Shoota lies cold sweat dripping from the lack of winter heat
Yet he will wait hours and watch them 'til they eat;
The wait is over, their afternoon tea is done.
He watches their movement, the wind, the sun.
Slow, steady pressure,
He aims, He squeezes;
Pause for a moment, a passing breeze.
His pubic hairs steady,
His trigger cold,
Shoota feel the recoils and watch him fold.
The AB women begin to scream and open on-line fire,
Mens tongues twisted in Ed's razor wire.
The ladle-stirring mission accomplished,
Shoota grabs his PC gear.
He'll clean his AB tabs and then his rear.