GK: It's duck-hunting season in Minnesota and I know some of you think that I'm one of those anti-gun girly-man liberals but you've never gone hunting with me. The ducks don't look on me as a liberal. They look on me as Mr. Death. I go over to Minneapolis to hunt because it's full of girly men and I walk through Loring Park (FOOTSTEPS IN BRUSH) wearing my blaze orange camouflage fatigues and with a little duck scent behind my ears and I get set up in my duck blind on the shore of the pond and (PEOPLE MURMURS) a little crowd of manly girls and girly men gathers and assemble my shoulder-mounted missile launcher (ASSEMBLY OF PARTS, SLIDING, CLICKING, RATCHETING) which is about ten feet long and I put a projectile in it, a ground-to-duck missile, and I see birds in the sky and I launch (POWERFUL ROCKET WHOOSH) and I use a powerful telescopic sight to aim at their feet--it's called a Web Sight--and it blows the toes right off em and my black lab (WOOF) Big John goes out and gets them and he does a lab report (WOOF) and if the lab report is good then I just rip the feathers right off em (FEATHERS RIPPING) and I tear out the intestines right there (SFX) and put it on a stick and broil it over an open fire (CRACKLE OF FIRE) and of course the liberal crowd is upset (WHINING, MURMURING) but I don't care, I just wait until the duck is cooked, and then--I look over and there's Big John looking at me (GROWLS) and--I realize that now I've got to fight him for the food. And what makes it more interesting is that Big John has picked up my missile launcher (DOG CHUCKLE) and he's got a ground-to-man missile loaded in it and he cocks it and now (HEART POUNDING) I have to just hope that my calculations are correct and now he shoots (WHOOSH) and the Web-detecting warhead detects the old dog's own toes and (DOG YELPS) he shoots himself in the foot. But I'm not out of the woods yet. (CRACKLE, CRACK) I hear someone behind me and I whirl around and --
TR (CAPOTE): Hi. I absolutely adore those shoes.
GK: It's a girly-man liberal. Here to compromise my 2nd Amendment rights. Luckily, I remembered to bring bait. A copy of the New York Times Sunday magazine. Here.
TR (CAPOTE): Oh. What a sweetheart. Look--a cover story on landscaping in the Hamptons. Fabulous.
GK: And that's a day duck-hunting in Minneapolis. I eat my duck (CHOMPING, CRUNCHING) and spit out the bones (PTUIs) and head for home, stopping to cut down a few tall trees just to irk those people (CHAINSAW) and I toss some dynamite into Lake Calhoun (SPLASH) just to keep the fish on their toes (UNDERWATER DETONATION ) and kill another duck (WHOOSH). I get back to my pickup and I take off all my clothes and I put them in a garbage bag and bury them under a tree (DIGGING) and I put on a pair of Italian jeans, a pink silk shirt, a black leather blazer, hand-sewn moccasins, and (METAL RATTLING) I take the pick-up cover off my Volvo and I head back to St. Paul, listening to public radio (HARPSICHORD) and nobody's the wiser.