Hostilities commenced just after dawn, when the Enemy Squirrel sent a scouting party* across the border** to pillage supplies**.
Little did the party know, however, that there was a gun trained on its every move.
Pow! Bang! Zing!
With the rapid action only a semiautomatic pistol can deliver, the Allies delivered rubber shock and awe. The scouting party was trapped!
Enemy Squirrel’s scouting party* retreated. But it soon returned with full reinforcements*, hellbent on biting apart the fabric of our society**.
Just when things were looking bleak for the Allies, they called in their secret weapon to patrol the borders:
All right, Squirrely. You tell ‘em I’M coming… and hell’s coming with me, you hear?… HELL’S COMING WITH ME!
[to be continued...]
*the damn squirrel himself
**the fence
Ever since we built a gate (did I mention that? Yeah, WE BUILT A FUCKING GATE AND NOTHING CAN STOP US NOW except for maybe the ridiculously hot weather), we’ve been awakened in the morning to the gentle gnawing of a squirrel outside our bedroom window. So yesterday, when a squirrel dropped dead in the middle of our lawn — plop! straight down from the oak tree’s boughs — I kind of hoped it was the gnawer and that he had died of a stomach full of indigestable cedar shavings. But no such luck: again this morning, the first thing I heard was the methodical sound of two incisors chomping away on the middle picket of the gate:
So, Internets, here’s what I done did: I grabbed my gun, removed the window’s screen, and leaned halfway out in my pink silk nightie and fired three shots at the damn thing. Yes I done did.
And you know what that damn squirrel done? NOTHING. He just sat there blinking at me with his goddamn beady eyes, then took another nibble. Fortunately, at that moment, Sgt. Trollop showed up and Mr. Squirrel decided it was time to mosey off into the lilacs.
Tomorrow morning, Squirrel Wars 2009 recommences. Mr. Squirrel, I have reloaded. Your fuzzy ass is mine.
