This week the CAoS Team is all huddled up in a giant bed, like hamsters, with some illness of unknown origin, so the Audiotastic Podcast is just, basically, laying there moaning and watching reruns of Geeves and Wooster.
But have no fear, Jef will be back again in two weeks with the next installment.
Until then, please enjoy an episode of Canadaman in which the squirrels take over Clyde’s life, and he helps them move. Cheers.
Hey Y'all, Clyde Canadaman here, but you can call me Buzz.
So, the other day, me and missus were lounging around drinking vegetable juice, well vodka really, but it's made from potatoes so technically....well anyhow..
Me and Ruby are waxing indolent on the chesterfield watching reruns of our favourite documentary about these folks that struck oil in Tennessee and promptly moved to Beverly... Hills that is...when we noticed a strange and hyperactive sound eminatin' from yonder ceiling...
Roob's screams like she's in a Roger Corman movie scarin' the beejezus outta me and worse, spillin' my drink...and yells out..."that sounds like that dang squirrel again"
So, I lept into action with cat-like reflexes as best I could, what with all the vegetable juice I'd consumed and promptly fired off to the kitchen to make a samich, cuz I knew that little feller had come to ask me to help him move and I wasn't about to commence the squirrel relocation challenge on an empty stomach.
Now, I hear tell there's some affordable squirrel housing opening up down in the holler at what has come to be known as Squirrel Haven Estates 'cuz I'm pretty sure that's where he's planning on takin up residence.
So, I went to the Neighbourhood Committee to see what could be done about the damned rodents and they informed me I had 48hr to evict them or they wouldn't give me a permit to paint my garage floor, what the with the two concepts being so intricately connected in the minds of these folks.
I swear to almighty flying spaghetti monster that every conservative I know who is screamin' about freedom is lined up waiting for their chance to sit on some board, committee or neighbourhood association so they can take away some other poor fool's freedoms. Someone should tell these fellers that you don't get more freedom for yourself by collecting it all up from others.
Anyhow, now I have to go to town and acquire some live-traps cuz Apparently the neighbourhood committee frowns on me using a shotgun within the confines of my own backyard...or so the judge would have me believe...
So now I'm the proud owner of a set of live-traps and a fresh jar of peanut butter... and not the good stuff either...that dollar store brand that tastes like it was recently filtered through a dog's ass.
Step one: bait the traps. I crafted some tin-foil into a feeding bowl, filled it with said ass-nut butter, and carefully placed my two new traps over by the tree where the squirrels hang out.
Now I just have to wait it out over night.
Well, the very next morning I get up, fire outta bed to check my squirrel incarceration devices and low and behold, we have our first contestant. And this critter is more aggressive than a crackhead lookin' for a fix. I guess he was just anxious to visit his new abode.
So me and Roob's drove him a few miles down the road to the holler where the verdant woods of Squirrel Haven Estates are and ushered him into his new life.
Now, I don't know if you know this but there's never just one squirrel. So we get home and there's another one of these sketchy little tweekers in the other trap...and off we go for round two of our squirrel relocation offensive.
This goes on for a few more days.
There's so many of these dang critters it's like a squirrel vending machine. You grab one and another one pops into his place ready for expatriation from our yard.
We caught so many of these dang things we started giving them names. Like, the biggest alpha-dog one that we caught we named Earl. Earl the squirrel. Pretty sure this lil' guy was solely responsible for half the squirrels here in Blizzard county. He's a trophy squirrel if'n there ever was one.
Then on the 5th day, the squirrel noises ceased, Ruby stopped screamin', and I returned to my pleasant state of vodka inspired bliss secure in the knowledge that yours truly was every bit the big game hunter my gran'pappy wanted me to be when he bought me that shotgun for my 7th birthday and told me to go shot squirrels with it.
But such was not to be the fate of our lil' buddies here in Blizzard County...the squirrels all moved on down the road to greener pastures, me and Ruby went back to drinkin' and pickin' some geetar and they all lived happily ever after...until the next damn thing conspires to thwart our otherwise serene existence...
So, 'till next time brothers and sisters, this is Buzz sayin', "If the squirrels of life are too much for you to handle...yuh shoulda joined the ballet"
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