The Weekly Standard's intrepid reporter spent a lot of time with a fella named Mudcat who brings NASCAR GOP types over to the dark side for a living. Labash is confrontational. After Mudcat claimed he could tell whether deer droppings were from males or females by tasting them, Labash challenged him on the first pile they found. Mudcat declined, saying the droppings were not fresh enough. They came upon another batch. Here's the description:
As we come off the mountain, we see a fresh, gleaming pile of deer droppings. "You gonna eat some?" he asks, since I had earlier promised to. "No chance," I tell him, "I thought you were kidding." He picks a few pellets up, and pops them in his mouth. After chewing them thoughtfully, he renders a verdict. "Buck," he declares. "What does it taste like?" I ask, now in medical shock. "Like s--," he says.
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