A small sampling of the wonderful endorsements we have
received from hunters. . .
No attempt has been made to correct spelling or grammar.
NOTICE: The full content of threats, insults and
generally funny comments emailed to the collective will be published on this
site. Threats are taken seriously and we contact the proper authorities.
Threats...
From the Hunting
Forums...
Love letters...
From Mike
and
advocates of people hunting...
Most
emails we receive from hunters are covered in the below opinion piece from The
Onion. We understand that, as a hunter, you want to "kick," "beat," etc the "crap"
and/or
"shit" out of us. Get over it. It's a hobby. I like hiking, but I'm not going to
kick your collective asses for putting rocks on the trail.
Do My Empty Threats Mean Nothing To You?
By Greg Swanson
August 30, 2006 | Issue
42•35 www.theonion.com
Lately, I've been getting the impression that you're not taking me very
seriously. Yesterday, you barely even looked in my direction when I told you
that when I'm through with you you'll wish you'd never been born. Well if you
believe you can just tune out Greg Swanson's warnings, you've got another think
coming. So you better wise up, or I swear to God I'll eventually live up to my
promise to make your life a living hell.
Do you think ultimatums like these grow on trees? I put a lot of energy into
my low-voiced intimidation, and I don't appreciate when you don't give it the
respect I think it deserves. Do you know how hard it was to tell you I'd never
speak to you again for the fifth time? How about showing a little regard for the
guy who could take you for everything you're worth and run you out of town? And
I could if I wanted to, believe me. I absolutely could.
I'll ruin you. I've thought long and hard on just how to do it, too. Any day
now you'll wake up and this pretty little fairy tale you call a life will be
nothing more than a memory. And when that day comes, you'll realize how wrong
you were to ignore my many, many warnings. Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow.
Maybe not even six months from now. But mark my words, you'll be sorry.
If you don't start taking my ambiguous but menacing threats seriously,
prepare to suffer the consequences. They aren't likely to be the ones I
mentioned in the threats, but believe me, after a few more weeks of my covert
glares, finger-wagging, and incoherent insults muttered under my breath, you'll
be begging for mercy. And I won't stop there. You won't be able to hide from the
ranting, inconclusive e-mails I'll write but never send, not to mention my
merciless campaign of unfounded accusations. What do you think of that, you
Nazi-sympathizing child pornographer.
In case you've forgotten, I'm the guy who could have told the boss about your
little $12.77 "accounting error" last quarter without batting an eye. Do you
think I lost any sleep over reminding you daily that I could, in all likelihood,
get you fired? Not a wink. And I'd choose not to rat on you again given half a
chance. In fact, if I can get all the employers in the area to agree to it,
you'll never work in this town again. So the next time you think about shrugging
off my half-hearted attempts at intimidation, just remember: I've got your ass
in a sling, hypothetically.
So go on, just keep pushing me. You're on my list, bucko, and the thing about
my list is that no one ever gets off. You could be on my list until the day you
die and not even know it. Of course, you will know it, because I'll routinely
remind you that you're on my list. And there's nothing you can do to stop me.
Unless, of course, you'd like to be moved all the way to No. 1 on the list.
No? I didn't think so. Neither one of us wants that, believe me.
Maybe you don't know how important I am in this office. Maybe you're even
more ignorant than I thought, and you don't realize that I pay a lot of lip
service to some fairly important projects around here. If everything goes as
planned, I'll be receiving a lateral promotion this spring, and when that
happens, I'll have a lot of connections in some pretty comparable positions, so
you'd be wise to start kissing my ass now. You'd hate to come in to work one day
to find, oh, say, that your desk is all rearranged, wouldn't you? Or that your
thermostat was cranked up to 80? It would be a real shame if your salad
disappeared from the kitchen fridge. Wouldn't it?
Now do I have your attention?
You know, the real shame is that it didn't have to be this way. When I first
met you, I actually thought we might be good buddies. I tried to be friendly by
offering you plenty of compliments and kind gestures. They may have been
nonspecific and unemotional, but that's no reason to turn your back on me the
way you did. But now, it's too damn late for apologies, so you'd better just
shape up and start paying heed to my passive–aggressive criticism.
Or else.
