That old fashioned killer instinct
I know most other hunters aren’t 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 didn’t 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, I’m 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 “a sporting chance.”
None of us are sports.
We’re 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 else’s blood.
We kill animals because the law won’t let us kill other human beings.
Sometimes we can’t kill cats or dogs either.
Knowing all this, I got out into the wild with every bit of equipment I think I’ll need.
I figure if I have to go all the way out there, I don’t want to miss.
It’s 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 they’re 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 it’s going to happen anyway because real men like us can’t stop making babies, and unless we’re 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 I’m crazy, creepy or crude when I say we don’t do any good for anybody least of all ourselves.
We’re just a pack of killings getting our kicks out of killing things that can’t kick back.
Maybe I’m wrong about the other hunters.
But it’s true for me.
Yet it’s better than going home to kill the wife and kids for real.