Mississippi, Dixie Beer, Sweet Lucy, Ducks and Guns

Recent photo taken of a duck killing field in the Mississippi Delta

The following submission for DINGUS BATTICUS’ column was a result of Lil John McKee’s recent duck hunting and beer swilling weekend with some college football teammates from over 30 years ago. Dingus shares a kindred spirit with his erudite agricultural icon–Lil John Mckee (Swamp Rat). Larry D–Larry Davis–one of the beer-swilling meatheads, wrote the following column for his Bring Back America Website. Lil John’s response on the website is included below. According to Dingus, a good time was had by all

(Clarksdale, Mississippi) By LarryD

Today I’m skipping any commentary about the lame duck Congress and writing about a different kind of duck stuff. This weekend I was fortunate enough to be invited by the Swamp Rat to attend a weekend of duck hunting in the Mississippi Delta with three old friends who played defense on the same college football team about thirty long years ago. And damn, what a weekend it was.

Before the weekend I didn’t know much about duck hunting. In fact, any knowledge I had was learned from that great duck hunter, Elmer Fudd. And judging from the way I shot compared to my friends, Fudd didn’t do a good job teaching.

John (believe it or not Swamp Rat’s not the name his mom gave him) lives in a booming metropolis known as Friars Point, Mississippi. When he’s not hunting deer with a Swiss army knife (using only the corkscrew, because the blade’s no longer a challenge) he runs a cotton farm on what seems like a few hundred thousand acres. I was amazed at all the details involved in farming and agriculture. I guess you don’t just drop a few seeds in the ground and a little water. No wonder I can’t even grow a damned tomato plant.

Days Catch in the Mississippi Delta

Anyway, Swampy spoiled us and set the four of us up the first morning for some duck hunting with Tallahatchie Hunts owned by a guy named Catfish Flautt. The place is what you might call a target rich environment. At the crack of daylight ducks were flying in from every direction. A lot fewer were flying out. Mostly due to some good shooting by Don and Gene. Swamp Rat gave us a break and spent more time with Sweet Lucy than his Remington 870, leaving more targets for us. When he did shoot there weren’t many misses.

Don may be the one person I know whose politics are right of mine. Hell, they even set him up on my right for shooting. Don’s so far to the right he kicked Ann Coulter out of his club for being a leftist, pinko commie. And Gene is a military guy, and the last guy in the world I would want to be hunted down by. Knowing that we have guys like Gene on the front lines should make everyone sleep better; just not the goat boys on the other team. I suggest they learn to sleep with one eye open. And he shoots better than Swamp Boy.

One of the traditions of duck hunting is the early morning swigs of Sweet Lucy. Our other guide, Chad, on the second day of hunting did the customary shots of Sweet Lucy at a little after six in the morning. He followed by screaming the traditional “Sweet Lucy” and then shot another duck. These boys can shoot.

Rebel War Wagon

Of course the stuff in between shooting ducks was almost as much fun. Swamp Rat and his little brother, Tom, who is the lost Duke of Hazard, took us around town to bars and clubs. Apparently this area of the Delta is the blues capital of the country, and the home of Muddy Waters. You haven’t experienced life until you drive around Clarksdale in Little Swampy’s truck, with his beer and two rifles at his side. I pity the armadillo that gets in his way.

Well, three days later, a spent case or two of Dixie beer and Coors, a spent bottle plus of Lucy Bourbon and 35 fewer ducks in the world it was time to head back north. My thanks again to John. I’m looking forward to the next time when we hunt wild boar, deer or do some fly fishing. Any time you get to kick back with old friends in the swamp over guns and a bottle of Sweet Lucy is a good time. “Sweet Lucy!”

December 6, 2010 at 10:37 pm · Reply

Dear Elmer,

You self-flagellate unnecessarily-I witnessed more than one wascally winged-one fall wapidly to the water without even one wittle wiggle after your weapon’s weport. (I think they call that awwiteration.) Nevertheless, your colorful commentary on all things swamp-like was humorous, enlightening, and most welcome. You will be missed by all of us down here lost somewhere off the freeway – I don’t even know which exit you have to get off to get here, but I’m glad you found it. You are always welcome back; in fact, I have a tractor seat that just fits your butt.

Also, I thought I might throw in the recipe for Sweet Lucy, the staple of the post-hunt duck blind: one half peach brandy, and one half Kentucky bourbon; not to be consumed prior to the operation of motor vehicles or firearms.

I love your web site, but I am clueless as to why you have to be so subtle and ambiguous. I can’t figure out where you stand half the time.

Keep up the good work.

Your Friend,
Swamp Rat (Lil John)