He can read hundreds of studies in full text, write intelligently about them, pierce his finger endlessly, and help change the world.

And he can kill a moose for food in his spare time, too.

So, this morning I'm lamenting my plot in life as the world's worst hunter, spending a week in camp in a prime hunting spot and not even seeing so much as a hair.

I go out to my garden to pick the last bit of kale for a morning smoothy, and who's there ahead of me, eating my last few heads of kale?

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