigars. To make it worse, he’s been doing so by imitating my Canadian accent, the cocky little bastard.

I applied for a permit.

Official jackalope season is only on one day a year — June 31, from midnight to 2 a.m. — and to qualify the hunter must have an IQ greater than 50 but not over 72. The only allowed weapon is a slingshot made from the crotch of a dead elm and Toronto Maple Leaf hockey elastics. (Killing a jackalope isn’t easy.)

You are allowed to bait them, so I put out a 30-year-old Laphroaig and a cuban Romeo Churchill that I had been saving for a special occasion. He took the bait.

At 1:17 a.m., I saw a little movement near the bottle and heard, “Finally something decent, eh.” I listened as he poured three toes of whisky and striked up a match to light the cigar. As the flame lighted up his face, our eyes met. He just had time to whisper, “You clever hoser,” as I let loose.

The mount arrived in time for our Field & Stream shoot last fall.

lefty

 

[clee1982]

I don't even know what thread title this should be anymore, might just well be Foo delivers...

 

[edinatlanta]

View attachment 1628173

I hesitate to post this as it falls under the Baskervillean, “I would love to tell you, but then, of course, I'd have to kill you,” but as few people know where I am, and those that do are reluctant to brave the road, I feel secure.

I have discovered that one of the last wild jackalope populations in the Northeast exists on my property.

First introduced to Wyoming by the Messrs. Herrick, jackalopes (Lepus antilocapra wyomingensis) traditionally flourish in the west. Fortunately, there are a few pockets throughout the continent where microclimates best mimic their natural environment in the Principality of Florin.

Though they are protected, occasionally one can get a nuisance permit. You see, when a male jackalope reaches a venerable age, he takes to stealing whisky, cigars and rhubarb pie from local cabins. And since they can often mimic human voices, a drunk jackalope will sit outside your window and taunt you by disparaging the quality of your cigars. Strangely, he will happily eat the most mundane rhubarb pie.

Since spring, I have been kept up at night by a particularly cruel jack insulting my Crown Royal and cheap Dominican cigars. To make it worse, he’s been doing so by imitating my Canadian accent, the cocky little bastard.

I applied for a permit.

Official jackalope season is only on one day a year — June 31, from midnight to 2 a.m. — and to qualify the hunter must have an IQ greater than 50 but not over 72. The only allowed weapon is a slingshot made from the crotch of a dead elm and Toronto Maple Leaf hockey elastics. (Killing a jackalope isn’t easy.)

You are allowed to bait them, so I put out a 30-year-old Laphroaig and a cuban Romeo Churchill that I had been saving for a special occasion. He took the bait.

At 1:17 a.m., I saw a little movement near the bottle and heard, “Finally something decent, eh.” I listened as he poured three toes of whisky and striked up a match to light the cigar. As the flame lighted up his face, our eyes met. He just had time to whisper, “You clever hoser,” as I let loose.

The mount arrived in time for our Field & Stream shoot last fall.

lefty

Is it Bebop a Reebop brand rhubarb pie?

 

[romafan]

Some pretty good strawberry rhubarb here

 

[imatlas]

@lefty is it true that extras in crowd scenes are told to keep repeating "rhubarb" to create the illusion of a group of people chattering?

 

[Gus]

The best rhubarb pie is served here. IYKYK

 

[erictheobscure]

i wonder if foo finds this thread helpful

 

[HORNS]

@lefty is it true that extras in crowd scenes are told to keep repeating "rhubarb" to create the illusion of a group of people chattering?

I thought it was "peas and carrots".

 

[lefty]

Depends if you're recording and want a crowd murmur. Walla in US. Rhubard in UK. "Peas and carrots" is used as well.

I just used to tell them to silently mimic talking but that had downfalls as some helpful extras get very animated. 2nd ADs are always shifting people around.

lefty

 

[Numbernine]

View attachment 1628173

I hesitate to post this as it falls under the Baskervillean, “I would love to tell you, but then, of course, I'd have to kill you,” but as few people know where I am, and those that do are reluctant to brave the road, I feel secure.

