Ways To Die While Hunting
Poor Humor
No, I don't think that I could make it
I don't have those kind of skills
Some days I can't find my own car keys
I'm not built to hunt and make the kill
I'd be sitting in the tree stand
Taking pictures of the lake
On Amazon, buying lotion for my hands
They're really dry, for goodness sake
I'd just go hungry, without Panera
I love their breaded bowl, with soup
And I love this mountain air, (sniffs)
But tell me, where do you go to poop?
Yeah, and I'm not made for wearin' camo
Those colors don't go with my eyes
Oh no, I just dropped my box of ammo
Which caught that BIG BUCK by surprise
Now, I'm sure I'm over thinking
But it seems, all eyes are fixed on me
And they're staring, without blinking
Maybe I should get out of this tree
No, it's ok, I understand, ya'll, er'
I'll be waiting in the car, (rubbing hands together)
If you need me, feel free to holler
Better yet, I'll be at that corner bar
That we passed a mile back
I know it's somewhere, (waving hand) over yonder
Come and get me when you're done
Oh looky there, (she yelled), another monster
About the Creator
Kelli Sheckler-Amsden
Telling stories my heart needs to tell <3 life is a journey, not a competition
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Comments (5)
An absolute gem, Kelli. You have taken a subject, embedded a subliminal message, and wrapped it up in the human. Love it. Great question about where hunters go to poop. The most obvious is they just hang over the edge, I guess. A bit like in movies, you rarely see people going to the toilet????
This is an awesome bit of fun, Kelli! Great contrarian entry to the challenge! Good Luck!
This was excellent!
Haha this is awesome. Flips the hunting challenge on its head.
Yup, according to this poem you are not a hunter, but I bet for real you are a great one. Good job.