Cardinal Fang
Reviewer
- Joined
- May 9, 2012
- Messages
- 5,717
I hate squirrels.
Mostly though, I hate how they make me feel after I’ve killed one of God’s most undoubtedly retarded rodents in an accident that is not my fault. While driving my car back from a meeting at an uncharacteristically slow speed I noticed one of these rodents hoping across the street. As I began to slow down he stops right on cue two feet from the edge of the road. As I approached I saw that my reoccurring fear of hitting oncoming traffic was not present so I decided to shift lanes and give the little guy a wide birth. It’s at this moment I realized he didn’t move to complete his journey to the other side of the road. Moreover, he turned to face my car as I came closer as if to dare me to pass in the strangest version of British Bulldog I’ve ever played. It’s worth noting that I believe the gender of the fur ball to be male because of his general disregard to using crosswalks as well as the overall “douche-baggery” of his next move.
In a move that can only be described as what the fuck! he turns towards the curb, hops forward about six inches, stops, jumps, turns in mid air using his tail as the moment in a torque filled maneuver, lands and darts in a lightning sprint to the other side of the road where I’m crossing with my car.
*Thump!*
Overall, I give the little shit for brains full marks for his attempt. Sadly, my bumper and front grille thought otherwise and simply used physics in a most creative way to fuse him to my car. I stopped the car, got out and made reference to a sexual act I was incapable of performing on myself. What I could see was the back end of what was a squirrel sticking out of my grille along with the remnants of the explosion that took place just before the fusion was finalized.
I gagged.
My office was just around the corner so I drove there in anger and I spent the next hour trying to extract one of Darwin’s wonders from my front grille while absorbing the ridicule being heaped on me from my colleagues.
“Do you realize if you gather all the parts up and tried to put them together you still wouldn’t have enough to make a squirrel?”
“I didn’t know squirrels knew how to play chicken. Obviously not that well mind you.”
“I think you confused him when you didn’t signal to change lanes.”
And of course my favorite:
“Does anyone realize that squirrel is wearing an Acura on its head?”
I’m going to remember the last one at Christmas time when it’s time to give out the office bonus. Now it’s off to explain to the insurance company how they should pay for the damage one of God’s special creatures caused.
Mostly though, I hate how they make me feel after I’ve killed one of God’s most undoubtedly retarded rodents in an accident that is not my fault. While driving my car back from a meeting at an uncharacteristically slow speed I noticed one of these rodents hoping across the street. As I began to slow down he stops right on cue two feet from the edge of the road. As I approached I saw that my reoccurring fear of hitting oncoming traffic was not present so I decided to shift lanes and give the little guy a wide birth. It’s at this moment I realized he didn’t move to complete his journey to the other side of the road. Moreover, he turned to face my car as I came closer as if to dare me to pass in the strangest version of British Bulldog I’ve ever played. It’s worth noting that I believe the gender of the fur ball to be male because of his general disregard to using crosswalks as well as the overall “douche-baggery” of his next move.
In a move that can only be described as what the fuck! he turns towards the curb, hops forward about six inches, stops, jumps, turns in mid air using his tail as the moment in a torque filled maneuver, lands and darts in a lightning sprint to the other side of the road where I’m crossing with my car.
*Thump!*
Overall, I give the little shit for brains full marks for his attempt. Sadly, my bumper and front grille thought otherwise and simply used physics in a most creative way to fuse him to my car. I stopped the car, got out and made reference to a sexual act I was incapable of performing on myself. What I could see was the back end of what was a squirrel sticking out of my grille along with the remnants of the explosion that took place just before the fusion was finalized.
I gagged.
My office was just around the corner so I drove there in anger and I spent the next hour trying to extract one of Darwin’s wonders from my front grille while absorbing the ridicule being heaped on me from my colleagues.
“Do you realize if you gather all the parts up and tried to put them together you still wouldn’t have enough to make a squirrel?”
“I didn’t know squirrels knew how to play chicken. Obviously not that well mind you.”
“I think you confused him when you didn’t signal to change lanes.”
And of course my favorite:
“Does anyone realize that squirrel is wearing an Acura on its head?”
I’m going to remember the last one at Christmas time when it’s time to give out the office bonus. Now it’s off to explain to the insurance company how they should pay for the damage one of God’s special creatures caused.
