Last night I had a dream that little squirrels snuck into my house and stole all of my Replacement's CD's and left the Goo-Goo Dolls in their place. It was horrible, but it got me thinking. Why aren't we buried under squirrel shit? The little buggers are everywhere. They play on your lawn. Climb trees. Run across telephone and power lines like mad little Wallendas. But have you ever stepped in any squirrel poop? Have you ever even seen any steaming piles of squirrel excrement on a cold morning? I haven't, and frankly, it scares the hell out of me. Where is it? Do they only do it at night and then bury it? I don't think so. Then it hit me. Those nuts in Montana aren't as crazy as we thought. Oh, they're still completely fucking nuts, but maybe they really have seen Black Helicopters. What they are seeing just might be some kind of United Nations (this would have to be a multi-national effort) Squirrel Feces Removal Team (UNSFRT). These silent, black helicopters are deploying squads of jackbooted goons toting miniature pooper scoopers to collect squirrel shit. Now the only mystery left is to find what use they are putting all of this small mammal guano to. It can't be good. Otherwise, why all of the secrecy? I don't know about you, but my brain keeps flashing back to Soylent Green and I am scared. Not even old Chuck Heston can save us from this one. Since Moses has quit the film industry to further his career as the next Benito Musollini I really don't believe that he is to be trusted. Who can we turn to? It's all just to horrible to contemplate. I have to go now and check on my CD collection and write myself a note not to eat pizza before I go to bed at night.

-Oddball -Nov, 15 1996