It's Wabbit Season

Everybody loves hunting. Exploring the natural world. Indulging your hunter-gatherer instincts. Utilizing the latest advances in thermal-vision and global positioning technology to track endangered prey with virtually no effort. There's honestly nothing in the world like it. Except maybe the violent brutality of armed warfare. But for those of us who find it easier to start wars than to actually sign up, stalking half retarded pigeons with a pump-action, custom stock Remington in the misty woods of Appalachia is, like, way more fun.

Amirite?

But for the true sportsman, there has to be something better. Ground-dwelling birds are great and all, but real men need a worthy opposition. Something more than just those little, feathery pinatas. Something to whet that insatiable thirst for rivers of animal blood that consumes us all. Luckily, America is the land of the free. A great and glorious land that not only allows, but encourages the wholesale execution of all kinds of creepy, crawly shit. According to the Declaration of Independence, 

"When in the course of human events, it becomes necessary for one people to load up their bad-ass muskets and fucking ice some crazy animals in the woods, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should care less about the causes that impel them to do so and just come out blasting."

Break yourself, I say!

Of course, we all know that only one state in this fractured union still adheres to the wisdom and intellectual maturity of our founding documents. The treasure of the Rio Grande: Texas. In Texas, hunting is the third most popular pastime, behind only meth production and border trafficking. (Lawnmower racing and wife-swapping round out the top five). You can hunt pretty much anything with a pulse (but not a soul, of course): beavers, turtles, foxes, otters, bighorn, badgers, mountain lions...hell, you can even hunt alligators if they're on private land...which, thankfully, constitutes 97% of all land in Texas. The only thing you can't hunt are bats. Because ew.

And because even a Texan can admit when he's outnumbered...

But that's just the tip of the iceberg in the state wherein all things are inherently bigger. If you really want to get your feet wet with the blood of innocents, then check out one of Texas's many outstanding exotic hunting reserves. Like the Texas Hunt Lodge (Yes.), a former foster home-turned bed and breakfast  with over 60 different species of exotic wildlife at your disposal. Among their many generous vacation packages (including the Zebra Hunt and the Ram Slam, a four-animal blowout extravaganza), the Texas Hunt Lodge even offers a Father-Son/Daughter hunting trip...with your choice of water-buffalo, scimitar-horned oryx, or meat bison!

Because the family who uses a camo-striped sniper rifle to blast a gaping hole in the side of an
exotic, clumsy mammal with wire fencing tangled around its antlers together, stays together.

Americans are always striving for the next great challenge. Especially when it comes to killing animals. We get bored with the ones at our disposal after we realize how easy they are to kill (I'm talking to you American bison...and passenger pigeons, New England whales, giant land lobsters, Carolina parakeets, heath hens, California condors, black bears, and so forth). So, every once and awhile, we need to shoot an animal species whose name we can't pronounce. Or, better yet, one we haven't even heard of before. 

"I'll take the Trans Caspian Uri...Ur...Whatever, just let me shoot the fucking thing."

Or, if you're in the mood for a more efficient and reliable murder-fest, try Texas Exotic Hunting, where:

"[W]e have breeding herds of Zebra, Blesbok, Eland, Wildebeest, Scimintar Horned Oryx, Gemsbok and many more."

It's like shooting African grazing mammals in an electrified barrel! Got more room in your raised F-150 for bullet-strewn carcasses? Then just come on back in a few months when the new batch is ready. You won't even have to wait for them to learn how to use their legs. In fact, it's probably more fun that way!

But, in all seriousness, this country still has a long way to go. Sure, I can pick from a menagerie of African mammals whenever I want to test the killing power of my new, hydraulic crossbow. But I won't rest until every man, woman, and child in America can kill whatever he or she wants, whenever he or she wants to, with whatever ludicrous artillery he or she deems prudent for the occasion. We're Americans, dammit. It's what we do best.

If you would like to kill this, write to your local representative.