Collapsing Shack, AZ—Over the past decade the use of
ATVs has become more popular than ever, surpassing even the killing of
harmless animals, the shooting of illegal immigrants, or other
culturally important redneck pastimes (CIRP). The following
observation on those who choose to drive an ATV is sadly accurate. The
names have been changed to protect…I really didn’t get their names. Too
much gurgling from all the blood in their throats.
Now people don’t even need four wheel drive vehicles
to get deep into the wilderness. Many families can just drive their RV
to the edge of the woods, set up camp, and—as soon as they finish the
last video from the Jeff Foxworthy mythos—head as far as the dirt roads
will allow. I decided for this post to set out to discover the
ins-and-outs of forest etiquette, particularly in regards to the owners
of these fearsome machines known as ATVs. ATV owners are the BMW
drivers of the badlands. Speaking of which, if they ever do make a
BMW-ATV, wow….
Now I know why I am one of Northern Arizona’s premiere horror writers. I just scared the shit out of myself.
I have studied the ATVsters behaviors and their ethics
for some time—from a distance, of course, as not to contaminate the
study. So the following is just a short list of things that occurred
while dealing with these jack wads. I’ve had the owners of ATVs:
- Drive over my possessions as they race through my campsite (I will miss you Sony Walkman).
- Park behind my artist wife in the middle of composing a painting (wow, that’s a beautiful use of water color, honey, but…uh, is that the back end of a Yamaha Raptor?)
- Try to move our camp tables in order to drive a few more feet past our canvas paradise.
- Lash small children to their front bumpers and drive through patches of jumping cholla (I’m actually OK with this one, but, wouldn’t you know it, that’s the only one that isn’t true!)
Some ATV owners have even tried to get me to buy
George W’s new book. I hope I dug those graves deep enough. Since ATVs
are from Hell, my new goal is to ensure that every time I’m around one
they already feel like they are there. I don’t want them to die and have
the whole eternal-damnation thing be a shock to their system. So now,
each time one shows up anywhere near me, I rush forward to them, get
into their face, and yell RAAAH, RAAAH, RAHHH at an ear-tearing volume.
Do they think I’m crazy? If they can hear me over
the roar of their engines… my guess would be, yes. Still, my goal is a
noble one, to try to annoy them at least a fraction of how much they
have annoyed me over the years. Is this good journalism? Is this sane?
Well, of course not, but keep in mind, this is The Daily Discord.
The important thing is they begin to think twice…oh
wait, that might be too hard for ATV owners. How about think…at all,
before they rush into some stranger’s camp. So ATVers beware, there are
worse things in the back woods than broken RV heaters, burnt microwave
dinners, and skipping DVDs. Sometimes your little roar buckets might not
be enough to get you back to your mobile homes, because barb wire has a
whole lot of uses, heh, heh, heh—especially when it’s placed between
trees about neck high. Did I just say that aloud? Mr. Winslow is
saying, no, I typed it out loud. Oh, aren’t we supposed to tone down
the rhetoric? Well, next time, for now I have some traps to set for
some boobs. The last bastards we took out only had some Miller Lite and
some Jeff Foxworthy tapes.
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