The high-def version of Big Buck Hunter looks nothing like the primitive arcade cabinet I remember from the rural America of my younger years. The deer flash vivid terror in their big brown eyes now, and you can almost smell digital musk. At The Wurst (724 E Burnside St.,, you can blast away and, if you bag something, reward yourself with an elk-and-maple link from a menu of exotic sausages served with crinkled potato chips. Despite proximity to Le Pigeon, KBOO and Doug Fir Lounge, this place is truly a good-ol'-boy bar. There's a vending machine with smokes to be lit with house-branded matches, glasses of goldfish crackers on the bar and "Whiskey River" flowing from the jukebox. Maybe it's supposed to be ironic? Welp, it ain't. There's only one woman here, and she's half of a couple. The guy on the stool next to me is chasing a double tequila with bottled Miller Lite. He's survived seven heart attacks, he tells me, and is blessed to work for his best friend building cars, which is what he was born to do. On the jukebox, Hank Jr. complains that all his rowdy friends have settled down. Mine too, Hank. Hey, wanna shoot some quarter-powered deer?