Tuesday, October 14, 2008

The Rodential Jim Jones

The damned neighborhood squirrels have been very busy lately, those furry little fuckers. Scampering around finding whatever nuts and berries they can stuff in their cheeks and depositing them in whichever soon to be forgotten nook or cranny they can find. Although I think that the really fat squirrel just calls for Dominos delivery. But I haven’t seen him for awhile. Maybe he got stuck in a tree or just finally blew up.

I believe the buck-toothed little bastards can sense that I am almost powerless against them since, no matter what the angle, there is always a back drop of a neighbor’s house. Not that I would plan on missing, mind you, but I think the neighbors would not like seeing me waving a gun or even my trusty sling shot around in pursuit of one of the mangy menaces.

And I can’t purposely run them over with my car since the neighborhood is full of children and it would be dangerous, even with my considerable driving skills, swerving about trying to turn the beasts into furry pancakes. So what to do? Well if you can’t beat them, join them. I’m serious.

I have developed the ability to communicate with squirrels. Now, I’m not going crazy - it’s not like I discuss the recent Red sox game with them or politics (although no doubt they are communists since they think everything is communal property including the fucking snacks in my backpack and the seeds in the birdfeeder). But I can make a very convincing squeaking noise by sucking air in through my lips and teeth in just the right way. A very rare talent. The result is always hilarious because it stops squirrels dead in their tracks. Their tails start to twitch wildly as their beady little eyes try to focus on me. Then they start turning every which way in short, jerky movements to get a better look as their tiny brains try to comprehend what I’m saying. Usually this fascinating conversation ends with me yelling “now get the fuck out of here!” and the rodent screaming off into a tree.

I think what I will do is get cashews and malted milk balls, stuff them in my checks and scurry around my yard so the little pricks will think I’m just a large squirrel and that I present no danger. Then I will squeak-speak to them and convince them I’m the squirrel messiah that will lead them to the promised land of unlimited nuts and berries. And cool aid.


At 8:22 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

you spelt Kool Aid wrong


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