Spud Gun Follies

Terms of Potato Gunnery and Ballistics

Written by Fletcher “Butchwax” Ferguson

It seems only appropriate that the definition of terms used for Potato Gunnery be written down simply to enhance communication. It should be agreed upon that all such terms listed are in fact open to consternation and further review.

Other names of the Potato Gun: Side Order Arm, Lunch Launcher, Spud Gun, Tater Tosser, Tuber Cannon, Root Rifle, Irish Whistle, Idaho Bazooka, RPG (red potato gun), Yukon Loader and of course the Russet Rocket.

Terms listed are not in alphabetical order.

Spud slug: Term used to describe a chambered potato.

Spent tot: Term used to describe a spent spud slug.

Wig burner: Term used to describe the aftermath of a spent tot when too much propellant was used.

Fried potatoes: A collection of spent tots that missed the target.

Hash: The remains of a properly loaded spud slug.

Chive: Bits of spud slug remaining in the barrel after a potato gun was fired.

Tater cheese: A gummy substance found in the barrel or chamber of a spud gun after it has been shot.

Fixings: All the necessary parts needed to make a potato gun.

Sliced potato: Term used to describe the trajectory of a propelled spud slug that misses the target.

Spam: Term used to describe proper spud gun etiquette.

Potato Au Gratin. Term used to describe rotting, stinky, spent tots.

Seed potato: A potato to small for the chamber.

Butter: Lubricant for the spud gun.

Dinner plate: The center of a target shot with spud gun.

Potato bar: The ram rod used to load a spud gun.

Twice baked: A term used to describe a loaded spud gun that has required more than one effort to fire.

Waiter: The guy next in line to shoot a spud gun.

Chef: The guy that applies the propellant.

Potato eyes: Witnesses to a fired spud slug.

Potato skins: Guys that shoot spud guns.

Yam: The title given to the eldest most experienced member of a spudroon.

Your skin: A phrase used to announce the turn of a second spud shooter.

Mashed potato: A term used to describe a failed attempt to load a spud into a spud gun.

Dauphinoise: French term describing an unexpected result of a potato gun misfire.

Gunny sack: The scrotum of a spud gun shooter.

Launch box: The gas holding chamber of a spud gun.

Sparking: Firing a spud gun

Sparky: The name of a spud gun trigger.

Diced potato: The term used to describe a spud slug that falls apart in flight.

Curly fly: Term used to describe the trajectory of a spent spud slug that follows a knuckle ball like

               pattern.

Cooking: The short period of time necessary for propellant expansion just prior to sparking.

Menu prep: Term used to describe the patterning of a spud gun.

Spud range: The direction or place where a spud gun is fired.

Boiled potato: A spud slug fired at a fish that misses the target.

Bus boy: A guy who thinks it necessary to find, pick up and retrieve a spent tot.

Potato bruise: A mark left on a unintended target.

Harvest time: A time set for a spud gunning outing.

New potato: A first time spud gunner.

Left overs: Any undamaged part of a target.

Potato bin: Afro-American phrase i.e. “ That potato bin in the air a long time.”

Spud blight: A term used to describe the situation when the shooting of the potato gun has to stop do to

                  a lack of ammo. (the term “86” is sometimes used in these circumstances.)

Candied yam: Refers to a gay spud gunner

Spudroon: A spud gunning team.

French fingerling: An unusually shaped potato set aside for use in the bedroom.

Spud roast: A term used to describe a conversation about historical spud gunning events.

Peruvian: A term used to describe the act of firing a spud slug so far in a southerly direction the bus boy

               can't find it.

Caramelized potato: A term used to describe the result of firing a spud at close range into a mud bank

                               resulting in great splatter.

Spud runner: A term describing a person who illegally uses, sells, or transports a spud gun. i.e. the use of a spud gun in a game of Polish Frisbee.

Sweet potato: A term used to describe the the result of a perfect long distance spud slug shot that

                      knocks over an obnoxious little kid ridding a tricycle.

Harpooning: A term that describes the act of using a spud gun under water for the purpose of culling

                    commercially tank raised fish that have been affected by high levels of ammonia.

Spuddering: A scientific term used to describe the process used by the chef when applying propellant

                   into the launch box.

Potato wedge: The intense training program offered to all new would be spud gunners that covers all

                       aspects of spud gunning and spam.

Kerpluncking: The acting of using a spud gun to take fish while riding in a moving boat.

Dehydrated potato: A spud gunner in need of another beer.

Instant potato: A term used to describe an impromptu spud gun challenge.

Whipped potato: The loser of a instant potato.

Tater tube: The barrel of a spud gun.

Tater cloth: A rag used in spud gunnery to swab the launch box and the tater tube.

Tall potato: A blatant out and out lie about a spud gunning achievement.

Graffiti: The result of hitting a moving train with a spud slug.

Three Dogs, A Cat and A Bird Feeder

Three Dogs, One Cat and A Bird Feeder
Written by  Fletcher “Butchwax” Ferguson

It was a warm early spring day. Blue skies and light frost had greeted me that morning,  spring baseball was in the air. The plan was to get the route done early in order to be home in time to catch the one o’clock pitch but as luck would have it, traffic delays, an emergency call and a couple add ons put me on the road home in the bottom of the seventh, score good guys up six to three. It was not an especially interesting game as we started off with a six run first, which I missed. Now, the opposition was creeping back into the game with two on and a quality batter at the plate. Crack, the game was tied and I was home.

