A big-game hunter walked into a bar and bragged about his skills. He was an excellent shot, but then he claimed he could identify any animal by touch and even determine the caliber of the rifle used by feeling the bullet hole.
The other patrons were skeptical, and a heated argument ensued. The hunter offered to prove it if they'd buy the drinks. Blindfolded, he felt the first skin. "Springbok," he announced, then found the bullet hole. "Shot with a .22." He was correct.
Accused of peeking, he agreed to another round. This time, they thoroughly blindfolded him and brought a skin from a car trunk. After a longer feel, he declared, "Kalahari Lion. The rifle was a .308." He was right again.
He repeated this feat many times, winning round after round of drinks, until he finally staggered home, utterly drunk, and fell asleep.
The next morning, he awoke with a terrible black eye. He asked his wife, "I know I was drunk, but I didn't get in a fight. Where did this come from?"
"From me!" she replied angrily.
"What did I do?" he asked.
She said, "You got into bed, put your hand in my panties, fiddled around, and announced, 'Skunk, killed with an ax!'"