|Me and Harold Mufferd were real outdoors men, set in our backwoods ways. We were members of the Hunting club, and were active in the NRA (That’s National Redneck Association for you city-folk.). Also, we loved to hunt. We tend to get like six deer apiece (The Game Warden always took the best ones though. Claimed it was because we was poaching, and killing more than our limit or something.) And we vowed to kill the biggest deer out in those woods, (Providing that Warden wouldn’t take it. His place has a lot of deer on it, including more than a few black and white ones, which we’d shot at in the past. He never liked us after we’d killed one called Bessie or whatever.).
Finally, Harold found a good spot, and he said we’d be able to kill the biggest buck in the world, (Which was a thirty-four pointer according to him.). However, all we’d seen was a squirrel, and after two weeks of rain, neither one of us was amused. We had Real-Tree camo, high powered ammo, but no big game to shoot.
Then we’d seen a deer, as big as horse, and Harold had it in his crosshairs (and I was telling him to shoot it, before the warden showed up to claim it.) But that squirrel jumped off a branch above us, and landed in his hair. (It was funny to watch him try to get it out) but then he fell out of the stand and hit his head. He was crying like a wimp until I climbed on down and picked him off of the ground.
Well, it didn’t take us long to decide that the squirrel had to die. At first we hurled insults at it, calling it an overgrown chipmunk, saying that it would taste good with black-eyed peas, and we’d skin its hide and make a hat with it, and a few other things. Then we shot at it, but that tree was one heck of a bullet stopper. (And then the damn thing started to hurl pinecones and acorns, and a few other things, at us.) After a while, me and Harold ran out of ammunition, and we were forced to retreat.
Then, we came up with a good idea; we’d blast it out. We went to the Surplus Store and bought a keg of Dynamite, two baseball bats (one metal and one wooden) and a case of M-80s. (We was in for one heck of a fight.) Of course, given the fact that we never made it past the eighth grade, (as the school had burned down after we had snuck out for a smoke and dropped a lit match) something was bound to go wrong.
Then Harold lit that short fuse (which I’d told him wasn’t long enough) and when it blew, Harold’s foot did to, and fingers began to fly. (I knew I should have been further than ten feet way.) Guess the Warden had been looking for us or something, because he showed up an hour later, and me and Harold were barely alive. Much to our surprise though, that squirrel didn’t die.
Things got really crazy however, as Harold stole the Warden’s handgun and began firing. Problem was, Harold never could shoot one-handed, and me and the Warden were lucky he didn’t hit the gas tank on the truck. The other problem was he took out the engines on both our trucks, and the Warden’s car.
Now me, AND Harold, are serving time in the county jail (Or will, once our injuries heal up.) The Warden wanted us to serve 50 years for destruction of County Property (49 just for shooting his car’s engine). Thankfully, the judge understood that the whole thing wasn’t entirely our fault, as we told him about the squirrel that had assaulted Harold. He managed to reduce the sentence to one year, and that includes however long it takes for me and Harold to heal up.
Problem is, that squirrel got himself a good lawyer, and he, and every other critter in the woods, along with some group called PETA, (That’s People Enraged over Treatment of Animals as pests, to us country-folk) filed a restraining order against us. Something about destroying their home, or whatever. Now me and Harold will need to figure a way around it. Course, we do have a buddy called Earl. Hopefully, he can help out. After all, that squirrel has to DIE!
*Based off of Cletus T Judd’s song “Good-Bye Squirrel” which is based off of the Dixie Chicks’ song “Earl had to Die”.