Thursday, July 14, 2011

Cabela's bride, revisited: We have a winner!

OK, OK, I know I should've done this post on Tuesday. But quite honestly, I've been putting off making the hard decision: Who had the best story to explain why I saw a woman in a wedding dress last week at Cabela's in Verdi, Nevada?

I narrowed it down to four finalists. The first two are excellent one-liners:

Brandon Darnell: When her caterer canceled at the last minute, one bride decided she'd do whatever it took to ensure her guests had good meat for the reception.

Shotgun Kat: They were at Cabela's because there's no Bass Pro in town.

One was a brilliant piece of product placement by Shewee woman:

She was obviously on her way to the wedding but her nerves got the best of her and she realized that she was not going to make it without taking a wee. Being a outdoors woman she was prepared and had her Shewee with her, but knew that she would draw attention and possibly cause an accident if she stood up in her white dress and relieved herself along the road. She also knew that Cabelas was close so she darted in there to use the restroom. While in there though she couldn't help but to be drawn to the used gun racks where she drooled over the old smooth bores. Fondling them she questioned why in the world she was getting married and would he ever understand her love of firearms.

The minutes passed and her brother who was driving her, realizing her passion, decided it was time to go into the store and retrieve her before she was late for her own wedding. And, he knew just where to find her.

And the fourth was an incredibly macabre story written by Ingrid in screenplay format:

A BRIDE in silk organza Oscar de la Renta wedding gown lies on her side in the dusty scrub. Next to her, the GROOM, in full-dress tails lies face down, jacket torn and blood splattered across his back. The Bride rouses from her stupor, spits dirt from her lips -- still stained crimson from her wedding makeup. In her hand: Sig Sauer P228.

A huge hairy hand yanks her by the arm and drags her like a carcass across the sage brush. Her dress gets pummeled in the dirt.

You're in a crapload of trouble, Missy.

Bride can't articulate. Her limbs are lead, her mouth doesn't work. It's obvious she's been drugged. Hairy Hands drags her to his F150. A BRUISER of a guy leaps out of the passenger door. Together, they lift her into the back of the F150, wipe down her dress, and cover her with a tarp.


The F150 careens into the lot and parks in a remote spot. Harry Hands runs into Cabela's, while Bruiser cracks a PBR in the cab.


Bruiser is sound asleep in the hot cab with the last of his beer trickling out of the PBR can. The Bride, now clear of the tarp, feeling just remnants of her Roofie, clamors over the back of the F150, stumbling into the parking lot.


Bride, in a daze, tries to get help. She grabs onto a Ghillie Suit display, taking it down with her woozy weight. She's still coming off the drugs, doesn't realize her dress is tainted just slightly with dirt and blood. Hairy Hands forks over some cash at the nearby counter and sees Bride wandering into the optics section. Holy crap. He drops the cash, no change, grabs his bag and runs over to her. A manager and a few customers approach her, ready to help.

Melinda, sweetheart, holy hell, what happened to you? Honey, we've got to get you to a hospital.

(to an employee)
Frank, call an ambulance!

I'm not ... Melinda. Ambulance, yes please.

Listen, my truck is right out there. I can beat the EMTs to Verdi General.

No, I . . .

(sotto, for her ears only)
Listen, bee-atch, you've got the marks of your bad deed all over you. I don't think you want any extra attention right now.

He shuffles her to the door.

I loved all four of these stories, but I can't afford four prizes, so the winner is.....


I cannot resist a story so dark that it seems to be a cinematic marriage of Quentin Tarantino and the Coen brothers. And then there's my perverse joy in awarding Ingrid her prize: An autographed copy of Hank's new book, "Hunt, Gather, Cook: Finding the Forgotten Feast."

(For those who don't know, Ingrid is a somewhat masochistic vegan who patiently engages in dialogue with me and all the other hunters who hang out here.)

OK, I'm really not being a sadist. I like Ingrid, and think highly of her for putting up with my rhetoric. And besides, there are some vegan recipes in the book, and others where I'm guessing Ingrid might be able to sub in a vegan ingredient for the butter or cheese.

So Ingrid, if you email me your address, I'll get this in the mail to you.

But, wait, I'm not done. I loved the other contributions so much that I'm going to hold a People's Choice runoff vote. You can vote using the poll feature at the very bottom of this page - scroll all the way down - and you have until 5 p.m. Pacific time Sunday to vote.

Enjoy the race!

© Holly A. Heyser 2011

1 comment:

NorCal Cazadora said...

And the winner of the People's Choice run-off? Shewee Woman!