Sad Is the Incautious Hunter

The target keeps shifting brains fly around, bad ideas rain down. There should be no limit of 'takes' for the hunting season, for the sky is thick with dumb notions. Some are just silly, some are malignant Good intentions quack like ducks feathers flying, beaks flapping like fork. Just when we think the sky is all clear here comes a kamikaze goose dropping turd-thoughts. It takes a keen eye to clean up unless one smacks you because you forgot to duck.