12:47 p.m. - 2006-04-17
Quietly, carefully the hunter stalks its prey
Karma bit me on the ass for joking around about knocking down my daughter and nephews to get to the wonderful, money-filled eggs.
Right out of the gate: I was just warming up to the hunt. Toes curled deeply into my leather flops to make sure no shoes are injured in the run. My basket was folded securely in my arm, nestled up next to my breast to protect against easter egg spillage. (because once said spillage occurs, the carnage that insues is amazing. egg hunters come out of the brush to rape and pillage)
I've got maybe 10 eggs in my basket and then the wind shifts. Lifting my head slowly, I spot my prey. Bright pink and plastic.. it beckons me forward to its little hiding spot inside a concrete block. But WAIT! Another hunter has also spotted this lonely, unprotected quarry. I speed up, shifting my arms slightly lower to further my reach. Stretching legs out into a lunge, I shove my hand forward.... reaching... breath coming faster now.... and then BAM!
I busted the shit out of my knuckles on that damned concrete block.
I managed maybe 2 more eggs before I had to go inside and get bandaged up. (as I was dripping a bloody trail across the backyard)
Dude, I was ROBBED of all my eastery-goodness this year. 12 eggs and all I scored was a lousy six bucks.
Better luck next year.
Anyone else?
