That old fashioned killer instinct


I know most other hunters arenít like me.

They go out into the woods and kill because they need to feel superior to something.

Even the best and most successful of them lead miserable lives which didnít turn out as they expected. So they kill a rabbit, a bird or a deer and feel better about themselves.

Me, each time I kill something, Iím killing someone I know.

If my boss pisses me off, I go out and kill a beaver.

If my wife gets on my case, I kill a doe.

I see their faces in the scope and feel great when I get to pull the trigger.

Some guys go out into the wild with the most primitive weapons, regular cave men trying to prove they have the right stuff to survive, despite all those hours soaking in a Jacuzzi and miles traveled in Humvees no more uncomfortable than their living room couch.

Not me, I got out into the woods ready to wage World War III.

I know there is no truth to the myth of ďa sporting chance.Ē

None of us are sports.

Weíre killers

All the way back to our cave man days what we did best was to murder things.

We kill anything

And for any reason.

We search out excuses that will allow us to spill something or someone elseís blood.

We kill animals because the law wonít let us kill other human beings.

Sometimes we canít kill cats or dogs either.

Knowing all this, I got out into the wild with every bit of equipment I think Iíll need.

I figure if I have to go all the way out there, I donít want to miss.

Itís about feeding the blood lust in my head before I get home or go to work again.

Other hunters are real tree huggers when it comes to preserving the environment.

They boast about how much they do to protect mother nature when all theyíre really doing is keeping developers from messing with their personal playgrounds.

I could care less if the developers pave over the whole world.

I figure itís going to happen anyway because real men like us canít stop making babies, and unless weíre prepared to kill them in the womb or hunt them down at people the way we do bears, the world will eventually become all cul-de-sacs and shopping malls anyway.

Other hunters claim Iím crazy, creepy or crude when I say we donít do any good for anybody least of all ourselves.

Weíre just a pack of killings getting our kicks out of killing things that canít kick back.

Maybe Iím wrong about the other hunters.

But itís true for me.

Yet itís better than going home to kill the wife and kids for real.


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