Posted on 01/16/2006 12:19:43 PM PST by SandRat
Dateline: Basnar Squirrel War Headquarters
Subject: WMD Night Attack
Animals can communicate better than we previously thought. “Prairie dogs have a language. They talk, and they sometimes talk about us,” according to Con Slobodchikoff, a professor of biology at Northern Arizona University in Flagstaff, as quoted in the Jan. 6, 2005, Arizona Daily Star. For example, the rodents can tell other prairie dogs whether the approaching threat is a predator or a human. They can even detect and transmit differences in the color of the clothes that humans are wearing, Slobodchikoff says.
I’ve been writing for years about the abilities of the ground squirrel leader that constructed his headquarters in my backyard. He plans clever harassing tactics that prevent me from overwhelming his insurgents with my superior armed might. Although he’s a clumsy communicator, his coalition of forces bears the burden of his imprudent ideology.
Despite his political skills—or lack thereof—and his self-perceived righteousness, his troops occasionally deliver unsavory comments on his leadership abilities. This report describes a friendly fire incident that bewildered the leader. CIA (Clueless and Incompetent Administration) officials might want to take note.
During past winters, my never-ending battle against ground squirrels subsided because the ground squirrel leader went on extended R & R. Not this year.
GW — that’s global warming or George W., take your pick — has disrupted the normal nature of things. GW can be ascribed, in part, to the current White House resident’s refusal to acknowledge human impact on climate change. Therefore, GW may be to blame for the ground squirrel leader remaining intermittently active this winter. Regardless of which GW is responsible, war has returned to my backyard.
Recently, an IED (Intermittent Evening Disturbance) disrupted my reverie. Continuous, oddly rhythmic noise burst across my command bunker’s roof. My chief of staff said, “Whoooo, oh who, who is making that racket?” My wife has a sense of humor that, on occasion, I try to ignore.
Unexpectedly, a substantial WMD (Waste Matter Deposit) splattered onto my defensive perimeter, which Joan refers to as a patio. A second IED warrior joined the original insurgent in bragging about the assault.
The huge WMD resulted in widespread, um, fallout. The overweening bragging by the deliverers of the munitions gave me advanced warning of the attack that otherwise might have gone unnoticed until reveille the following day.
Because sound strategic intelligence was unavailable, I hesitated to hustle into battle. Sometimes it’s better to remain in limbo than to rush.
We had no inkling that a new aerial weapon had joined the squirrel leader’s arsenal until we heard the IEDs. Furthermore, the IEDs continued to harass my command post by asking an intermittently repeated question. “Whooo, who, who, who?” I assumed they were asking who had deployed them.
I decided to answer the question, grabbed a weapon, and bravely ventured into the impact area. I aimed my ray gun, which Joan calls a flashlight, pulled the trigger and blasted a beam of light in the general direction of the enemy. “GW, that’s who!” I said.
Two stealthy bombers glided silently from the rooftop and swooped low over the battlefield, dropping one final burst as they faded into the night. The WMD landed in the entrance to the squirrel leader’s bunker. Regardless of whether the, um, bomb, landed on a pre-selected objective or was jettisoned prior to returning to base, the owls’ graphic comments to the leader who sent them into battle while he remained aloof and safe in his headquarters were right on target.
The following morning the squirrel leader attempted damage control while he perched on a rock and spewed unintelligible rhetoric designed to pacify his fellow squirrels and coalition members. I thought I heard him say “nucular” instead of “nuclear,” but I’m uncertain. Some animals, like some humans, can’t communicate intelligently.
I’m glad the squirrel leader doesn’t control huge oil deposits and apparently hasn’t developed the ability to manufacture nukes. In either of those cases, I might have to pay tribute with tons of birdseed in an attempt to control him, which would plunge me into debt. Either that or I’d have to communicate with him intelligently and bring our endless war to a halt.
LEE BASNAR may be reached at basnar@cox.net or by writing the Herald/Review, 102 Fab Ave., Sierra Vista AZ 85635. His column appears every other Sunday.
He would demand that you submit to Sharia or die. Idiot.
I'd say you've won the war already.
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