Egg on his face (windshield).

It's a gorgeous fall-y September morning. I woke up early, showered, dressed and woke up the boys to get a start to the day. I wanted to go out to Wegman's to stock the pantry for Mom Mom Cookie's arrival this weekend so that she and Zeke could have some fun eating snacks and catching up. As we drove out of our neighborhood, what did I see??? THE PRIVATE PROPERTY PIRATE. Maybe you remember, maybe you don't..but about this time last year a big, fat, mulleted, camouflaged, UFC-watching, cheap beer drinking, poop-toothed a-hole decided it was going to be ok to hunt for deer in the woods in my 'hood. I had words with him regarding this sitch and told him it was against the law to hunt private property and more importantly, so close to, ummmm, PEOPLE....and the mud muncher told me that he "was the law" so he wasn't worried about it. That was the point in the conversation that I explained to him my feelings on his hunting habit (i.e. that it was a shame he was scraping the barrel so lowly that he had to shoot Bambi for his din-din instead of hitting up the Genuardi's produce aisle. In fact I think I told him that the Florida grapefruits were 3 for a $1 that week and he should look into loading up on his fruit and veggie intake instead of his current protein overload. I noted his heavily expanded waistline and double chin as proof...). Buuuuut, much to my dismay, he's back and creeping again in the woods. Looks like I need to buy myself a dozen eggs and teach him a lesson or two...or twelve.