At a place I worked I discovered another dedicated Prairie Dog (AKA prairie rat) hunter in the upper management echelons of the company and we decided to start a "Boom-Whop" club because of the "Whop!" sound of the bullet's impact on them coming back a fraction of a second after the report of the rifle.
The "club" never took off, though, because it turned out he wouldn't tell me where his favorite prairie rat shooting area was, and I wouldn't tell him where mine was.
Sorta the same situation as with "Where's your favorite fishin' hole?"
I won't say where my favorite fishin' hole is, and you won't tell me where yours is.
Besides, he used a .22-250 and I was using my puny little .223 Remington, and I knew he'd be out-ranging me all the time.
Class differences, see?
Notice the nice, clean, big, long-necked, elegant, polished and sophisticated .22-250 (his) on the left, versus the rough and dirty, workaday, dirt-under-the-fingernails tiny little .223 Remington on the right (mine). Class differences.
So I figured his Boom-Whop had to be bigger than my Boom-Whop and that was the end of that.
Terry, 230RN