Ole's Big Game Steakhouse

In Paxton, Nebraska there's a steakhouse filled with all kinds of game.

Big game.

Everywhere you look, a once living animal meets your gaze.

The room is dark.

The beer is cold.

And the steak is all Nebraska.

For decades, Ole Herstedt went crazy traveling the continents, killing every animal he saw.  Bears, giraffes, elephants, zebras, emus, tigers, gazelles, pythons, iguanas, he didn't care!

Ole is the reason the unicorn is extinct.

Then he displayed their severed heads on the walls of his exclusive outdoorsman's bar.

A grumpy man's lounge.

Full of scars and farts.

And occasionally Robert Duvall.

Then in the (and his) late 80's, Ole closed shop.

They were going to ship all the animals to South Carolina until a religious twentysomething stepped in, cleaned it up, and reopened it as a family restaurant.

Now everyone is welcome to eat under the head of a buffalo.

Or by the cute little ears of a dik-dik.

Grandpa can play keno by the elk antlers.

And your troubled cousin can snort blow off a leopard's tits.

Lunch at Ole's was invigorating.

I wolfed down a quality steak sandwich in a living diorama of frozen death.

Biting into the tender 6oz sirloin, I felt the rush of adrenaline that hunters get when killing a large animal.

I felt like a man.

What was your side dish?

My, my what?

Your side dish.  What was it?

It was um... What was my side dish?

It looks like cottage cheese.

Cottage cheese?

Isn't cottage cheese kind of a sissy thing to eat at a big hunter's steakhouse?

No!!  Besides.  That wasn't even cottage cheese.

Then what was it?

It was the sperm of a mongoose.

What?

Yeah.  You heard me.  Mongoose sperm!

So you had cum as a side dish?

From a mongoose!

It makes you a better hunter.