Thursday, July 28, 2011

I blame possums this time.


Since my last post had some vague response from Donald about possums and was probably just a subtle hint to go to his blog ( to see his post about a possum, I decided to tell my possum story. We've not had Storytime here in a while so sit back and relax while I unfold this cornucopia of characterization.

Many years ago at my parents' house my dogs were barking like crazy people so I went outside to scope out the problem. My years of deduction training kicked in as I looked up the tree they were gathered around and I found the possum clinging to the end of a small branch that was swaying like a drunken tax collector ("sailor" was too easy and this is mainly for Don anyway).

The dogs made it clear that this problem would not be quietly resolved so I did what I had to do. I crawled right up the tree after it with a chunk of firewood and a Concealed Chunk of Firewood License and banged on the limb enough until the raging rodent fell to the ground with a thud and was immediately attacked by the incorrigible canines.

I jumped down as quickly as possible and got the dogs off of the animal but it was obviously too late. Bleeding profusely, the unclean critter had probably died before he hit the ground. So, I reached down to grab him by the tail and was going to just throw him over the fence when the spirit of Satan himself inhabited the corpse and, still on its back, that beast hissed at me and showed me its tiger-proud teeth and claws like a sasquatch but it was the eyes that scared me the worst. Neon red, glowing and spinning and shooting molten lava from some other dimension of space, those eyes...eyes that had obviously been crafted at the workshop of master demons in a lake of burning sulphur, those eyes left scorched real estate in my soul.

It was fight or flight and I commenced to fighting for my life. All I could see were those devil eyes as I pummeled that mangled mercenary marsupial with my firewood chunk. Over and over I wailed on the beast until those cursed eyes finally closed to open no more. Breathless but as victorious as a brave knight battling a dragon for the honor of a princess, I stood over what was left of the motionless wreck of an animal. Had the chunk been a sword I would have cut off its head and paraded it around the back yard on a pike but instead I just kicked it a few more times, partly to make sure it was really dead and partly out of disgust. I then grabbed it by the tail and swung it over the fence.

I threw it over the fence because we had an electric fence to keep the dogs out and it was a hassle to undo. So after I hurled it over I just went through the house where the dogs were now giving me high fives and making up songs about my heroics. Humbly accepting their worship I moved into the front yard and then over to the side of the house where the beast was sure to be laying, fertilizing the St. Augustine with its lifeblood, but no! It was gone! A crimson trail marked the path to the neighbors...and beyond.

My counselor says the nightmares will someday end. It is, of course, the reason that I can no longer hold a real job. My wife left me a short 15 years later. Friends and family have been patient but most assume it's all in my head but it's not in my head! It is the EYES! THE EYES!!!


The Donald said...

Deduction training?

Is that an IRS thing?

The Donald said...

Oh, great! 160 lb. man with oak club valiantly fends off 5 lb. nocturnal rodent.

Daughter wanted to know if we could pet the one in our tree.

"Uh, that would be no."

eddie said...

The abuse you suffered! You should have reported the incident to PETH (Possums for Ethical Treatment of Humans).

I have a great possum story also. It ends with my eight year old granddaughter proclaiming, "I don't like dead possums very much." From the mouths of babes...

Anonymous said...

I know those eyes, .. those "eyes that had obviously been crafted at the workshop of master demons in a lake of burning sulphur, those eyes left scorched real estate in my soul."

They now belong to our former boss. Coincidence?!?!?!?!?!?!?!


el chupacabra said...

My somewhat loosely associated story involves multiple drunks, an assumed dead OMIGAWD THAT'S A BADGER!!! which climbed into the 1971 Monte Carlo we smashed him with after we stopped to check him out...