We have a coupla little opossum babies who have set up camp in our backyard. These animals are the only marsupials in North America, riding in their Mama’s pouch until they are big enough to root around in my trash cans. All excited, I says to my delicate wife: “Hey baby, lookit here out the window n’ you can see their furry little faces!!!” All National Geographicky n’ shiat.
Oh. Hell. *NO*. You know how she do — seeing biggo, red-eyed, garbage-eating rats in her backyard done skeert the babygrrl. Christine WUZ NOT havin it, and she suggested a solid bop with an old mop to their wee noggins. Of course, now baby is convinced our happy home is *infested* with all species of scurrying filthy vermin, and when she is in her bed with the covers pulled up, she can HEAR em doing evil in our attic!!! It is plain common sense that we are going to have to tear the roof off this bitch to rid ourselves of the horror!
Our chihuahua Chuy has been barking at the opossums nonstop until he can hardly breath nor see straight cuz his bulgy eyes are rolling around all crazy in his little apple head. I am going to try pouring ammonia in the bottom of the trash cans to see if that makes our outdoor buffet not so yummy. Hopefully then these critters of the night will move on to the neighbors.
Those regular sized blood pressure cuffs don’t fit me very well, yanno. Cuz….uh…. I have way supersized muscles n stuph. So why, why, why would I try that blood pressure machine at the Walmart? Cuz my feet was tired and I spied the tiny chair? Cuz suddenly it seemed reasonable to be responsible about my health? Because Walmart decays the mind?!
