I am a party animal. No really, a die-hard, take no prisoners, wild eyed bushytailed over the top hellraising party beast of the extreme kind. But in this world of politically correct semantics gone beyond mad, I feel it critically necessary to explain what my idea of a party is, versus the bastardization of this simple two-word colloquialism in this day and age of hyper presumptuousness.
By Ted Nugent
My celebration of being clean and sober my entire 65 years continues to cause some in the unsuspecting civilian public to furrow their brow, squint and show a certain deer in the headlights moment of confusion that Mr. MotorCity Madman has never indulged in alcohol, tobacco or mind-destroying drugs and chemicals.
Okay, so I have been known to occasionally enjoy a mini-chalice of good red wine with Mrs. Nugent around a simmering backstrap campfire.
And yes, there are the few occasions where I fired up and puffed away about 10 percent of a good bowl of quality pipe tobacco following a day in the grouse woods with my beloved bird dogs.
And yes, I admit that was me, clenching a big, fat, juicy Havana stogie twixt my canines as we machinegun a few thousand brass rainbow rounds here and there with my full auto M4, doing my best impression of Sergeant Rock and GI Joe.
But I am confident that a thimble of wine does not a drinker make, nor that a few puffs of aromatic pipes and cigars four or five times a year qualifies me as a smoker. But that’s not the point.
Somewhere along the line, probably coinciding with the mental delusion known as animal rights and other such embarrassing self-inflicted disorders during the drug experimenting 1960s, the true meaning of the term party went from having a good time with family and friends to some sort of mindless endeavor that manifests itself with drool, puke, stumbling about incoherently, and all too often, causing death and destruction to families across the land.
No, thank you.
As a lifetime diehard bowhunting enthusiast, the only thing more exciting to me than bowhunting itself is the nonstop promotion of allthings mystical flight of the arrow and conservation.
Even if there were no such thing as the lunatic fringe animal rights forces against this pure and perfect form of conservation, I am certain that I would promote it all the time anyway.
The shooting sports and outdoor lifestyle continues to bring me such immense joy and gratification, that I am compelled to turn on as many people as humanly possible to join us in this the greatest of all sports.
I have been so fortunate to share so many hunting campfires with so many wonderful people around the world, that there is simply no question or debate at all that deerhunting also qualifies as the greatest party of all.
To my way of thinking, nothing else comes close.
Sure, my brothers and most hunters I know enjoy a good cold beverage back at camp. There is nothing wrong with a beer or glass of wine. In fact I believe all the evidence that shows beer and wine in moderation is way healthier for us that any of the sugar-saturated soft drinks out here.
In fact, if beer tastes as good alongside a nice shank of venison as does the wine that we enjoy, how could anyone object to that?
Since I have never backed away from promoting and celebrating this phenomenal hunting lifestyle, many crazy and hateful allegations have been leveled at me over the years. Though they all provide much appreciated bellyaching laughter, the one accusation that still persists, and therefore my favorite comic relief, is the bizarre claim that I am the typical longhaired rock-n-roll star who just lives to be stoned.
Of course, nothing could be further from the truth. With the 1000s and 1000s of media interviews I have conducted so far in the past 45+ years, anyone with but a modicum of time above ground would be well aware of my militant stance against substance abuse.
Being sworn in as the very first Drug Awareness and Resistance Education (D.A.R.E) officer back in 1981 at its inception, I am more than painfully aware of the trail of tears brought about by weak people falling for the peer pressure lie that getting high is a victimless crime.
I have come to appreciate the power of communication that is so unique to the hunting campfire setting, that I highly recommend to all my fellow hunters to take advantage of the openness and positive energy during the hunting season to make it a point to bring up the importance of being clean and sober for the ultimate quality of life.
I know for a fact that hunters young and old so cherish these hunting camp connections, that such positive input will indeed stay with them and help them make the right decision when that next temptation arises.
Since we all know the ultimate high of putting together the effective strategy to slay the beast and bring home the straps makes all other highs pale by comparison, the more we emphasize this the more it will ring true with our fellow hunters.
Since we all know that being drunk of stoned virtually eliminates any chance of a successful hunt, just like it eliminates any chance for success at anything, this important subject and reminder is most effectively conveyed when shared with BloodBrothers around the fire of just at deercamp.
Deadly is as deadly does, and clean and sober is the only way to go. Nobody wants droolers or pukers or stumblers or loud obnoxious goofballs at deercamp.
Just ask all those great hunting BloodBrothers across America that I’ve hunted with for so many years. They will tell you that ol’ Uncle Ted is the ultimate party animal. And they will also tell you that I go to bed right after dinner because the real party starts when the hunt begins.