OK fine, you win! Enough people hit my tip jar that I cannot avoid the obvious:
The people have spoken and they demand lesbian squirrels!
Please be patient, there’s going to be a small delay while I fold, spindle, and mutilate my brain trying to wordsmith my way out of this one. You may not believe it but I usually write a post long before it goes live. For example, the bear thing hung around for a couple weeks after Mrs. Curmudgeon’s encounter. (And yes, there really was a bear.) So, like fine wine (or Boone’s Farm swigged from a paper bag beside a bridge abutment), the squirrel story must age. (Or possibly ferment?)
In the meantime, the universe shoved a topic up my nose and I cannot ignore it. It’s not my fault. Hillary’s pet Google tried to sell me a “it’s fucked” t-shirt, then she called me a “basket of deplorables”, and stroked out from “ass pneumonia”. (I’d bet my ass it’s not pneumonia.) All this in one weekend? Who can let a moment like that pass unremarked? I’m only human after all. So in the next few posts I’ll dogpile on her and thus “clear the decks”. Don’t worry, I’ve been trying to avoid serious politics for most of the election and there will be no hard-hitting journalism coming from me. I know you’re relieved.
This weekend, I’m going to go looking for my lesbian squirrel muse. What this really means is that I’m going to grab my favorite shotgun, wander around the forest, and look for squirrels. I’m going to invite them to dinner.
The squirrels will happen. I promise. Give me a week and I’ll have it all figured out.
Incidentally, I really do appreciate the tips. Thank you. The lesbian squirrels thank you as well.