TRUTHBUSTERS: COW TIPPING

IN THE PUBLIC INTEREST, THESE STORIES ARE TRUE PRESENTS TRUTHBUSTERS, A SERIES OF ESSAYS DESIGNED TO BUST FRESH, STICKY TRUTHS ALL OVER YOUR FACE. WE’RE TAKING COMMON MYTHS AND MISCONCEPTIONS AND GIVING THEM THE FULL, THOROUGH TSAT TREATMENT. YOU WILL LEAVE EDUCATED AND SOGGY FROM OUR TRUEKKAKE.

12:35 AM - We leave the compound on our mission of exposing the truth behind cow tipping, the infamous redneck sport in which a group of drunken hicks sneaks up on a sleeping cow and knocks it over for their own amusement. We are of the mind that this type of entertainment is impossible and each relayed instance is the stuff of corn liquor daydreams. We’re headed to the farm of the neighbor of someone we know, having decided that asking for permission is not what truthologists like us do. We worked hard to earn our truthology degrees from one another and we’re not about to let the law get in the way of our research. It’s very dark at 12:35 AM, so Brandon has brought a flashlight and David has brought a propane torch. “Who knows?” he reasoned. “It might come in handy.”

We’ve borrowed a Jeep for our research, a bright yellow Truthmobile that belongs to someone who probably lives near the compound. It’s on our street a lot, anyway. Our preliminary research indicates that cows live in fields that might be somewhat hilly, so we want to be prepared. Our first stop is the 7-11 down the street to pick up an assistant from the assortment of vagrants hanging out by the dumpster. He doesn’t speak clearly and may or may not be legally in the country. We name him Igor because we don’t want to know/can’t understand his name. Not wanting to soil our new Jeep, Igor rides with us by hanging on to the top of the Jeep and riding the back bumper. “Hang on tight, Igor” we scream as we manage to wheelie off a speedbump on the way to the pasture.

1:37 AM - We arrive at the cow field. We’re not sure if it’s a dairy field or a beef field. We don’t care. Truthbusting, while an exact science does not require real details. Igor managed to hang on for the ride. He looks dizzy.

1:39 AM - Igor finishes puking. It’s very cold outside, and we think he may have developed frostbite on his nose. “We’ll take care of your nose later, Igor. Stop whining.”

1:50 AM - We finally arrive at the most densely cow-populated area either of us has ever seen. Igor’s nose, or what used to be a nose has blistered and is now oozing. “Gross, Igor.”

1:51 AM - There she is, the most beautiful and peaceful cow either us have ever laid our eyes on. It’s sleeping, to be certain. Now, prior to this truthbusting endeavor, we went ahead and did quite a bit of planning and research. According to the butcher at Giant, cows weigh in the ballpark of 800 pounds. To ensure maximum muscle capacity, we both did anabolic steroids for about two months and determined that two of us would possibly be able to knock a fat fucking cow on it’s side. We brought Igor to kneel on the other side of the cow. A little trick we fell for (get it?) in high school.

1:57 AM - Oh God. Oh sweet Jesus. What have we done? Everything was going according to plan. Igor knelt down as he was instructed. We pushed the obese monster towards him as hard as we could. It went flying through the air, landing on a nearby fencepost, like some pre-slaughterhouse shish-kebab. There’s blood everywhere. The sound…the sound is horrible. When it screamed…and it screamed…it sounded like a human. Like a human baby that was just impaled on a fence. We’re both stunned. Igor may have gotten broken because he’s not moving. But no one’s looking at him. Because there’s a fucking cow with a post through it.

2:11 AM - The first round of vomiting has passed. Igor’s up at this point, limping around on his good leg and screaming in Italian or Spanish or whatever. The cow hasn’t even died a little. It’s still laying there as its own blood pools around it. It looks so sad. It is no longer beautiful. David has grabbed a length of rope from the back of the borrowed Jeep and is tying it to the rear bumper. We’ve decided to pull the cow free of the fence post, hoping maybe it’s just a flesh wound. We feel that de-tipping the cow is best for all involved. Except Igor, who is sobbing. We’ll figure out what to do with him later.

