1996, somewhere in the woods. A strong-minded man named Delbert walked out into a clearing with mud on his boots and critter slung over his shoulder. This was no rite of passage like some sissy-fied Discovery Channel Australian bush ritual. No sir. This was for survival. With a bottle of porty-water in hand, Delbert showed up to the campsite and proclaimed with the force and power of a thousand pumas, "We are Eagle Fist and we're here to porty!"
It was about that time that Clyde and Jeb showed up with their own brands of porty-water, a half-dozen (and half-nekkid) women and 3 shotguns apiece in tow. They knew what time it was and told the women to "get to cookin' that critter."
Cliff picked up the scent from a distance. His keen sense of porty-sniffin' smell instantly recognized the sweet aroma of BBQ, porty-water and quality tobacco from a distance no less than 300 miles. He hopped in his 1981 301 Turbo Pontiac Trans Am, complete with Phoenix modified into Eagle on the hood, cranked some Molly Hatchet and tore down the road of destiny.
After several weeks of portying, Jeffry caught wind of the legend that had become Eagle Fist 96. He knew that the time had come to claim what was rightfully his, a bottle of porty-water and a good time! He did what he knew best, fired up his chainsaw and built a porty-house in 3 days. It was then that the rain began to pour. Eagle Fist thought that their porty-time was over.
But no sir...the porty refused to die. Jeffry told Clyde, Cliff, Jeb and Delbert to high-tail it on over to the porty-house and the good times continued. In order to thank Jeffry, Eagle Fist inducted him into their ranks and the porty has yet to stop.
We are Eagle Fist.
