I was going to return to the photo of the cartoonists around the table, but before I got to it, I scrolled across this photo I’ve been meaning to show you since the middle of summer:
Yeah, it’s a trash can. It’s at Nesbit Park (also known locally as Stanky Creek- you didn’t think I made that up, didja?) I was there to ride the dirt trails early one morning and spotted this. It was interesting enough to me to cause me to take the photo. Anyone else see what I saw?
…
That’s right. The raccoons were going in and out of this thing at some point. Their little foot and handprints are all over it. My brother (hi, Jeff!) had some fascinating stories about raccoons from the times he was a Park Ranger (Hi, Park Rangers who are currently not working unless it’s for free because our congress doesn’t know how to solve problems amongst themselves without resorting to inconveniencing the real world!)
Raccoons, I have decided, are well placed to become the next species to cause worldwide trouble the same way we have. My prediction is that the little snots will discover fire soon, and burn us all out and take our Twinkies (or whatever feeble snack cakes we’ve been reduced to eating since Twinkies don’t really exist any more. And don’t wave those silly anemic little things they call twinkies at me, ’cause they’re NOT. Wrong size. Not a twinkie. Period. Who could ever think otherwise?)
You read it here first, people. When the raccoon uprising begins, remember that I was the prophet of doom who raised the issue for the very first time. Build me a monument on the spot where the hairy little bandits finally corner and quarter me as an example to those who oppose the Raccoon Empire.
