Dear Doug,
When I was a younger man, I went out west. Making it west had always been a dream of mine, hunting after the might elk, deer, and occasional moose. Nothing arouses a man's senses more than the intoxicating feeling of seeing a powerful animal fall dead on the hard earth, taken cleanly with an accurate firearm. After years of successful hunts, I never failed to return home victorious, with a mighty bounty appraised by my wife and five children. Year after year I would return the victor; my manhood never questioned, my pride in tact. Doug, this past year I went into the woods with a new method: I tried scenting the deer. I thought, "Well hell, I'm such a man, why not change routines?" I am ashamed to say that I didn't get an animal. To add insult to injury, I smelled of deer piss for days and my wife would not make love to me for months afterwards. I no longer feel like a man. I feel like a city slicker that was castrated with a dull butter knife. Like a pussy. What should I do?
- Lost in Moscow, Idaho

Dear Lost,
I know how hard it can be to keep on living after a shut out, but this is when you need to be strong - you're still the same man you were before, damn it! What's more, you're still an American, so stand proud. It's warm now, so go catch yourself a lunker bass, shoot some vermin, pull tree stumps out with your truck, dynamite your Y2K shelter, and get your mind off last year. I've seen men sink faster than the titanic grieving over an unfilled tag. Don't let that happen to you, on account of you got a wife and kids to care for. Have a talk with the old lady, clear out them bramble patches choking your heart, and tell her you need her support. Stand up on the bar and, with a tear in your eye, announce "I did not get my deer this year." It's tough and I reckon there'll be a lot of hugging and crying and what not, but if you're gonna make it through the fire, you need to face the devil on his own ground. That aside, lets go back to where you screwed up: First off, deer piss ain't like old spice. Just a couple dabs on your boots is all you need. Second, I reckon your biggest problem was that you relied to much on just smelling like something the buck wanted to get at, as opposed to smelling and sounding like a doe, thus making yourself irresistible. Remember, big bucks don't get big being stupid. If it smells like there's a cute little honey around, but she ain't making no noise, he's bound to be wary. So, make yourself into something he wants to hump or something he wants to fight. Either get yourself some calls and a rattle, or switch back to the strategy that was working for you before. Stand proud, friend, and I'm confident you'll pull through next year.
- Doug

Hey Doug,
Is this site your answer to freaking "Dr. Laura"? She's such a bitch. I bagged my first g-hog of the summer on Thursday. He never knew what hit him. Those Remington Premier Varmint loads (complete with 75-grain, polymer-tip Hornady V-MAX bullets) do DAMAGE I tell you!
- Roy, Eastern PA

Thanks for writing in Roy. Dr. Laura talks about stuff like "real happiness found in struggles of everyday living" whereas we concentrate on killing hogs. I guess I'll have to pick up some of them loads.
- Doug

Dear Doug,
So as not to be puttin the cart ahead of the horse, I gotta say first off, this site rocks. Anyways, I see you and your kinfolk is fans of gopher huntin. Whilest I enjoy pluggin the critters, I can't say I like the way they go down the old hunger hole. Should I feel bad about not eatin the Lord's bounty?
- T.J., Witchita

Dear T.J.,
No guilt there. There's a reason they call it varmint hunting. If that don't ease your mind, try hiding the meat in a pot pie and gargling with PBR after each swallow. Ain't no spice like the old Blue Ribbon.
- Doug