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Sunday, March 27, 2011

Squirrel War I - The war to end all wars

  Hillbilly - from the LooneyTunes Latin, Homoerectus Mountainous. It mostly refers to the hardened folks who settled in the Appalachian Mountain ranges starting back in the 1700s. Having come from the hills of West By God Virginina, which will be further refered to as WBG, I am born into this subculture. More on that at another time, though. Now there is a more pressing matter of urgency... furry little buck-toothed, bastardly rodents we call squirrels. I call them a 20 oz pain in my ass - and as to recently - my sworn enemy. It all began on a frosty March morn, when I in my flannels and housecoat, waded out into the chill air to toss out the garbage from the last night's festivities (i.e. Wii Tennis, no-bake cookies, and remnants of mac'n'cheese). I was nearly drenched in my own bodily excrements when one rather chunky specimen of said rodent darted out of the hole that its cohorts had clawed into the lid of my garbage can, and then proceeded to leap over my right shoulder and sprint up the fat oak tree in my 'yard'. I use that term very loosely, as I can hardly consider 0.07 of an acre a 'yard'. The Greycoats have since then repeatedly invaded my sovereign territory, performed aerial reconnaissance, and have been caught in the midst of covert operations in said trash receptacle. Thus, The Great Squirrel War of Aught Eleven is under way.
  Since the latest Greycoat ambush, the forces of WBG have struck back. The enemy and their feeble brains weren't anticipating chemical warfare. Allied forces (i.e. me) have planted tainted bread in the most recent dump. The Greycoats will either be deceased or crapping green. Either way, I'm not about to find out. If the chemical warfare offensive doesn't work, I just may have to break out the heavy artillery(a slingshot or paintball guns).

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