The Reigning of the Deer

The darkest days of the year are here. When nocturnal wild-winged deer fill the sky with shite. They eat poop and poop roses, which is not as cool as it seems. So we kill them. A cull a kill a million will perish all until. Cherish the brave hunters of these garish ghouls of ill. We hang false undergarments in the meadows and the brooks. Decoys for the varmints with their venomous antler hooks. Our crossbows from our shanties aim squarely at their heads. Hang your panties from the tree, the little children sing. For every deer you shoot you see a venison pie I