(We left off last time with me promising to get serious about getting to the part of this story that actually involves my wife Cat and me getting attacked by killer squirrels.)
About twenty minutes into our walk through San Diego’s Balboa Park on a day so beautiful it was like being transported into heaven without having to actually die first, Cat and I took a seat on a bucolic, grass-covered hill—and that’s when we got attacked by killer squirrels!
I know what you’re thinking: “But, John. “You’re such a liar. There’s no such thing as killer squirrels. Squirrels are extremely cute. Squirrels like people. Squirrels don’t attack people. What is the deal with you and squirrels, anyway? As a child, were you traumatized by a squirrel, or something? You already told that one story about how you saw a squirrel fall out of a tree. It’s not like anybody believed that. And now this? Killer squirrels, John? C’mon, man. Come up with something reasonable. You’re better than that.”
Then again, what do I know? Maybe that’s not what you’re thinking at all. I shouldn’t assume the worst. And I shouldn’t assume that I’m the only person in the world (besides my wife) who’s ever been attacked by killer squirrels, either. Maybe what you’re really thinking is, “Yes! I, too, was once attacked by killer squirrels! But to this day I’ve never told a living soul about that horrible woodland experience, because I feared that no one would believe me. But now that you have come forth with your story, John Shore, you have freed me! I can live again! Thank you, Mr. Shore! Thank you! You have restored my life to me! Is there any way for me not to send you a check or a money order today?”
Now maybe you’re thinking, “Did he just tell people to send him money? Is anyone at Crosswalk actually monitoring this guy? First he tells people that squirrels attacked him, and then that people should send him money? What the …? That’s it. I give up. I’m throwing out my computer. In fact, I’m going to sell everything I own, buy a gun, move into a cabin as far back in the woods as I can possibly get, and just wait there for the end of the world. Clearly, it’s already begun.”Yikes. That’s a little extreme of you. I certainly do hope you’re not thinking anything like that. If you are, though, please think twice about selling all your stuff and moving into the woods. Selling your stuff hardly ever brings you any decent money. What you should do instead is donate it to someone worthy. Like to me, for instance. Mail your stuff to me! I love ex-other people’s stuff! And you don’t have to worry about any of it going to waste, either. My wife runs some thrift stores for an extremely worthy organization, so what I don’t want of your stuff, I’ll donate to her stores!
Well, think about it, anyway. And no matter what you do, do not move into the woods. Squirrels do attack people, as (I promise) I’ll relate tomorrow. But for now, trust me: Live where squirrels ain’t. If you must Go Survivalist, move into the desert.
Wait, wait—there’s some reason you shouldn’t move into the desert, either.
The rest of the pieces of this story, in order, are: