By David E. Petzal and Philip Bourjaily

Last month, a gunmaker friend of mine was audited for two weeks by the BATFE, who found the usual number of small errors and omissions in 20 years’ worth of 4473s, and two rifles that couldn’t be accounted for. Then next week he was informed that his manufacturer’s license, which was up for renewal, would not be renewed. No reason given. His life’s work and his livelihood, and that of a dozen other people, down the toilet without a word why. Our government at work.

I mentioned this to a friend of mine who is an elected official (Republican) and a Bush supporter (though rapidly running out of patience) and asked if this sort of thing wasn’t odd under an administration that is supposedly friendly toward gun owners. After all, smart bureaucrats take their direction from the top, and a high-handed BATFE was something that we expected to see from Bubba Clinton, not from W.

His answer surprised me.

“There’s a lot of that,” he said. “Not only the BATFE, but the Fish & Wildlife Service is refusing to grant CITES permits without giving a reason, and often in contradiction of their local offices. They’re screwing the hunters, too.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Because Bush isn’t watching the store. He’s so preoccupied with Iraq that these guys are running amok and no one’s stopping them.”

Just one more bit of good news to pass along. I’d be interested if anyone else out there knows anything about this.

By David E. Petzal and Philip Bourjaily

A century or so ago, when I was a baby editor, the magazine for which I worked received a news release from an inventor who had devised a simple system for getting Mr. Happy clear of heavy hunting pants and longjohns. He pointed out that if your member had shriveled to an inch and you had to extend it past 2 inches of clothing, you were in a world of trouble. His idea, and the product, made sense, mostly. But the project never went anywhere…as it were.

Now we have a similar proposal in the form of a product called Seasonshot. Its developers describe it as seasoning bound together by some sort of edible bonding agent and formed into shot pellets. So when you shoot a bird, you no longer have to worry either about seasoning or about chomping down on shot pellets and fracturing your fangs. Just pop the critter in the oven; the Seasonshot then melt as the bird cooks, suffusing the meat with whatever flavor you have chosen.

The Seasonshot folks are a little vague about sizes, patterning, flavors, legality, etc., but it’s a proposal so sensible that it’s bound to succeed. Next: Barbecue-flavored bullets for shooting deer in the ribs? It’s a great world we live in. www.seasonshot.com

By David E. Petzal and Philip Bourjaily

Well, the election results are in and the Republicans have taken it on the ear. The House is firmly Democratic, and the best the GOP can hope for in the Senate is a tie. For a while, at least until mid-January, we are going to hear the obligatory noises about cooperation, reaching across the aisle, and working together. And if any of that stuff has a chance of actually happening, then I am Nicolette Sheridan.

No, the next two years are going to be about payback. Old scores are going to be settled. Dubya is going to wish he was interned at Gitmo. And among the things you can expect to see are some really onerous gun-control bills.

Whoa, you say. Haven’t the Democrats learned that backing gun control is bad for political longevity? Why yes, says I, but they don’t care. They have to do it. It’s in their genes. It’s been so long since the Democratic liberals have tried to pass a really stupid, futile piece of firearms legislation that they’ll fight to get their names on the very first one that comes along. It makes them feel good.

And for you and me, the word to remember is the acronym BOHICA:

“Bend over, here it comes again.”

By David E. Petzal and Philip Bourjaily

There are two reasons I have a song in my heart and a spring in my step this morning. First, I don’t have to fly anywhere for 9 weeks. Second, on the way to work, I saw a non-functioning Bentley about to be lifted aboard a flat truck. A quarter of a million dollars worth of automobile broken down at the side of the road, with Fords and Toyotas zipping by. Wonderful.

But I digress. I have nothing against Pennsylvania hunters. I know a number of very capable ones, and we have three right here in the office who know what they’re doing. But for years, whenever I hunted in Wyoming, I’d hear stories about Pennsylvania hunters—guys who came out where the coyote howls and the wind blows free dressed in checkered red and black wool, carrying a .30/06 autoloader. And, of course, they couldn’t shoot worth a damn.

So I let it go at that. Pennsylvanians don’t do well in Wyoming. However, this past week, I was hunting in South Carolina, and heard exactly the same thing. One evening, as a dozen Secessionists and a couple of misplaced Yankees gathered around a fire to watch deer being weighed and skinned, one of the Confederates said:

“Y’all heah ‘bout the Pennsylvania hunter?”

And everyone smiled, because they knew what was coming.

Apparently, in this particular plantation, one hunter missed a record number of shots at deer, and another blew a dead-easy shot at the local LEGENDARY MONSTER BUCK who was standing in an open field, 60 yards away, broadside, looking at him. Both people were from Pennsylvania.

And what I want to know is, how far does this go? Are there Pennsylvania hunter stories in Kansas? Oregon? San Francisco? Well, no, not San Francisco. Is Hillary involved somehow? Is there a coverup? Who knows?