2:13 AM - David has now tied the other end of the rope around the fat beast’s head. Brandon is at the wheel of the Jeep, ready to gun it. Igor seems to be gone. Irrelevant. Brandon pushes down on the accelerator and the Jeep begins to move forward. The cow is not happy. It’s making wet noises, like it’s choking. This is encouragement to go faster and free it. The rope, tied like a noose (perhaps not the best idea), compresses around the thing’s thick throat. Brandon pushes on the accelerator again. The cow begins to rise on the post, which is starting to bend. Milk sprays from the cow’s udder. There’s an unsettling pop as one of its eyes flies across the field, landing near where Igor has hidden. He unloads the contents of his stomach onto the eyeball, which was staring at him. Another pull with the Jeep and the fencepost snaps. The cow is dragged 40 feet before Brandon realizes what’s going on.

2:14 AM - Oh Dear Sweaty Baby Jesus. This is an abomination. The cow is still alive, and it most certainly has not been de-tipped. It’s still on it’s side, and it’s still screaming. Igor somehow manages to find the courage to make his way over to us and on the way trips right over the spotted colossus. He lands on the still very alive but not very mobile/happy animal. The cow lets out another scream, but this time the scream seems to be coming from the other side. We inch closer and notice we have helped deliver what appears to be a calf. We high five each other as Igor sobs.

2:15 AM - It seems the high five is premature. The baby cow, or half a baby cow squirms out of the still-screaming mother cow. Igor points to the fence post, violently sobbing and vomiting. It appears the other half of the newborn was left at the base of the now splintered post. “Oh snap!” we both high five each other again. We’re obviously in some sort of shock as we start posing with the animal. David is wearing Igor’s straw cowboy hat and straddling the cow and swinging an improvised beef intestine lasso over his head. After three attempts to “rope” the half-calf, he gives up. Brandon is on the ground near the animal’s head telling it knock knock jokes in attempt to make it laugh. He grows increasingly angry that the cow won’t say “Who’s there?” and slaps it across the snout. We are clearly well-adjusted.

2:22 AM - We’ve been staring at the cow and it’s partial child for about seven minutes. The half-calf has made several futile attempts to nurse on its mother’s udder. David finally drags it away, reprimanding it and telling it what it’s doing is gross and inappropriate. Shortly after, as David has dragged out most of its innards, the half-calf is officially a de-calf. Igor has run away again. David, wearing the de-calf like a silly hat, has run off in an attempt to find him. Brandon realizes that the sad, sad, non-joke-getting cow is never going to die on its own because of its ridiculous will to live. If only it were as defeatist as it was de-fetused. Brandon knows what has to happen and jumps back into the Jeep.

2:28 AM - David has returned from chasing Igor, unable to find him. More cows have begun to warily approach the trail of guts and blood in the middle of the field. The cow has stopped trying to scream because Brandon has spent the last five minutes driving back and forth over its head in an attempt to kill it mercifully. Its broken jaw and shattered skull have not yet lead to its death, but the back and forth have pushed its head further into the blood-dampened dirt. Brandon sighs. David shakes his head, making the arms of the half-calf dance around like a Muppet. This amuses them both. David expresses concern about all the other cows watching. “Witnesses, man. Witnesses.”

2:32 AM - The propane torch did come in handy after all. Through the rear-view of the Truthmobile, Brandon and David witness the largest barbecue in human history transpiring. They are not sure if the deafening roar of screams erupting from the pasture is a generation of cattle applauding the most badass participatory bonfire ever or an eerily well-orchestrated cow ‘fuck you, assholes.’ One more high five for the road. “Dude, that cow was really hard to finish off. I think it was the boss cow.” Brandon agreed, triumphant in his evening of truthbusting.

“Hey, where’s Igor?”