SG Broadband Community

* spocks empty shell casing * complains "damn rednecks! are haveing fun again!".
*slumbers back into burow takes off spagehtti stained tanktop; puts on similar spagehtti stained tanktop; swigs beer*

Disgruntled at his miss the redneck retires to his house, while contrmplating a better scheme....


Lying prone on the ground with only a canteen and a pack of crackers the redneck waits for his quarry....the goundhog. Long has the whistle-pig been his bane, today he ends that. After sweeping the horizon for his prey, he wipes his brow and sighs deeply, perspiration invading senstive areas around his eye, flys vieying for moisture on his arms. The moments turn to eons, the simple act of blinking becomes agony. When will this evil rodent show himself?

A lone earthen blip begins to form on the hazy line of the horizion. The mirages play with the figure, making it seem to dance to his pulse, which has picked up cadence since the image registered in his sun baked mind. Is this him? Randy.....the elusive uber-breeding gopher. His heart prances a new tattoo, his minor irritations fade into nothing. Could it be? Slowly he reaches for the Weatherby 300 magnum, loaded to maximum pressures. Silver-tipped GameKings, borderline legal, totally lethal on any of gods creatures. This gopher was going to meet his maker today.

Popping the saftey was a offering to the gods of accuracy. The melodic pop of finely machined steel echoed in his psyche. Easing the muzzle up to the sandbags, another offering....calm and peace enveloped the redneck. The shell, already nestled home was a waiting vessel for the act of attrition. Finger placed on trigger, cross-hairs about an inch above the proposed recipent.

*The moly coat on the bullet was tight. An almost perfect seal was attained. The shapely bullet rested, waiting to be shoved at unholy speeds at a moments notice. Curves that belong on entities that are shaped by the wind, a mass to weight ratio calculated to be effiicient, yet compact. Yes, this projectile was purpose built, by skilled hands. Then it happened. The primer was given the proper blow....a heated blast ignited the powder behind the bullet. The rapid expansion of gas forced the bullet to leave the bosom of the brass jacket that for so long bound it. A sleek package of death begins its spiral. The rifeling cutting into its perfect seal, gravitational forces that would almost defy modern thought. But the spin! Oh its what makes it stable, and fly true this ballistic package would do. Three quaters down the barrel, spin is leveling out, veloicty is increasing, but not at geometric factors. Yes, this bullet was headed for a one-on-one with gopher brains.*

I gotta come back to this.....my brain is all tuckered out.

<thread turns into smap>

Brembo, if you so much as harm one hair on my gopher, I'm coming up there and kicking your redneck ass across the Mason-Dixon line!

Originally posted by RoundEye
Brembo, if you so much as harm one hair on my gopher, I'm coming up there and licking your redneck ass across the Mason-Dixon line!

Saw the typo... all fixed.

Randy is that hole big enough for two?

Originally posted by RoundEye
.......This forum is like no other I have ran across on the net, I have seen many people come together and help total strangers......

This point seems to hit hard now seeing that blebs was the first to post.

Killer post Roundeye! I've read it all even Dan's redneck hallucinations.

it's kew man.....it's real feelings

Originally posted by RoundEye
Randy is that hole big enough for two?

ummm...uh... which hole we talking about

Life is tough enough living in a dirt chute and being hunted by a crazy brembo with a Lazy eye, who feels the need to drink his own urine even though he is about 2 miles from a 7 Eleven can wear on ones mind.