February 2, 2006

State of the Union

I listen and watch every year, my anger growing. He gives us the status, his predictions. I hate that guy so much I see red. I hear his name and I just want to explode. This is the last year for him. That is my promise, my oath.

The rifle is snug against my shoulder. There is no wind. The high humidity should have little effect on my hand loaded cartridge. I settle in, the timing has to be perfect. He will be in my crosshairs for a second only. The sandbag that supports the forestock has been positioned and I am ready. The shot is long, but I have practiced for more than a year to save the country from this idiot, this pretender, this animal.

The crowd erupts into cheers, the music blares. It is time. I look through the reticule...I see him! I take up the slack on the trigger, I feel the breakpoint. Steady..no wind...the head is in my sight picture...I squeeze the trigger. A red mist explodes from the black lump of his coat.

Got him, fuckin' groundhog. If he does not have a head, he sees no shadow. No shadow: no more winter. I am cheered by the masses, parades are thrown in my honor...ding dong the witch is dead...I am the man who saved Groundhog Day.

Now go watch the movie.

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