Lubricia’s back with another reader letter!
Hello, lovers! I’m Lubricia Cosmoline, your hoe-stess of “After Dark.” As a long-time aficionado of everything that goes “bang,” I seek to offer a platform for all of your most intimate, personal experiences in the world of guns and hunting. I’ve seen it all—a .50 BMG can’t go too far for me! So sit back, unholster, and get ready for today’s letter…I call it “My New Whisker Biscuit.”
Dear Lubricia Cosmoline,
I never thought it would happen to me, but I recently learned something astounding at my backyard archery range, and I just had to share. You see, Lubricia, as a confirmed bachelor I’ve always loved releasing my broadheads in the comfort and privacy of my home. I may not always hit the bullseye, but I’m enjoying myself—and I always thought that was the only important thing. That is, until I met her.
I had just returned from my hay-bale targets—well, okay, from the side of the bale, the earth in front of it, and the fence post behind it—when I heard an enchantingly flinty voice from the other side of the fence. I looked up to see a tall, slender blonde, her face framed by a riot of curls that fell to her tiny waist.
“You’re not much of an archer,” she said, archly, arching one golden brow.
I wanted to be angry and defensive—who did she think she was, watching my private marksmanship pratice?!?—but given her 40DDD bosom and long, tanned legs, I knew I was in the presence of an expert.
“Well, what do you think I should be doing better, to get my broadheads buried?” I smirked.
“You, my friend, need a whisker biscuit,” she grinned broadly, tipping a wink with one green eye.
“That’s sort of impossible,” I retorted, “seeing as how I’m a single guy and all…”
“Oh, you can borrow this one!” she chirped, reaching one slender hand down the front of her skintight Daisy Duke shorts. “I have an extra!”
“Oh, wow,” I stammered, “I think I saw something like that on Maury a couple years back, but…”
“No butts!” she interrupted. “Just a Whisker Biscuit! Lots of girls and guys these days don’t really even know that they exist anymore. Personally, I blame all those Internet videos. So many people out there nock their broadheads right in a bare rest, which just looks unnatural to me…and seems like a great way to get your shaft all scratched up.”
Her hand probed around in her shorts as she continued to smile, and I observed the sunlight glinting off the fine blond hair on her forearms and thighs. She did have quite the glorious natural pelt. Finally, her hand emerged…and in it, was this doodad:
I guess I didn’t do a much better job concealing my disappointment than I did my previous eagerness, because she filled the silence almost as well as she filled put those shorts.
“It’s a patented arrow rest with bristles and a hole in the center, to completely encircle and hold your shaft in perfect alignment,” she said cheerily. I began perking up again. “It’ll really help with your form and accuracy. It’s helped mine!”
“There’s nothing wrong with your form that I can see,” I replied, opening the fence gate to let my new friend in. “Thanks for letting me use your Whisker Biscuit, neighbor…now how about lending me some sugar?”
She giggled, coyly tossing her fantastic golden mane. “Sure thing! Just as long as you don’t mind the raw kind…after all, as you can see, I’m an all-natural kinda gal!”
She was right, Lubricia! I don’t care if it makes me old-fashioned, but from here on out I won’t be resting my shaft anywhere but in a Whisker Biscuit!