Hunting is not a sport. In a sport, both sides should know they're in the game. ~Paul Rodriguez
'Tis the season, people. Hunting season, that is. And it's official, I'll probably begin my Black Days very soon. Possibly even tomorrow. What are the Black Days, you ask? Basically, it's just me dressed in tons of black. The summer is over, the weather is officially too cold for my comfort, and now the
meatheaded novices are crawling all over the woods and farms around my neighborhood with shotguns and rifles acting like they are G.I. Joe out to save the world. Funny thing is...there's no one shooting back at them. Their enemy doesn't even know there's a scuffle going on. Their enemy is an herbivore for Christ sake! Wow, now that's a threat, isn't it???
UGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHH. My head hurts thinking about it. I've already put The Game Commission on speed dial on my
celly so I can report the dimwits who can't read the big '
ol yellow PRIVATE PROPERTY signs but choose to still park their ridiculous Ford F150's with their "Go Union" bumper stickers on them there.
Ew. The thought of these tobacco-chewing
numbskulls, walking around in their
Wal-Mart
camouflage gear, CARRYING A RIFLE!!!! It's horrible. And the worst part is that last year, as I was pulling out of my street, one of these heroes was merrily slaughtering a deer right there along the side of the road - a beautiful country road lined with numerous horse farms and 100 year old oak trees - just chopping him up and letting the blood spill out on the road for all to see. Including my 2 year old son at the time. So, that...the cold, the hunting, the
meatheads in my neck of woods...it's all bringing me to the
darkside. I'll be the one in black tomorrow. And probably for the next few months.
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