Random God-Damned Random Poultry Sons of Bitches

This week, my hometown paper is filled with tales of violence and death. It all began when Orson Poulson put on his mountain man outfit:

Orson has also been going to an elementary school in Kaysville to do demonstrations for a fourth grade class in the Mountain Man way of life...He shows the students his guns and black powder and some pelts and, of course, his Mountain Man clothing.

I blame the pelts. Animal hides tend to fire up a man's blood. The sight, the feel, the smell combine to fuel a an evil bloodlust, a need for violence that can only be satisfied by the obliteration of some random god-damned random poultry sons of bitches:

Orson had flocks of geese flying over his back yard and house so he shot two.

The madness quickly infected others. Jim and Starr Mitchell were the first to succumb. You see:

Starr has seen some golden eagles. The couple had some chickens ready to kill, so they took care of that...

Yes, eagles, the sorcerers of the thermal updraft, exploiting the power of the pelt to compel good people to do their feathered bidding against their natural enemies.

Of course, all that spilled blood lead to other kinds of licentious behavior:

Cleo Petit [and] Gary made it to J&D’s Restaurant for breakfast with their friends. Cleo also had her hair done while in town.

Yes, that's right. She ate a purchased breakfast and then had someone do up her hair, just like a common trollop.

And Kaye Draper, well:

She went to the Liberty Senior Center on Wednesday to play bingo.

Although Brother Brigham never mentioned bingo specifically in one of his dominoes and dancing sermons, you know he's surely turning over in his grave.