You know how life is like shooting fish in a barrel? Like, it’s so easy you feel downright guilty?
Yeah. Me, neither.
Life is more like shooting ducks.
Really, really fast ducks with short attention spans, a penchant to dart rapidly in random directions, and bullet repellent.
And then, when you shoot ’em dead and think you’re done knocking ’em down so you can get on to the more important parts of life, the ducks rise again like Lazarus.
Apocalyptic zombie ducks with ragged clothing and limps that are coming for us.
As my friend recently said,
You know what we need?
We need more compliant ducks.
And I say, Amen.
So… that about sums up the way my week’s been.
What about you? (Type your response quietly so the ducks don’t hear you.)
P.S. No ducks were harmed in the writing of this post.
P.P.S. Unless you consider the glorification of duck-shooting “harm” since it desensitizes the culture at large to the plight of zombie ducks.
P.P.P.S. I had a duck egg for breakfast. Just thought you should know. Full disclosure and all that.
P.P.P.S. I plan to write and (finally!) respond to comments this weekend. But THANK YOU for keeping the lines of communication open. I love you for it. I do.