Muskoka Oktoberfest weekend and the cranky old men were in fine form. With so many years of expensive education* and lessons unlearned there was a general feeling that collectively we could solve all the world’s problems in one evening of festing. After random discussions about politics, woke culture, taxes, and the latest SNL George Washington Dream skit, we determined the trick was to zero in on one particularly vexing challenge, where a viable solution could make a difference in the world. The beerstorming session finally focused on how to keep Farmer Steve busy in retirement. The first suggestion was Wordle and Quordle, but after almost 50 years of 6am to 8pm it was clear that Wordle and Quordle weren’t going to fill the whole day, not even for Farmer Steve.
So, after a few wobbly pops he started talking about his skunk works. Those being his dealings with the aromatic rodent that has started to frequent his barn and fields. Apparently the real life Mephitidae, just like Pepé Le Pew, are enamored with felines. Dogs not so much. After rover got a tomato bath or two in the kiddies pool out on the back forty, Farmer Steve took it upon himself to address the situation.
He described a number of ingenious methods for trapping the striped stinker without enduring the spray that stays. Cage and a blanket, a polythene pipe, and a truck and trailer for the long haul, the eventual release at least 10 miles from the farm and all the details of handling the precarious cargo along the way. Coincidentally the drop point is near the house of someone who didn’t pay him to snow plow their lane last year. I believe that is what we call karma.
The rest of the cranky old men quickly realized what Farmer Steve seemed unaware of. Skunk handling was his second calling. At $150 (tax free) per skunk he could rake in a nice retirement income. His eyes lit up as it dawned on him that this could be one of his favourite things, a profit making venture.
We had previously discussed another promising sideline for the farm. By the field edge he has setup a clay pigeon thrower and his boys occasionally stopped by to shoot some skeet. A skeet shooting site for the local population to vent their frustrations would seem like a money maker.
We figured a bar and an axe throwing setup at the barn wall would complete the recreational facility. A Top Golf concept for farm and field. Yes, we did discuss some potential risks that combining guns, axes and alcohol could present, but it was decided that a six-drink limit at the bar would reduce any potential firearm or hatchet faux pas.
Putting two and two beers together sometimes leads to putting two and two together. Recognizing there is a powerful portable compressor at the farm, and that by hooking it up to the pipe that the skunk is trapped in, Farmer Steve could save some gas by shooting that skunk across the field into the pain in the ass neighbour’s yard. An environmentally friendly solution for sure. But the beerstorming ideas didn’t end there. No, we were on a roll.
What if the drunken redneck skeet shooters could take pot shots at that air borne skunk as it flew out of that pipe at the speed of stink. We know a few people personally that we figured would pay a pretty penny for that unique game hunting experience. And whether it was a hit or miss, either way there was a very good chance that you wouldn’t see that skunk again for a while.
By the fifth beer a detailed business plan was completed. Although it seemed like a sure thing, with a solid commercial model, a substantial ROI and a one-year payback on capital, there were some lingering concerns and potential issues. We weren’t sure what that skunk would do when that blast of compressed air sent it into orbit. Perhaps a stink stream like a Haley’s comet tail? And what if one of those drunken shooters actually hit one? What type of fall out would we be dealing with? Speaking of fallout, we figured there was also the slim possibility that some animal activists may not approve of the operation. Raise a stink so to speak.
We left the whole concept in Farmer Steve’s capable hands. Perhaps it was all just a skunk in a compressed air fed pipe dream after all.
*Editor’s Comment: They are referring to costly mistakes, not an Ivy league education.
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