Sisterly Bonds

It’s hard to pick, but I’m pretty sure my favorite fairy tale is The Two Princesses of Bamarre, by Gail Carson Levine. It has all the staples: sorcerers, dragons, fairies and ogres, as well as invisibility cloaks, magical ailments and epic poetry. There is a love story involved because any fairy tale worth its salt needs one. What I love about this book, though, is that the driving force is not the romance, but the love of two sisters. The male characters are not decorative, the absolutely add to the story. But what ultimately keeps the narrative moving is the bond between these two girls.

My sister and I read it together the summer before I went into eighth grade and it became our book. I have lost count of the number of time I’ve re-read it and I still tear up at the end (not surprising, given my earlier confessions). It was this shared love of fairy tales that prompted me to spend the week she was in Idaho, filling my sister’s inbox with Meki’s story. And now I shall share the next part of the tale with you.

Part II

Meki found herself standing alone in the frigid cold. The old man was gone.

She looked around and began to feel fear, as well as ice, sneak through her veins. There was no green. None at all. It was white as far as her eyes could see. White flurries drifted around her head. Snow. She recognized it. Not because it ever happened in Eternal Spring. No. But she heard stories of snow as a child and wanted so badly to see it. As the apprentice to an elderly sorceress, she had first learned a spell to make snow dance around in a glass ball. It was magical. This wasn't. This was terrifying. Where was the sun?

Meki began to shake uncontrollably. The old man had taken his layers with him, leaving her with only the short sleeved gown she pulled on earlier that day. Her gut told her to start moving, but she didn't know which way to go. It all looked the same.

Deciding that not moving was worse than going the wrong direction, Meki started to walk. After what felt like an eternity she saw a castle in the distance. Unable to move faster, as she could no longer feel her feet, she trudged forward at a slow pace. Eventually she made it to the bridge leading to the great stone expanse.

Meki saw some guards and ducked into the shadows. She did not know who she could trust. Or who might be in league with the man who brought her to this place. She was in great pain from the cold, every breath felt like a knife through her lungs. Still, she crouched towards the ground so as not to be seen. Sneaking past the guards was easier than expected. The two men were apparently not worried about intruders in this frosty isolation and were taking an afternoon nap.

Meki broke a window in the basement of the tower as quietly as she could. Once inside, she collapsed on herself, shaking with the cold. It took awhile, but eventually the icy burn subsided and she was able to take stock of her surrounding. A typical castle. Dark stones, drafty breezes. Then she heard the yelling. It sounded like a man and appeared to be coming from above her.

She moved towards the stairs, but her feet were still not fully healed from the walk. Pitching forward, Meki fell. She threw her arms out to brace herself and hit the small sphere at the base of the banister. It gave way.

There was a low groan and the wall behind her revealed a secret doorway. Meki did not hesitate before moving towards it.

Thanks for reading and Happy Valentine’s Day, everyone!

My sister looks at me and sees Rumplestiltskin

I've been reading fairy tales for as long as I can remember, both the Disney-type versions and the more brutal originals. I always loved the stories of adventure and magic. Always dreamt of one day either befriending or fighting a dragon (depending on whether the dragon had a bad attitude or not). Much like my desire for superpowers, I longed to be able to do magic. And while I don't think I would necessarily make the best superhero, I know I would be one hell of a sorceress.

So, not surprisingly, I'm a pretty avid watched of Once Upon A Time. After last night's episode, my sister and I were talking about how much we like the character of Rumplestiltskin. He's a not-totally-unreedemable bad guy, which is always fun. Plus, in the fairy tale world, he hops around energetically and has one of the creepiest laughs I've ever heard. What's not to love? I suppose it's good I feel this way, as last night my sister told me that he reminds her of me (mannerisms, she assured me, not looks). Now, she has a habit of seeing me in a lot of different people and I generally I think she's nuts. This time I can actually kind of see it. Not sure what that says about me.

All of our talk of fairy tales got me thinking about one that I wrote for her last year, when she was out snowshoeing in Idaho (what a weirdo, right?). I sent it to her in five different segments and have decided to present it the same way here. So, this week will be all about the fairy tales. I hope you enjoy the story of Countess Meki!

Countess Meki and the Creation of the Seasons

A long time ago, a year did not have four seasons. Instead each season existed continually in its own realm; Never-Ending Winter, Eternal Spring, Perpetual Summer and Everlasting Autumn. Each realm had its own royalty. For the most part, they lived in harmony. The people of the different kingdoms kept to themselves. And this suited them just fine. Except for one.

The King of Never-Ending Winter was a bitter man. His family had ruled over the frozen tundra for years. Never once in his life had he felt warmth, nor however was he used to the cold. He woke every morning with a stinging in his bones. A reminder of his lot in life. When he could no longer stand it, he began to hatch a plan.

Far away in the land of Eternal Spring, lived a young countess. On the day she was born the Royal Namer took one look at her scrunched up face and declared her to be Vermekia, meaning "natural." The name always seemed too formal to her, so she went by Meki.

Meki loved all things in nature. She often chose to sleep outside under the stars, instead of in the stuffy castle. In her spare time she climbed rocks and trees, looking for new worlds. While other children would scream for the Bug Squashers whenever they saw an insect, Meki would befriend the creature and ensure its safe passage.

One day, while she was taking her daily jaunt through the woods Meki noticed something strange. The gentle warm breeze that ran through the trees changed. For the first time in her life, she was chilly. She breathed out heavily and saw a small puff of air in front of her face. Laughing, she did it again, watching the small cloud waft away. She had to show her friends.

She turned toward the castle and quickly took a step backwards when she saw the old man standing behind her. Meki knew everyone in Eternal Spring, but this man was a stranger. He wore many, many coats. His long beard was wrapped around his neck as a scarf and his hair stood straight up. The top layer of his clothing was encrusted in shimmering ice. He looked at her for a moment through narrowed eyes.

Finally, he shrugged, "You'll do."

He grabbed her arm, his icy grip burning her skin. Before she could shout for help, they were gone.

The Dramatic Pause

If there is one thing I would like to incorporate into my life with more frequency, it's the dramatic pause. You know, that moment before the commercial break when our hero says, “I know who the killer is.” But then, rather than just sharing the information, he looks around at the group with a tortured expression. And the group does not respond with “Then tell us, you jerk!” No, they stand there, looking equally tortured, but also curious. Cut to black.

I want more of that in my life. I just don’t feel like the conversations I’m having with people are dramatic enough. Take, for instance, this conversation with the Friends the other day (I’ve taken some liberties and cut it down considerably. The actual conversation lasted about 20 minutes, which I was guessing you wouldn’t want to read. Below is the main gist.):

Me: Why is it called a pair of pants when it’s only one object?

Roomie: You’re asking this again?

Friend 1: Because you have a pair of legs.

Me: It’s also called a pair of underpants and I only have one butt.

Roomie: I don’t like the word underpants.

Friend 2 (who pulled her iPhone out the second I asked the question): They were originally called a pantaloon with each leg being referred to as a pant. Hence, two pant legs.

Me: Then that’s what we should call them.

Friend 1: Pant legs?

Me: Exactly, it’s more accurate. Next time I go shopping I’m going to ask them to point me in the direction of their pant legs.

Roomie: I’m not going shopping with you anymore.

I greatly appreciated Friend 2’s research and response (particularly since Roomie no longer pays attention to these questions). However, wouldn’t it have brought the drama to 10, if she’d just said, “I know why it’s a pair of pants!” and then left us waiting breathlessly for five minutes of messages from our commercial sponsors?

Now, I know people who integrate the dramatic pause into their conversational style rather seamlessly. Everyone, I would guess, has at some point had the coworker or friend who would use it with reckless abandon.

Example the first:

Coworker: “I know why it smells like smoke in here.”

You: “Oh, I hadn’t really noticed. Is everything all right?”

Coworker: “Not exactly… (dramatic pause lasting upwards of fifteen seconds) …someone left a hot pocket in the break room toaster oven.”

Example the second:

Friend: “Sorry I’m late.”

You: “Yeah, I heard there was an accident. Big traffic back-up.”

Friend: “No, that wasn’t it…..(you could go grab a soda during the break)…… I didn't leave until later than I planned.”

Every time someone utilizes the dramatic pause, the stakes immediately rise. As the seconds go by, you find yourself leaning in, breathing more quietly, shushing everyone else in the room. Because if someone’s going to wait this long to finish a sentence, they’re not going to want to speak it above the tone of a reverent whisper. And when they finally do, you feel like you’ve been let in on a special secret. One that only you, and the other twenty people in the room, know. You feel your wait has been vindicated and you stride into the day with greater purpose and drive, only later – when the euphoria wears off – wondering why in all of hell you were so fascinated by such meaningless news.

And don’t we all want more of this in our lives? That sweet feeling of jubilation melting into befuddlement? I know I do.

It’s something I plan on working towards and I encourage you all to join me. In the mean time, I don’t plan on talking to you again…….




……….until Monday.

(Do you see what I did there?? Paused, in a dramatic type fashion. It has begun!)

Apparently, Dream Me is a real jerk

When I was a little kid, waiting at the bus stop with my sister, it was not uncommon for her to refuse to speak to me. Now, for the most part, we always got along really well. But I lost count of the mornings where we would stand there, waiting to go to school and she would shoot me angry looks. The reason was always, invariably, the same. I had done something really, really mean to her…..in her dream.

I’m not sure why Dream Me was always such a constant jerk (maybe because Real Me was at times an inadvertent one), but I do know that ended up apologizing for her shenanigans more than once. After it was all sorted out, I would remind my sister than it hadn’t really been me who did all the mean things and she would respond that she knew. But her cute little, scrunched face would still have the lingering traces of suspicion.

I would like to say that over the years, Dream Me became a more well adjusted, kinder dream personality (I mean, she can fly if she wants to. Change her clothes with only a thought. What’s she got to be all angry about?). Sadly, this is not the case. She’s still out there, wreaking havoc in the subconscious of others. And not just my sister anymore.

I was told that just the other day Dream Me and Dream Dad ganged up against my mother. In an attempt to stop our meanness, my mom apparently told us that when my sister got there, she would be on my mom’s side. Dream Me responded, “We’ll see about that,” which, let’s face it, just sounds ominous. Mom woke up before she could find out what Dream Me had planned. Probably a good thing.

I know there are more people out there who have problems with their Dream Thems, but Dream Me has just gotten out of control. So, at this point I would like to offer a blanket apology to anyone who has been the victim of Dream Me. I don’t know how many of you there are. What I do know is that she is a loose cannon. I will try to talk to her, get her to behave more appropriately, but my efforts have been for naught in the past. My best advice to you is that if you see Dream Me taking a walk through your sleepy reverie, run. Run as quickly as your little dream feet will take you. However, if it turns out to be one of those nightmares where you try to run and instead find that your feet have turned into blocks of cement and you can only move in slow motion…well…just try not to listen to her.

Quick message to Dream Me, if you’re reading this – Stop getting Real Me in trouble or I'm going to come looking for you.

**Squirrel Menace Update: This may be where their animosity for humans began.**

You Haven't Even Read This Yet and I'm Already Embarrassed

To a certain extent, my life is a musical. This is partly because I have both family and friends who burst spontaneously into song. And I’d be lying if I never said that I’ve had a singing conversation with Roomie. But, generally speaking, music is a constant in my day to day life. I can hear a song and it immediately brings up very specific memories. If I’m listening to Oldies and “What Becomes of the Broken Hearted” comes on, I immediately picture sitting in the car with my dad when I was a little kid and him changing the lyrics to “I’ve been searching everywhere, just to find my underwear.” And yes, that still makes me laugh.

When I get new music, I will listen to the songs over and over again until they’re burned in my mind. And these songs get associated in my memory with whatever else is going on in my life at that time. This is particularly true for books and movies and has led to some pretty interesting (read: weird) pairings.

Before we go any further, though, I must sound the nerd alert. (Wheee-oooo. Wheee-oooo.) If you do not feel that you are up to processing some fairly severe nerdom, I would turn back now. No one will judge you. Or if they do, it will probably be favorably. I do not expect the same result from the following disclosures.

But, without any further procrastination, here are a few of the stranger pairings rolling around in my head:

Star Wars + Celine Dion + Clueless
- After I saw the movies, I (naturally) had to read every Star Wars book I could get my hands on, while at the same time, putting together some fairly intense Star Wars jig-saw puzzles. This experience would not have been complete without some over-sized t-shirts and me bopping along to the “Falling Into You” tape in my Walkman. Of course, I did need the occasional break to keep my hands from cramping. This time was almost always spent watching Clueless with my sister. Obvi.
- Specific book/song correlation: Heir to the Empire (Timothy Zahn) + “Declaration of Love” (I really don’t know why.)

X-Files + Shania Twain + Brink!
- I was just getting into the X-Files books when my family flew to Washington for my cousin’s high school graduation. While we were there, my cousins taught my sister and I how to line dance to Shania Twain. When we got back home, my sister got a Shania Twain CD so she could line dance in a school talent show, which she practiced as we watch the Disney Channel Original Movie, Brink!. So, I blame her for the fact that I hum “Man, I Feel Like a Woman” when the X-Files theme plays. Also, side note, Brink! is a classic. Thank you, Erik von Detten.
- Specific book/song correlation: Ruins (Kevin J. Anderson) + “Rock This Country!” (Stop judging me. I was kid. And anyway, who doesn't hear "Every brown-eyed boy, every blue-eyed girl, gotta really go psycho, give it a whirl," and think of Mulder and Scully?)

Sleeping Murder + Christina Aguilera + The Mummy
- My mother needed surgery, so my sister and I were staying at my godmother’s house down the street from the hospital. While there, I decided to catch up on my Agatha Christie. My brother stopped by for a while and brought my sister Christina Aguilera and me, The Mummy. So, now when I read Miss Marple’s last mystery, I think of sand storms with faces and whistle “What a Girl Wants.” I wonder if that’s what Dame Christie had in mind….

Well, I think that’s certainly enough horrifying information about me (for now). Don’t want to totally scare you away. Anyone out there have any of their own strange mental pairings they’d like to share?

Penny for Your Thoughts

Okay, I have a question: How do you think? Is it a conversation with yourself? Do you see pictures? Is it a mix?

A while ago, I was talking to Roomie and somehow we got on the topic of thoughts. She mentioned that all her thinking is auditory, rather than visual. Just mental conversations. No pictures unless she really focuses on it.

If you listen really closely, you may hear the sound of my mind being blown.

My thought process is very auditory, but there are always visuals involved. I can't separate the two. It’s like I have a constantly running movie screen in my head and I’m providing the audio commentary. I see what I’m thinking about and then I have a dialogue about it. (I say dialogue, rather than monologue, ‘cause I don’t always agree with myself. So, there’s the inevitable arguing. And the sulking and gloating of the losing and winning sides. It’s a mess.)

This is the way I’ve always thought. I’ve mentioned my affection for Homeward Bound before. When I was a kid I went through a period where I would watch it over and over again, back to back. At bedtime, I would shut my eyes super tightly and will myself to rewind the movie in my head so I could watch it again as I slept. I can’t tell you whether or not this endeavor was successful, but I definitely remember the effort that was put into it. And as I sit here writing this, I see scenes from that movie. So, something definitely stuck.

I never really gave a lot of thought to the different ways people might think, but now I’m all sorts of interested. I asked some more of my friends. One said she was, much like Roomie, a primarily auditory thinker, but could bring up pictures if she put in the effort. Another said that when she’s just thinking, it’s all audio and only one voice (weird). However if she’s trying to remember something or figure out a problem, then it’s visual – so much so, that she needs to write it all down before she can make sense of it. And the last said, and I quote, “Visualized text/photos with hyperlinked video clips. Apparently I think like a web page or digital edition magazine.” Now I don’t know if that’s actually true, but how awesome would it be if it were?

And how about all of you? What’s on your mind grapes?

Dreaming of Summer Days

Is it just me or has every day since the groundhog saw his shadow been colder and colder? I personally think Punxutawney Phil wields more power than he should. But, as I’m not currently in the position to usurp his shadowy throne, (it would be the height of hubris to think I could take on the squirrels and the groundhogs at once. Plus, it’s not all groundhogs that are a problem. Just that arrogant Phil. Seriously.....not looking to start anything with the groundhogs.) I will content myself with summer-related memories until the weather warms again.

First things first, I need to admit something: There have been rumors that I might be part vampire. Not due to any bloodlust or anything. (I fainted once, lying down, when I was giving blood at a work blood drive.) My vampiric tendencies lean more towards sun avoidance. You see, I don’t tan. If the sun touches my skin, it does one of two things:

1) Bounces off the SPF – 2 million I have slathered on and blinds innocent passers-by or
2) Turns me a festive fuchsia and draws attention to that fact with weltiness.

Actually, I should say that it does one of three things because sometimes you can get a fun mix of 1 and 2. Once while applying my SPF – 2 million, I apparently tired of the process. I put my hand on the back of my leg, but did not come even close to spreading the suntan lotion evenly. It was hours later that I noticed the welting on my leg, all focused around a very white handprint. For weeks, it looked as though I had been slapped from the inside. Which would be an acceptable punishment for being eighteen and unable to apply suntan lotion proficiently.

