Friday, November 16, 2007

A Moment of Silence, Please, for a Fallen Soldier

Lt. Harry P. Chestnut: Four hundred kills.

Remember the neighbor I told you about whose rutabagas were being eaten by prairie dogs? Well, it turns out that the anti-terror squirrel unit I trained to take care of the problem got ambushed, under the cover of darkness, no more than an hour ago. My neighbor said the prairie dogs must have brought an army, because no one from the unit survived — not even Branson, the best little soldier I’ve ever had the pleasure of working with.

Here’s to you, Branson! Simper fidelis. Sic transit gloria mundi. Amen.


harold said...


With the exception of Branson, I buried the unit where my rutabagas used to be - which, I'm sure you'll agree, is rather fitting. As for Branson, his place of burial's completely up to you.

I don't know what your plans are, but I'm certainly not ready to give up. I'll be damned if I let these prairie dogs take over my lot.

So, are you prepared to train a force the likes of which no prairie dog has ever seen? If you are, I'm prepared to make you richer than Davey Crockett.


Greg Horning said...


I'm sorry, but I'm gonna have to say no for the time being. First Branson, now Greg, Jr. It's too much death for one man to take.

Just give me a few days. Maybe I'll come around . . .

harold said...

Take all the time you need, brother.