The Iranian and I knew we didn't have much time left under the cover of the Degree anti-persperant. We decided to set up a bunch of booby traps and bows and arrows with the trees around us. I had too much to live for to let a couple of Predators take it away from me. I painted a Norwegian flag on my face out of a sense of patriotism. Night was falling when we heard it, the warped twisted voice:
We're goin' down down in and early round, and sugah we're going down swingin'
"Arrggghh!" the Iranian said. "He's taunting us with Fall Out Boy."
"Be strong man. That's just karma kicking us in our asses."
A disc flew past my head and embedded itself in the tree behind me. It was obvious, he was shooting for the origin of my sound. That's when I pulled an old Ornithologist's trick: I threw a bird call. The yellow breasted titmouse to be exact. He took the bait, and sent a missle about thirty degrees away from me. I shot an arrow where the missle seemed to come from, and rolled behind another tree. A figure revealed itself where I shot, and I saw the Predator fall dead with an arrow through it's forehead. I put a finger up and brought it down like I was ticking off a checkmark.
"Count it."
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment