by David Provost
Keeping it real, as per usual, today’s piece simply won’t be as light and bouncy as I normally write them. Reading this in your head right now, you’ll notice my Sewanee Tiger roar pales in comparison to that of Ms. Katy Perry. Now, this is and always will be an Opinion section of great professionalism and insight, but today I am motivated in a special kind of way. I am standing up for something of greatness today. I am proudly against the Sewanee Squirrel Population.
At this moment, I assume, I have already instilled great fear in you as the reader. And that’s perfectly just. Truth be told, there is a great deal of fear within me as well. How can there not be, with the overwhelming toxicity these tribes of woodland creatures evoke on OUR land? (It’s okay, say it with me, “THIS IS OUR LAND!”) Let the furry-tailed devils hear it until it seeps in like the medley of delicate filling on a piece of classic McClurg morning wheat bread–which the pocket-sized harbingers of death have gradually become addicted to. As the quality of food on campus improves, the moral complexes of these monsters devolve– in every sense of the word. There is something they won’t teach you in Woods. The scraps these squirrels steal from a variety of trash buckets make them believe they have some semblance of entitlement. It is our job as human inhabitants here to stop their morality from dipping into deeper levels of hell.
(Let’s mix it up, “WE DON’T LIKE HELL!”)
I am endlessly compassionate for the living conditions of the Mountain’s finest creatures– please don’t misread my intentions. It’s hard out there for a doe. O’power to the opossum. We shoudl die protecting our brethren of the bush.
On the other hand, our squirrels have chosen to conglomerate in disgusting numbers in plain sight. I feel as if they are fully capable of acting like sane creatures, but instead purposely try to make us fall off our bikes by acting like they’re on nature’s “uppers.” What are those guys squeaking about behind that one tree that smells really nice at Greens View, anyways? Let it be known to any squirrel attempting to read this, you are not welcome here.
They dare block us on our pathways to class, occupy our second-least-favorite professor’s fourth-favorite sitting space, and stare at us with satanic passion as they inhale what appears to be a used solo-cup on the front grounds of Humphreys (shout out to Humphreys). So, my Franklin County comrades, this is where we take a stand. If you see a buck-toothed obstacle, it’s all right to rush upon it suddenly, instilling the fear of God in its soul. I beg you to pick up an acorn after your daily trip to the bookstore and flaunt the sweet n’ salty disparity in their bulgy, sinful retinas. I would never condone violence, but to all soccer players looking for extra practice, no one will judge the loss of a tiny wicked life that always seemed to be in the way.
This is already a tremendous amount of content for such a small amount of text, but still there’s more. Yahoo Answers’s top aspiring animal translator, “DanceswithWolfenstein_88” popped in for the weekend to collaborate with me on my upcoming book, Havoc Prefers Peanuts. Bursting with curiosity, I asked him what the rodents speak of at dawn. He hauntingly answered, “The rapture will be scarred, anonymous voice. The rapture will be scarred.”
Promise me to spread the Sewanee Anti-Squirrel Initiative, and maybe then will they learn their place in the ecosystem.