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Invitation By Larry Gaffney ____________________
February 14, 2006 Dear Mr. Cheney: It is my great honor to invite you to a
complementary weekend of hunting at Sportsman’s Paradise, a private game
preserve located in the lush fields and rolling hills of central Arkansas.
Because of the unfair publicity following your recent accident, I am certain
that you will find Sportsman’s Paradise to be exactly the kind of place where you can kick back and enjoy the
thrill of the hunt without fear of unpleasant consequences.
Since our clientele are very successful men of
the world—and are often in the public eye—we understand the need for
privacy. To that end, we employ a security force second to none in the private
sector, and many of our attendants have honed their skills with organizations
such as Mossad and the KGB.
Our vast preserve is surrounded by a thirty-foot-high, electrified,
chain-link fence which not only prevents prey from wandering, but keeps out
undesirable elements. Hunters at Sportsman’s Paradise can rest assured that no
one is watching, and nothing can escape. But our safeguards are not limited to security
and fencing. As you must realize, Mr. Cheney, you are not the only hunter to
have suffered a slight mishap in the field. Who among us has not emptied a round
or two into the well-camouflaged posteriors of our hunting dogs, confreres, or
paid guides? At Sportsman’s Paradise we prevent such faux pas in a number
of ways. First, there is the “Restricted Range,” where animals are penned
within a small area to be picked off at one’s leisure, without any of the
two-legged variety getting in the way. (Unless of course your taste runs to
Ostrich or Orangutan, both of which we can provide.) If, say, after a bagatelle
involving birdshot and a friend’s face, you are quite understandably gun shy,
you may, at Sportsman’s Paradise, beat your quarry to death with any of the
hardwood staves and mallets you can purchase in the Bash & Slash boutique adjoining our fully stocked gun shop.
Should you crave a more delicate act of venery, there is the option of
throat-cutting, with hand-crafted knives and swords, also available at Bash
& Slash. (In the case of prey larger than rabbit or quail, our
attendants will pin the creature to the ground while you perform the kill.)
Finally, if these measures strike you as lackluster, you may choose to hunt in
the usual fashion, but with a team of our special scouts, clad in
state-of-the-art body armor, and trained to unobtrusively flush birds and beasts
from their lairs. Furthermore, all of our scouts willingly sign an agreement
preventing them from bringing suit against a wayward shooter, or giving
information to publicity hounds. And last, but certainly not least, these
strapping young men are also skilled masseurs, eager to rub down tired, aging
limbs after a day of sport. Won’t you join us for the hunt, Mr. Vice
President? Our scouts are primed, the quarry is trembling, and we are locked and
loaded. The only thing missing is your splendid company. Very truly yours, Durwood Scumble Proprietor, Sportsman’s Paradise ____________________ Bartleby-like, Larry Gaffney prefers not to say anything about who or what he is. |
(c) Defenestration Magazine, 2006