Introducing…The Farcicals! A weekly humor blog by seniors Sam Boegehold and Gifford Delle, The Farcicals will be your tonic for the school week. Now, with no further ado, we present for your enjoyment their first post, by Mr. Boegehold himself.
WAYLAND- This past week, Wayland residents have witnessed what scientists label “a biological phenomenon,” holy men identify as “the resurrection of the dead,” and songwriter John Lennon himself would simply call “Instant Karma.” Rising from their shallow and impersonal asphalt graves, skunks, raccoons, and squirrels have returned from the dead to seek revenge for their untimely deaths and wreak havoc in the otherwise uneventful town of Wayland.
Janet Winthrop, a Wayland resident of fifty-six years, called police yesterday and reported a mangled squirrel floating mysteriously about her lawn. Officers approached cautiously, prepared for an ugly scene.
“It sure was weird,” one officer, who wishes to remain anonymous, remembers. “No one really knew what to do at first, but after a minute some idiot tried the classic ‘you’re under arrest you have the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be used against you.’ Next thing you know he’s hit full on in the face by a barrage of acorns. Whatever these things are, they mean business.” Several deformed raccoons and skunks came to the squirrels aid shortly afterward, and police scattered, leaving the roadkill to methodically destroy the remainder of Winthrop’s garden.
“It tore down my sunflower plants, chewed the birdhouse little Jimmy made in woodworking class to pieces, and positively destroyed the rosebush,” said Winthrop, in tears. “Not to mention scratching half the paint off of my husband’s new car. He’s absolutely furious. ”
Dozens of attacks similar to the one in Winthrop’s yard have been reported throughout the week. Waylander Sue Doran called police Wednesday, complaining that five raccoons were trampling her geraniums. By the time police arrived, the culprits had made their escape, but not after pulling down the clothesline and smashing her garden gnomes. “My mother is going to kill me,” wailed Doran. “Those had been in my family for five generations.”
Car tires and convertible roofs have been chewed through, motorists sprayed by skunks, bushes demolished, and even a small peach tree has vanished, among other atrocities.
Local authorities held a town meeting Thursday to discuss the issue, and multiple solutions were considered.
“Best let it be,” said Jack Harrison, who attended the meeting. Harrison, an avid hunter who moved to Wayland from Vermont just last month, boasts dozens of carefully stuffed and preserved heads above his mantelpiece. “I say if we tried to fix the situation, we’d just be interfering with Mother Nature. I’m sure survival of the strongest or whatever it was that Darwin guy said will kick in pretty soon, and the whole thing’ll sort itself out. Besides, I’d like to catch one of ’em trying to mess up my wife’s garden.”
But when retired biology teacher Anne Moore explained to him that “whatever it was that Darwin guy said” does not actually apply to dead animals, Harrison had no more to say.
Although the majority of the town did not share Harrison’s willingness to coexist with dead animals in everyday life until the matter “sorts itself out,” several admitted that they might just have to let it go away on its own. Suggestions ranged from the the creation of an “Adopt a Roadkill” program to setting aside a designated “Forest of the Dead” behind the Payne estate.
But Selectman and lifelong resident Frank Bennett would not stand for it. “I am a good friend of Sue Doran’s, and the behavior of these creatures is intolerable. Do you really believe that we should put the past behind us and forgive them for their actions? That we should offer them shelter in our very town, our very homes? As the rest of those assembled sat still and waited with baited breath for an answer to Bennett’s great rhetorical question, he pounded his fist urgently on the table. “This means war! We need to assemble an army. An army of exterminators that will rid our once comfortable and peaceful town of these miserable little varmints.”
“Huzzah!”’ and “here here!”’ echoed about the room, and Bennett received claps on the back and a standing ovation, but the festive moment was short-lived. All grew somber, as screams and screeches from the parking lot reached their ears, and the scampering and scraping of little claws down the hall became more pronounced.
Bennett was already at his post atop the desk, calling out orders. “To the windows, men! Stand your ground!”
The war has begun.
