THE CATTLE AND THE SNIPER

There are targets on every head.  Everywhere I look, these good-looking, nicely-dressed pretty yobs have targets on them.  I’m slowly getting a bead on each and every one.  They stand in different corners, looking over their lines, rehearsing their deliveries, doing their warm-ups.  And I sit here with my hundred-yard stare, painting targets on their heads, one by one.  This is how I cope.  Shooting them down, snapping their spines, severing nerve endings with a quick bolt from my brain.  All the superficial dopes will be blown away by the ugly duckling boy.  The crosshairs widen to take in more and more as their kind begin to multiply.  It’s over-priviledged prick season.  Right between the eyes. 




-SLL