Right before Y2K, I stopped at my house on a work field trip inspecting various properties and, driving down my dead end street, saw ten squirrels sitting on my rain gutters and roof. All of them were muching on my asphalt shingles. After work, I stopped at the nearest Dick’s Sporting Goods and bought the cheapest powerful spring-powered pellet rifle they had. A Gammo for around $120 that shot .177 lead hollowpoints at 1,000 f.p.s.+. The next day I arranged my work schedule so that I could stop for lunch at home while my wife was at her office working. Driving down the street, there were more than ten of those bastards enjoying my shingles. I parked the car across the street, pulled out the Gammo and opened the tin of pellets. In Carlos Hathcock fashion, I nailed ten of them on the roof and sitting on the gutters whithout the others noticing. It was a pretty quiet rifle. Couple of years later at the new house, the second day after moving in I’m sitting by the pool and two squirrels jump down on the lawn from one of the maple trees. I go inside and get the Gammo and tin of pellets. Two dead critters later and there were no squirrels in my back yard for over a year.
This is your brain.
This is your brain on drugs.
Any questions?
Is her name Veruca Salt?
“Daddy, I want a squirrel. Get me one of those squirrels, I want one!”
“But I don’t want any old squirrel! I want a *trained* squirrel!”