Not Opposed to Guns and Hunting
A strange thing came over me.
I realized I was no longer opposed
To guns and hunting, I suppose.
The idea of it gave me a thrill –
To go in for the messy kill!
I’d developed an itchy finger
And a mind that would linger
On scenes of blood and gore
As bodies smashed on to the floor.
I could picture in my head
The bullet striking something dead!
Was I sick? Was I ill?
It was indeed a bitter pill;
To think that I was smitten
And rabid – I’d been bitten!
But I would hunt the trophy hunters
The poachers and dog fight punters
The badger baiters and cruel whalers
The seal clubbers and fur balers
That is how I’d get my fun
Nailing them! Every one!
I know I’m sick. I should get a cure.
But they deserve it – that’s for sure!
No – it’s alright! I haven’t gone nuts. I haven’t become a right-wing gun-totin’ nut. I haven’t joined the NRA.
It was just a passing whimsy.
I just hate all those evil bastards so much – the ones out there pumping machine gun bullets into rhinos and elephants, the ones out hunting all those beautiful creatures – lions, tigers and gorillas, the ones who are so cruel that they love to see animals ripping each other apart.
I reckon they all need shooting!
At least I can dream.