On Sunday, the f and I went on some errands that took us near the new hunting/outdoors superstore Cabela's. So we decided to have another cultural experience. Starting in the parking lot, Cabela's did not disappoint.
What did disappoint was the Tanger outlet mall, the reason we were in the area. The f's jeans, purchased at the regular mall less than six months ago, are disintegrating already, so we were hoping to find a better-quality pair for a decent price at this collection of stores. The only shops that might hold any reasonable choices, we thought, were Guess? and Levi's (not quite ready to "go there" with Lee or Wrangler yet, despite the f being one tough customer). Both had such crummy quality of product that it launched me into one of my Crap-Obsessed Lady From Five Easy Pieces modes. I tried on a pair of lightweight capris that turned out to already have two rips in each leg. Guess? how long the clothes in this store will last? In the case of the flimsy jeans that the f purchased to my dismay, we guess 6 months max. Grr.
After outlet angst, I pushed to check out this "Cajun town" that's heavily advertised at the next exit south on the interstate, as they call it here, or as we call it, Route 10. We knew it would be touristy terrible, and I knew I'd get in trouble with my commenters for being lured in by the highway signs, but I was just curious. So right off the highway there was a ridiculous tourist-trap compound of shoppes that the f wouldn't even stop at (I thought there might be potential blogging gold hidden somewhere there) but we continued on following signs for some plantation that we never reached, because after the second ten-minutes-apart sign leading us to
the plantation our doom, we figured forget it.
It was a cool drive, though. It seemed like real Louisiana, old Schlitz sign from the '60s and all. I need to go back and steal that sign without getting killed, so I can sell it in Williamsburg for $3,000 to some jerkoff opening a new bar.
Anyway! Then we checked out Cabela's.
There is enough ammo at this Cabela's to prepare the f and I for at least one zombie apocalypse, so I now know where to supply shop in the event that I get an early tipoff on such an upcoming fiasco. But since I imagine most regular people do not get any sort of "heads up" on such things, I would probably have to be off to Ye Olden Neighborhoode Pawnne Shoppe for supplies, where hopefully their Mother's Day Sale would still be in effect.
Cabela's is a multimedia experience. I'd categorize their offerings as such: Education, Outdoor Preparedness, Blowing Shit Into Kingdom Come, and Cooking Up the Shit What Got Blown Away in the Outdoors.
On the education front, Cabela's boasts an aquarium, where they helpfully demonstrate an underwater camera for fishermen. (I would file this device next to the hunting lure product called "C'mere Deer!" in the subcategory of "Totally Cheating Against Creatures Which Presumably Have Inferior Brain Capacities," which would fall under the umbrella of Blowing Shit Into Kingdom Come.) They also offer helpful nature scenarios, such as this creepazoid robot.
And there's also this scene, featuring some sort of lioness chowing down on a yak while simultaneously airborne. She is/was a multi-tasker.
I haven't even touched on the topic yet of the Colossal Mountain of Taxidermied Hunting Trophies Past, which depicts way too many creatures coexisting at once. The underlying theme, of course, being "...just before they got unexpectedly murdered--probably by you, the outdoorsman shopper!"
Well, you never see the bullet or arrow with your name on it, right, Colossal Mountain of Taxidermied Hunting Trophies Past?
That is, of course, unless you see the bullet or arrow that's stuck in your body as you struggle to die. But enough of that--please just note the bear dangling the goat corpse on the left-hand side of this photo. Black and/or grizzly bears capture nimble goats on mountainsides to eat them, right? While a flamboyantly gay polar bear presides to the right-hand side of the scene, saying, "Oh No You di-int, Grizzly and/or Black Bear." I'm pretty sure this is factually accurate.
Either way, this family of three had a good old time playing Big Buck Hunter, just like the kids do back home in Brooklyn.
The crossbow department , featuring 100% more crossbows than have been experienced in my previous 30-plus years of real, non-movie life. And here's the Camo department. IF YOU CAN SEE IT!!!! ah hah hahahahaha.
With these two sculptures, we go direct to the artistic apex of nature's dignity: a howling wolf and a noble bear. If only that noble bear were dangling a howling wolf in its mouth over a cliff, as a silhouette in front of a full moon. Perhaps with a dolphin leaping in the distance. Now that--that would be noble.
The upper level had a cafe offering
Rt. 10 roadkill elk, ostrich, and venison. But if you're not hankering for that...YOU MIGHT BE A REDNECK if you choose this Jeff Foxworthy brand jerky.
The final section we went through was the guns 'n' ammo section. There was a mom there--on Mother's Day--
with her family selecting a palm-sized handgun, and bemoaning about the current tiny model in her hand that it would take too long to get her hand around it. I'm really not sure what danger scenario she was imagining. But happy Mother's Day to that lady.
We also saw an ammo display declaring , "The strut stops here!" with a picture of a turkey on it. That's right, turkeys, the strutting temptresses of the wild. You know all that unchecked lumbering around you've been doing up until now? Over! Take that, you large targets with the walnut-sized brains. Kablammo. Totally vaporized you!
Final stop was the gun museum of Cabela's, featuring antique guns and a visiting antique man on a Cabela's-issue Rascal (I've never seen as many Rascals in my life since moving to the South, BTW). Your man was wearing a Civil War-style leather cap and lamenting to the curator/host dude, "Since my health went down, I ain't busted a cap in I don't know how long."
On the way out, we passed a disheveled, almost hobo-looking scraggly-haired Southern dude, and the f said, "That's what everyone in Williamsburg strives to look like."
It was true. Our strut stopped just near the lightning-bolt-and-skulls-emblazoned pickup, at the f's comparatively plain pickup.