This weekend you’re going to go out with your straight uncle and try fox hunting. He’ll force you to dress up in an absurd outfit and follow him into the woods with some incredibly gay dogs which will have graphic gay dog sex with one another while he watches and claps and he’ll pretend he doesn’t hear you when you ask him “Are you sure you’re my straight uncle?” again and again throughout the trip.
The whole thing will be pretty gross, and not because of the dog sex. It’ll be gross because those poor foxes won’t have a chance. They’ll be half starved things, limping through the last traces of snow as the hounds bray and leap after them. The hounds will take them down in a pack, not through elegance but through brute strength, and after the second one is loosed you’ll get off your horse and walk back to your Prius, informing your uncle that you’re not really into this.
He’ll continue ignoring you, watching the hounds snap at one another over pieces of the fox’s still twitching body. As you near your car he’ll shake his head and cluck his tongue.
“Fucking faggot.”
Congratulations on Trying Fox Hunting!
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