I'll start:

We hunted with a gang in Southern Onterrible, and one of the guys had a pretty serious medical condition that precluded him from wlaking for any extended period. But he couldn't keep himself away from deer camp, so he would come out and cook for the guys. He always brought his rifle with him though. A beat up, nasty looking old Winchester Model '94 in .30-.30. One day we came back to discover the camp in a complete state of disaray. The yard was all torn up, with blood everywhere, and a deer half way hung up in a tree. The guts were half out, and the cook was taking a break and on the verge of a heart attack. As I got closer to him, he yells at me "I NEED A BIGGER GUN!!!!!" I looked at the deer and told him I figured the 30-30 seemed to have done a nice job. He then proceeded to tell his story (I should mention this entire story is told at about 1000 decibels)...He walked across the yard to take care of "some morning paperwork". He sat down and propped the shithouse door open with his rifle. He's taking care of business, when he looks up to see a nice little basket buck standing in the yard. He grabs his rifle, whips it up to his shoulder, carefully takes aim and begins to squeeze off his shot. Just as the rifle goes off, shithouse door swings shut. He goes on to explain that if he had a bigger gun, it would have extended out past the door, and he would not have touched off a rifle inside a closed shithouse.

   

How long did it take for the phone to stop ringing in his ears?

   

Over here in England, we dont get many deer anymore, so we step down a few levels and hunt rabbit... enough said huh. The best story was when we were out and this rabbit basically commited suicide. Stupid as it sounds it was quite funny. It leaped out of its burrow straight into the air. My dad blew it apart with his shotgun, but it would not have survuved because there was section of terrifying looking rapids right below it. You see what I mean, it would have died anyway.

   

When my Dad was still alive we went up to Saskatchewan in 1992.
It was cold as I've ever been in my life.

We had a guide, and an area to hunt, it was nice clear day and we where out driving around some feilds that had been harvested. We spotted 3 does and buck a few hundred yards away.
We stopped and watched where they were headed.
We took great pains to get in front of the deer and wait for them to come into our gun sights...we heard a faint "pop" ..and then two of the doe came running by a few moments later...we thought he comes..he's next, but he never came...the old man went for a walk to find his tracks and followed them right to gunshot we heard...he was pissed, and yelling and making noise and another Buck must have been bedded down close because he came out running and just about took out my Dad..never did get one that trip but worth every penny

   

Here's a couple for you Chopper...
On way up with my Dad, we're in his precious Suzuki Samurai about 6 in the morning. In the head lights we see some roadkill and Dad drives around it. At the same time we're going past, the biggest damn black carrion bird I've ever seen decides to light out, right in front of us. The Scuzzie takes the bird right on, in the grill, the "truck" lurches, jumps around and the stereo deck slams backwards from the dash and out the soft top. Black feathers and gore start pumping through the vents as the bird is ripped up in the fan and belts.
Gross as hell but so funny.

On another trip, we're on our way up and stop at a diner for breakfast and bump into a group on their way down. Tied to the roof of their truck is a couple of really battered aluminum canoes. Dented, smashed and torn up pretty good. Dad joked they went over the wrong rapids but instead they told us a moose had done it.
Seems a rocket scientist had shot this mother moose, (though he only had a bull tag), right in the rump with a .302. The pissed off moose, ( oh yea, it was right outside of their camp!), charged in, trampled a canoe, threw another up a tree and kept the "hunters" treed for four hours.

   

Not really a hunting story, But I did see a disturbing event along the same lines as RMR.

Some British tourist was in Jasper, just getting off the tour bus. Brits usually come in the fall, which is rutting season. Upon getting off the bus, the Tourist spots a bull elk peeing and snorting and pawing the ground. 2000 pounds of male hormones and no brain.

Parks Canada warns everyone to stay the hell away if they see this behaviour. The bull only wants to smack heads and f*, so decide on which you prefer to do.

Blimey if this tourist doesn't go 10m from the bus to a grassy spot, get down on all fours and start pawing the ground in imitation of the bull. I'm across the street, too far to warn the mental midget, and the bull takes a run at him. The bull chases him back into the bus, and proceeds to cave the side of the bus in. Parks Canada had to destroy the bull, because it's antlers had mostly broken off in the exchange. They fined the tourist $2500 for the destruction of wildlfe, and the bus company sued for damages.


Most of the hunting stories I have aren't that funny

   

Saw a moose, shot it.

That's it!

Nothing much else to say other than a good hunt.

   

Nice necro, Pimp.

The only funny hunting story I have is when I wasn't hunting.
I'd gone out during the winter to do some archery practice with a buddy in the woods.
Walking back, I had an arrow in one hand and was poking it through the snow banks every once in a while.
One poke... and a fairly loud noise came out of the snow bank, followed by a very panicked partridge flying out of the snow.