Between innings I changed into a pair of faded blue jeans and sneakers, grabbing the last micro out of the fridge. Along with the dog and a bag of mostly fractured chips I headed for the rocking chair on the front porch. While the radio broadcasted between inning commercials I cleaned the mud off the boots I had worn that day and Sadie did her business. When the top of the eighth rolled around I was done with the boots, had my feet propped up and the dog was posturing for a seat in my lap to get what she felt was a well deserved head scratching. I concurred and allowed her to take her place. It was time to unwind and forget about life’s troubles. Poised comfortably in the rocker, a game on the radio, my faithful companion in my lap,  a half bag of chips and a cold one in my hand, I was set.

Three up and three down went the good guys, then a little trouble in the bottom half as they gave up a non scoring  lead off triple.  Three straight put outs by the agile young shortstop put an end to the threat. The top of the ninth gave me some encouragement, as we got the lead runner on and the next three batters where first year players last year that could really swing the bat. That is when it started.

Sadie’s ears  alertly perked up as she stared  intently down in the direction of my neighbors house. We lived just south of a pair of duplexes that had a two foot concrete retaining wall across the front. At the base of the wall, running it’s length was a  neglected flower bed with last years ornamental grasses still standing. What had got Sadie’s attention was the big black Persian tom cat from down the street which was inching it’s way along the top of the retaining wall, eventually slipping into the flower bed at a stealth hunters leap away from the base of a bird feeder my neighbor had made. The feeder sat in concrete, had as a base, a fairly stout spring to which he had welded a double shepherd’s hook. Hanging from the hooks was a suet basket and a seed dispenser. The cat was stalking the birds  as they were taking dinner. Chick-a-dees, Finches and a flashy Cardinal were working the feeder. Cool, a nature show.

Distracted  from the game and recognizing that Sadie might bolt as the hair on her back had started to rise, I slipped a finger under her collar to prevent a potential stand off. That is all it ever amounted to but I really didn’t want to have to get up and chase the dog. When the tom cat made his move, he did so successfully capturing the Cardinal, rendering it mortally wounded. That is when my neighbor’s dog Moose, a Great Dane/Bull Mastiff cross leaped off the porch. Moose at nine months old was a horse of a puppy. He had been sleeping in the warm sun with his front legs dangling down and over the first two steps of the porch when the cats action jolted him awake. Moose was tethered to a little to long of a cord, anchored at the other end to a corkscrew  in ground stake. Now the wise old tom knew precisely the length of the Moose’s reach, having ventured into the yard before,  he  quickly carried the still flailing Cardinal just out of harm’s way. Driving Moose out of his ever loving mind.

All this activity happening in a split second,  gained the attention of  my neighbor’s neighbor’s dog, an overly attended to, artistically groomed, pristine white toy poodle with pink ribbons tied in the tufts of fur on it‘s ears. Mistakenly, the tom cat had in fact, breached the poodles territory and was blind sided by the over matched  but foolishly courageous little dog. Reacting, the cat dropped the bird, raked it’s claws across the poodles face  a couple times then jumped with in range of  Moose. Moose then awkwardly began another attempt at the smart old tom cat which in turn swiped at the surprised  Moose, backing him off momentarily. The cat thinking quickly, avoided Moose’s second effort by dashing around the bird feeder. Moose gave  an uncoordinated chase entangling not only himself but the toy poodle as well. Around and around the bird feeder they went. The old cat baiting the two dogs towards a tangled mess,  all the while shortening the tethers.

The old tom cat knowing full well the dogs were hung up, refocused  his attention to the injured Cardinal. Pausing for a moment of satisfaction. the cat calmly strode over, picked up the bird, then paraded itself to the top of the retaining wall. Moose however, was not going to give up the chase, giving every effort to reach the cat he pulled his cord against the spring based bird feeder bending it over. When the spring recoiled it pulled Moose back and  up went the mud covered toy poodle, hung up in the shepherd’s hooks. Over and over the poodle was tossed into the air, yelping to beat the band. I sat in the rocker trying to get an idea of the action of the game hanging on to my barking dog. Seems somebody hit a double, two on first and third. Who hit the thing? I questioned as I strained to hear the announcer that was silenced by the barking dogs, I took a swig of beer.

The young house wife heard the commotion and came out dressed in white exercise leotards and a bright yellow t-shirt. She was a tiny thing, barely a hundred pounds.  No match for the huge Moose. Moose was going crazy, darting back and forth, he was….. out of control! As the young mother tried in earnest to untangle the two dogs, she herself became tangled about the ankle and was pulled to the ground abruptly. Moose finally busted the spring on the feeder and pulled up the stake he was tethered too, dragging the young house wife and the toy poodle with him  eventually busting the poodles tether.  The reader should understand that due to my neighbors heavy work and school schedule he had never, not once in six months, removed the plethora of extra large, extra moist piles of dog shit that littered his yard. She was mortified.

 “And that is it from Surprise, Arizona , tune in tomorrow at …Eeeek.... Came screams from the neighbor lady.  What had happened to the game?

The little women, Moose, and the toy poodle all covered, I mean covered in wet stinking to high heaven dog shit sat  all together on the side walk. She cried as Moose, calm now the cat was gone, sat cocked headed and wagged his tail with enthusiasm. Dog shit was in her hair, smeared on her face,  all over her leotards and all over both dogs.   The poor poodle still hanging from the shepherds hook.  In the midst of it all she had lost both sandals and had dog shit between her freshly still wet from polish toes. Had she only kept her mouth shut, she would not have got dog shit in her mouth.

 Later that night, hubby was at work in the yard with a shovel, a broom and a hose. As I watched him work, I wondered to myself…. What did she tell him? Did he kiss her when he came home? Yuk!

 I just really wanted to listen to the game. I missed the ninth inning all together. The good guys apparently won after all. Thank goodness there is always another game.