Squirrel pancakes, fried squirrel, squirrel gumbo…
Dear Gaggle of Squirrels Living In Our English Walnut Tree,
I am a busy, temperamental woman. There is no June-Cleaver-string-of-pearls-chirpy-bluebird bullshit in this house. I work my rather large, often unshowered, ASS off taking care of my three giant squirrels (all of whom have their own nuts). The baby squirrel thinks I am his personal chew toy. The middle squirrel is wildly creative and toils away thinking up clever new ways to shred himself and give me a stroke. The eldest squirrel is smarter than I am. (Today during lunch, he lulled me into a false sense of security. He successfully ate two cups of strawberry applesauce ‘like a big boy’, which is to say he used a spoon and got 90% of said sauce into his pie-hole. I gave him a third, at his request, and went to check my e-mail. Ahhhhhh, stupid girl. When I returned, I found the third cup empty, its contents now atop his giant head. His matted, shiny hair was shellacked into a smooth helmet, making him look like GI Liam.)
THEREFORE, I do not need your silly asses making any extra work for me! I do not find it cute or amusing that over the long winter you have forgotten where you hid your nuts and search for them EVERY FUCKING DAY in all twenty of my potted porch plants like amnesiacs on a scavenger hunt. Every day, I sweep the dirt from the porches and every day, you dig for the magic, invisible nuts, leaving drifts of potting soil in your wake.
Look. I admit that you’re kind of cute in a bushy rat way. And, I sympathize with the fact that you run your operation with a brain the size of a cornflake. However. I am an inherently explosive individual with few outlets for this personality flaw. You, my friends, are my outlet, so consider yourselves warned. Pass the word. Put a post-it by the knothole on the tree or call a squirrel town meeting. Let the whole gang know that there is a serious amount of crazy headed your way.
So help me, I will tie raw shrimp to your ludicrous, fluffy tails and sic my unfed-for-a-week cats on you. I will slow cook you in barbeque sauce and serve you up as an appetizer at our next party. I will hide penny-sized land mines in your favorite pots and explode you into squirrel confetti.
Stay. out. of. the. pots.
Suck it,
Jill
Hey! You go girl! This is hilarious….
Jill,
Too Funny! Love IT! I can see now those squirrels watching their backs.
RE: SQUIRREL PANCAKES, FRIED SQUIRREL, SQUIRREL GUMBO, squirrel confetti—–
Hello? M’town SPCA dispatch?
One unit needed to respond along E. Main. Quickly!
I’m glad someone else writes letters on their blog to things that will never read them.
Therapy………………
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v6nJvb-BlhY&feature=related
Ahhh…yes. Yard Creatures. I have a groundhog and apparently 7,000 rabbits. I explained to him that I had my eye on a super duper, aluminum frame, high velocity slingshot. He doesn’t appear to be listening.
another 2:30 am posting…..I see a pattern here….
Oh Man, don’t get me STARTED on squirrels. Wait until they find a loose turret and start coming INTO YOUR HOUSE and making themselves at home all day, every day, peeing and pooping everywhere … knocking over glass picture frames, tearing open bags of Tostitos, and generally making themselves at home.
I called Joe-The-Bird-Bat-And-Bee man and $250 later, no squirrel. Don’t ask me where he is. I don’t know and I don’t care.
What I do know, dear girl, is that you and I must not be alone, because on the same web site, Joe also rents his $1m++ beach house.
Aunt C,
Oh, I feel your pain. We had a colony of bats living in our attic that required intervention from not only our very own Joe, but also the Maryland Department of Natural Resources. They estimated that we had between 300 - 1,000 bats up there. Talk about poop… It took three guys in Hazmat suits two days, and there’s *still* shit up there that was probably at Woodstock.
Oh, and Liam had to get the rabies vaccine.
*squeak!*
Yeah, I remember those bats in the attic well!
Bill + leather glove + opening door to attic = shit in my pants!
This reminds me of a friend (Mark Raulin, whom Bill might remember), who had a problem with moles, or voles, or whatever the hell those burrowing creatures are. He said if he ever caught one, he would crucify it in the front yard as a warning to the other critters.
I do remember Mark Raulin. He was also responsible for Kim Kirwan’s Can of Corn, no?