Taking this into account, I avoid the beach. Tanning has never worked out and there is the extra side effect of the sun making me sleepy. So, I fall asleep under the rays thinking, How lovely to be bathed in this warmth, and wake up thinking, When was I immersed in hell and how did I miss the process? At this point, I generally find that my mother noticed my shiny white skin glistening in the vicious sunlight, got nervous about my fate and cocooned me – head and all – in every towel we brought with us. Or in the case of one afternoon, my friends completely buried my body in the sand and placed a bandanna over my face because “we didn’t want you to get sunburned.” Their concern was touching.

Despite my eternal struggle with the fiery ball above, I do have a perfect beach memory. It, not surprisingly, involves a book. The Fairy Rebel by Lynne Reid Banks, to be exact. My mom and I read almost all of Banks’ books together. So, The Fairy Rebel and the promise of an umbrella was enough to get me down to the beach. It was just the two of us. We sat there in the shade all day. While others threw nerf footballs, built and destroyed sandcastles, and splashed in the water, we whiled away the hours with Jan, Tiki and Bindi. We took only one short break to get our feet wet and walk up to the boardwalk (where I got one of those tiny gelatinous sharks that get 10x bigger when you put it in water – Score!).

We read the whole book on that beach. I would read a few pages every now and then, but mostly I just listened to my mom telling me the story.

Even now, when I hear the ocean, I picture Tiki in her little jeans. When I smell suntan lotion or treat myself to one of those gelatinous expand-o sharks (still cool), I think about that most perfect day at the beach and the little rebellious fairy.

Bad Movies/Good Party Themes: Killer Klownz Toga Party *updated*

I’ve decided that on the first Friday of every month, I’m going to post a segment on party themes revolving around movies. Today with be the first.

Let me just first add the following disclaimer: While I am referring to these movies as “bad,” I love every one of them. The title of this should really be “Movies That Never Got the Critical Acclaim They So Rightfully Deserved/Good Party Themes.” But that’s really long.

This little combo first appeared my freshman year of college. It was a friend’s birthday and she really wanted to watch Killer Klownz From Outer Space (after all, who wouldn’t??). We were all happy to oblige, but the party still didn’t seem fancy enough. So, we thought on this for a while and finally figured out the only thing that could make those killer klownz fancier would be some togas.

On that historic evening, we all donned our best sheets over our sweatpants. The birthday girl needed to stand out, so in addition to her toga, she also got clown make-up and a tiara – making her the first Ancient Roman Clown Princess. A heavy burden, but she bore it well. It was a magical event, ending in toga dances and shadow puppets on the quad. We laughed, we cried – from laughing – and I haven’t been able to look at cotton candy the same way since.

Crackerjack dialogue to look forward to:

“Well I’ll be greased and fried!”
“What are you gonna do with those pies, boys?”
“Nobody’s gonna put me a balloon again!”

Tag line: "In Space No One Can Eat Ice Cream!"


For a Killer Klownz Toga Party of your very own, here's what you need:

- Killer Klownz From Outer Space (1988)
- Variety of bed sheets – preferably lots of clashing patterns
- Face paint and crown – if you are honoring someone with this event. Or if you’re just feeling fancy.
- Snacks: popcorn, whipped cream pies, cotton candy, seltzer water you can shoot out of a giant bottle, etc.
- Group of clown and/or alien invasion and/or Roman history enthusiasts.


You're welcome.



*UPDATE* The reigning Ancient Roman Clown Princess has graciously allowed her picture to be included in this post.

(The quality of the photograph may not be great, but she's still the most regal Clown Princess I've ever seen.)

And so it continues...

I come to you now with a continuation of my alarming coverage of the squirrel uprising. My purpose is not to incite panic – though it is warranted – but to assist you in your preparations, so you are not caught unaware.

Yesterday, I posted the information I received from the Good Doctor from Boston regarding the separate branches of the squirrel military. Today, I come to you with my response, in the hopes that it will allay your fears that nothing is being done to oppose the rodent menace.


“Sir,

I greatly fear that your comments are true. For a long while, I have been suspicious of the activities of the CSOF and FDNS.

At first, I tried to convince myself that it was in my head. The horrors unfolding before me could not possibly be real. It was too terrible a thought to bear. With the passing of time, however, I find myself weighed down by the facts of the matter.

The squirrels have come to dominate and will not rest until they have succeeded in their mission. I began this line of questioning to see who would stand with me in this fight. Words can not express my relief that you view this onslaught with the same fervor that I possess.

