Yesterday a delivery service came to my home. Rather than placing the parcel on my front porch the driver walked around the house and through the side gate leading to my backyard. He stood motionless there until the moment Donald J. Puffcheeks signaled him to approach his bunker.
He laid down the tiny brown box and two little paws pulled it inside in the blink of an eye. (Who knew they made tiny little Trump wigs?) The driver returned to his truck and pulled away. I thought nothing more of the incident until this morning when I heard tiny objects hitting my windows.
Nevertheless, when I looked out the window to investigate the plink, plink, plinking, I discovered squirrels were hurling their winter stash of acorns.
My conflict with the local squirrel population has been a protracted one. The furry bastards do not observe a code of honor. They have destroyed the wiring harness on my car, they have littered my driveway and sidewalks with broken hulls of acorns and my beautiful lawn has holes the size of a silver dollar all over from their retrieval of buried nuts.
Now, the conflict is rooted in political differences. Just look at the smirk on The Donald’s face. And take a gander at the rat bastard who looks like Elmer Fudd draped over the log. They taunt me and spread pint-sized propaganda to Proof when he holds down the fort for me when called out of town.
Ever since daybreak, all I’ve heard instead of their usual has been those sumbitches squeaking, “I’m U-uuuuge!” and “I’m killing it!” They’re stirring up neighboring tribes yelling, “When do we beat Mexico at the border?” I swear, if they rile up the undocumented squirrels, what was once a diminutive conflict will escalate into a full-scale conflagration.