I have discovered that one of the last wild jackalope populations in the Northeast exists on my property.

First introduced to Wyoming by the Messrs. Herrick, jackalopes (Lepus antilocapra wyomingensis) traditionally flourish in the west. Fortunately, there are a few pockets throughout the continent where microclimates best mimic their natural environment in the Principality of Florin.

Though they are protected, occasionally one can get a nuisance permit. You see, when a male jackalope reaches a venerable age, he takes to stealing whisky, cigars and rhubarb pie from local cabins. And since they can often mimic human voices, a drunk jackalope will sit outside your window and taunt you by disparaging the quality of your cigars. Strangely, he will happily eat the most mundane rhubarb pie.

Since spring, I have been kept up at night by a particularly cruel jack insulting my Crown Royal and cheap Dominican cigars. To make it worse, he’s been doing so by imitating my Canadian accent, the cocky little bastard.

I applied for a permit.

Official jackalope season is only on one day a year — June 31, from midnight to 2 a.m. — and to qualify the hunter must have an IQ greater than 50 but not over 72. The only allowed weapon is a slingshot made from the crotch of a dead elm and Toronto Maple Leaf hockey elastics. (Killing a jackalope isn’t easy.)

You are allowed to bait them, so I put out a 30-year-old Laphroaig and a cuban Romeo Churchill that I had been saving for a special occasion. He took the bait.

At 1:17 a.m., I saw a little movement near the bottle and heard, “Finally something decent, eh.” I listened as he poured three toes of whisky and striked up a match to light the cigar. As the flame lighted up his face, our eyes met. He just had time to whisper, “You clever hoser,” as I let loose.

The mount arrived in time for our Field & Stream shoot last fall.

lefty

Rumor has it the original title character in the Grateful Dead's song Dire Wolf was a Jackalope. They changed it after one of their equipment trucks was destroyed on a desolate stretch of road east of Laramie

Spoiler

In the timbers of Fennario, the wolves are running round
The winter was so hard and cold, froze ten feet 'neath the ground
Don't murder me, I beg of you, don't murder me
Please, don't murder me
I sat down to my supper, 'twas a bottle of red whisky
I said my prayers and went to bed, that's the last they saw of me
Don't murder me, I beg of you, don't murder me
Please, don't murder me
When I awoke, the Dire Wolf, six hundred pounds of sin
Was grinning at my window, all I said was come on in
Don't murder me, I beg of you, don't murder me
Please, don't murder me
The Wolf came in, I got my cards, we sat down for a game
I cut my deck to the Queen of Spades, but the cards were all the same
Don't murder me, I beg of you, don't murder me
Please, don't murder me
Don't murder me
In the backwash of Fennario, the black and bloody mire
The Dire Wolf collects his dues, while the boys sing 'round the fire
Don't murder me, I beg of you, don't murder me
Please, don't murder me
Don't murder me
I beg of you don't murder me
Please, don't murder me
No no no don't murder me
I beg of you, don't murder me
Please, don't murder me
Please, don't murder m

 

[bry2000]

i wonder if foo finds this thread helpful

Does not matter. He made his decision before making his initial post.

 

[Nobilis Animus]

Maybe he's really an infiltrating robot, and has been gathering data points from a remote outpost in northern Bhutan for the better part of 15 years.

Watching.

Waiting...

 

[Jr Mouse]

This is the best thread on this website.

 

[RJman]

Maybe he's really an infiltrating robot, and has been gathering data points from a remote outpost in northern Bhutan for the better part of 15 years.

Watching.

Waiting...

Kalra?

 

[clothingfun]

This is the best thread on this website.

Yes it's a bit of a free for all but what fun! Please forgive me for adding to the chaos.

In '86 I bagged a dandy bull elk in Catron County. Not dandy enough as a true trophy though. At least by my standards.

I had a neighbor down the road at the time who made a pretty respectable living making antler art. I handed him a chunk of antler from that bull and said, "I like bolo ties and mountain lions. My budget is xxx. Surprise me."

Well...he did!