Therefore, I propose the creation of the American Coalition in Opposition to Rallying Ninja Squirrels. It is my hope that the acronym A.C.O.R.N.S. will lull the squirrels into a false sense of security. Let the vermin believe we are here to provide them aid. Let them think they have us fooled!

And when it seems that the light has been extinguished and the struggle has become to much to bear, remember this:

We will not go quietly into the night!
We will not vanish without a fight!
We're going to live on!
We're going to survive!
Soon, we celebrate our Independence Day!

But until that day, dear friend, I caution you to be wary of whom you share the information of our planned uprising. The squirrels, as you so deftly implied, are crafty buggers. Their spies are everywhere, and though it is a disgrace to our species I know that some humans have joined their rancid ranks.

Now is the time to be our most careful.

We must create our army with only those who can be trusted implicitly; held above all doubt. I applaud your manipulation of the F.P.F. (Fat Pigeon Forces). We are certain to need the air support.
A long road lies ahead of us. But we shall claim victory.

Until the day when our paths once again cross, I bid you farewell.”


I trust those reading this will stand with us.

I leave you with one final piece of advice: Be Prepared. (But not…you know…in the villainous way.) And in the interest of preparedness, please look for “Squirrel Menace Updates” in future posts.

Fair Warning

There is the chance that you are not all aware of this, and while I don’t wish to be the bringer of bad tidings, I feel that you deserve to know --- the squirrels are mounting an attack. And unless we stand together, humans do not have a chance.

I first suspected the devious actions of these vermin years ago. Roomie was walking across campus, when one of them sprung from the shadows, running up her legs and jumping to her chest before leaping back into the darkness from which it came. Thus, the Ninja Squirrels began their more brazen operations. And they have escalated.

A very short time ago, my sister went to the front door because she heard a noise. She opened it and there was a squirrel gnawing a hole through the screen door. She tried to scare him into running away, but he just kept working on his chosen destruction. Some have tried to convince me the squirrel was just trying to get to the cinnamon bread a neighbor had hung on the inside door, but I know better. He knows that I’m working in resistance to his brethren and was trying to get to me and mine.

And, last night as I was driving home, a squirrel was sitting on the street corner, calmly eating a nut and watching the cars drive by. I’m pretty sure he winked at me.

It is only a matter of time before they mount a full scale invasion.

It is for this reason that I will now defer to my friend, the Good Doctor from Boston (identity redacted to thwart any squirrel moles who might be reading), who explained the evolution of squirrel guerilla tactics months ago when I started further down this rabbit hole:

“It has long been documented that ninja squirrels are just the first line of the squirrel invasion. Our future squirrel overlords realized that they needed to start small or else we'd think something was up.

First they sent in the cute squirrels. Cute squirrels appealed to our natural "awwww" tendencies especially when their cheeks were full of nuts or they had a piece of french fry in their cute, itty-bitty little hands-- oh you're such a cuty wooty squirrely with your little fren --sorry. The point is, the Cute Squirrel Ops Force had the sole mission of the getting humans to think squirrels were cute building the squirrel-human trust. Then came the First Division Neurotic Squirrels.

These are the spastic ones. The ones that run around the trunk, leap from tree to tree. Any sane person would walk away from such a squirrel. BUT this is no longer possible by the CSOF already did it's job. We are amused by the FDNS. They only add to the cuteness. Once humans were comfortable with strange squirrel behavior, the Ninja Squirrels could move in and begin the slow, silent attack on hominids.

Ninja Squirrels strike in the dead of night or when you're distracted by a CSOF or FDNS. They lurk in the shadows, awaiting the stray biped victim. But they are not the last round. Before you know it, the Samurai Squirrels will be launched.

They will work a bit more openly, though still shadowy manned. But all of this will still be a ruse. The main squirrel force will soon be in our midst, waiting for the moment they can spring their main attack and enslave us all. We will be forced to gather nuts and run irrationally around trees purely for their enjoyment.

If we are to prevent the inevitable we have but one course of action: raise up an army of squirrel-blood thirsty pigeons. Pigeons are getting fatter. They need something to do. And let's be honest, a pigeon will do anything for a bread crumb.

The squirrel conquest will be slow so we have time to effectively train a whole army of pigeons. I for one look forward to the day the epic squirrel-pigeon struggle begins, call it Squir-Pige-aggedon. God willing, we will be victorious.

We will prevail.”

Please return tomorrow for my response to this harrowing recounting. Until then, watch out for yourselves.