There’s a possum loose in my backyard. Normally I wouldn’t really stress about that kind of thing; but lately, the pest has really been getting to me. It sucks having to clean up the messes it makes. It raids my trashcans and smears everything across the ground—and scooping up its droppings isn’t all that fun either. Whenever I clean up after the selfish ball of filth, I like to run revenge fantasies through my mind to keep me going. I’ve thought about sniping it from my rooftop, but that would require me to waste an excessive amount of time waiting for the possum to pop its head out. Then I thought about waiting in the bushes with a baseball bat and popping out to clock the possum while it had its back to me. But again, I lack the time and the patience for that kind of thing. Then I thought about setting a huge mousetrap, but that stunt could likely kill a neighborhood cat that might wander into my yard. It’s messy, this possum-assassination business.
But as some of you might already know, I’m all talk. If it took me twenty-something years to stop feeling guilty about crushing spiders, then imagine how effective I’d be at killing a furry marsupial. I can imagine how I’d fare in a showdown with the pest. I’d somehow manage to pin the possum to the ground, and then I’d draw my katana and point the tip into its neck. The possum would never seem scared. In fact, he’d look up at me with an expression that seemed more sad than fearful. Then to my surprise, music would start to play from a hidden, yet ubiquitous orchestra led by an earnest flute. My grip on my foe would loosen, and he’d slowly come to his hind feet and start singing “Colors of the Wind” the way Pocahontas did in that Disney movie. My scowl would turn into a knowing gaze, and the possum would finish his song. I’d extend a hand to shake one of its forepaws, and from that day forward, I’d never have the heart to harm another wild animal again.
But seriously, in the end, I won’t care how good a singer that thing really is. That possum is so going down.
You’re a pussy, Kev. I’ve been eating your shit and fucking up your lawn for a long time and all you can do is feel sorry for me? I dare you to come after my ass and I’ll gather my posse, get it? I’m a possum and I gather my posse…whatever. The point is, get your friends to help you and come kill my ass. I want to be killed, I’m sick of living so long in this world that has little respect for creatures like me. I tried to jump off an overpass and I didn’t have the courage. An old woman passing by called me a pussy, not a possum! She couldn’t even get my Family right, that bitch. Anyhow, bring your ass over to my den and we’ll see how you deal with me pretty boy, you candy ass.
crush me again asshole….i dare you. stop being a pussy. me and charlie got plans to raid your room. by the way….would you like me to cook you some rice??