He had had it with this infestation. The weevils had completely decimated his crops. Shaking his fist at his desolate fields, he vowed revenge.
The following year, a friend told him, “Just use poisoned honey to trace a path to a trap.”
“Why?”
“Honey is the route of all weevils.”
“Check out the sight,” said the salesman. Actually, the automated sight somehow always zeroed-in on the target’s buttocks. “Usually makes for a good target. Just wait until the meter reaches twenty, then fire.” I’d forgotten about that, when I fired it without a target. I guess hindsight really is twenty-twenty.