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Ask the Gammill Segment # 1: Happiness.

What I Learned About Life from Shark Fishing in...

September 21, 2014 Comments (1) Views: 911 My Tales to Regale

The Hunter Waits…

The Texas morning sun is already brutal, and it’s not even 9:00 am. The humidity from the morning’s rain being cooked away, like water on a hot skillet. The utter stillness of the concrete jungle is unsettling. Yet, like slow grazing antelope, the quarry move westward – silhouetted against the burning dawn; and towards the safe, air conditioned confines of the building. Oblivious to the fact that in the shadows: The Hunter Waits.

 

From the heard, a middle-aged bull separates. His cheap imitation leather “man bag” making him standout like a limping gazelle in a packed paddock of lions. As he approaches the floor to ceiling window that makes up the front of the hunter’s hide, the hunter strikes!

The dull cow eyes of the man-satchel bearing bull widen in horror as the hunter lunges from his hide, only feet from the bull’s face. The bull wheels around in terror – his brain not registering the glass, but only the sight on the hunter springing towards him. What started as a spin, turns into an awkward shuffling as the bull lurches his hips forward – knees together, and grimaces…

The hunter is pretty sure the bull has just shit his pants.

Raging, the bull stomps through the ivy in front of the hunter’s window, and screams obscenities, and shakes his fist. The hunter just points to his ears as if it so say “you’re yelling at glass you idiot¬†– I can’t hear you”. The bull spits at the hunter and not surprisingly walks towards his car –¬†not the building. Satisfied, the hunter returns to his vigil…

Always. Waiting.

 

One Response to The Hunter Waits…

  1. Chrissy Rethmeier says:

    Hilarious

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