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.