Somewhere in the depths of my musty attic, there lurks an intruder. I can hear the scratches of some vile rodent, as it cozies up in the insulation. Upon hearing this, I grabbed a wooden bat (complimentary with the triplex), and contemplated ascending the ladder to dispose of the creature. The air quality is extremely poor up in the attic, so I decided against it. This of course, did not stop an imagining of a fantastical confrontation with the vermin.

The exterminator comes today at 8 am, which is somewhat fascinating to me. As you may or may not know, I come from the brutal wilds of Alaska, where you are the exterminator. My home was constantly under assault by armies of invaders: voles, squirrels, ants, wasps, or the occasional porcupine. During my time in Alaska, I killed dozens of creatures in a variety of manly ways. Naturally, there is the humble mouse trap of spine-shattering power, but there are far more creative ways to dispatch of the creatures. A favorite of mine was to fill a bucket half-full (I’m an optimist) with water, and drop in dog food, then fashion a one-way ramp OF DOOM. It works because the vole smells the food, climbs up the ramp, falls into the water, and then cannot get out, ultimately drowning.

While feeding a neighbor’s dogs, they mentioned that they had a vole lurking in their entryway. Naturally, I took it upon myself to destroy this furry creature. The trap was extremely effective, and I was rewarded with a floating corpse within a couple days. I disposed of the body in the outhouse, and proudly announced the destruction of the creature upon my return home. I was later informed that they’d looked upon this vole in an affectionate light, much to my dismay. They never found out that I silently executed their little friend, and it is a secret I intend to hide forever.

Unless they read this blog . . . so there is always a chance.

Squirrels are another problem. They raid the bird feeder, which scares away the usual patrons. They also sometimes assault the roof, fashioning nests out of insulation.

In these circumstances, the weapon of choice was the pellet rifle. Typically, something of higher caliber would have been preferred, but it was somewhat dangerous to discharge actual firearms in a neighborhood (as thinly populated as it was). I was introduced to squirrel slaying at an extremely young age, where it was my job to beat the squirrel to death with a stick after my dad shot it out of the tree. (This was assuming that it was the rare case he did not kill it in a single shot). It was all very brutal, and is probably one of the reasons these comics are often so perverse at times. A staple of my coming of age was when it became my responsibility to lift up the rifle and defend the homestead, which I did with cold-blooded enthusiasm.

It leads to some strange encounters here in Seattle, where the squirrels don’t have to work to survive, and they are protected by law. I’ll be eating breakfast, and see the fattest squirrely son-of-a-bitch skitter by. His arrogance disgusts me, and all I can think about is how easy of a target he would be.

My dad’s parents live in West Virginia, out in the boonies. Again, I load up a level-action BB rifle and am instructed to defend the property from a variety of animals, such as geese, snakes, and cows. None of these are killing shots, mind you, but damned if the BBs do not convey the message.

I only tell you of my hillbilly background so you can contextualize comics like this. They are not so much based on stereotypes as they are drawn from my terrifying upbringing. As someone who collected squirrel tails, and had on multiple occasions had a squirrel hide drying out in the sun, I can relate to a certain degree.

On the hill-billy note, father’s day was on Sunday, so I crafted my dad a custom card. Enjoy!

(Click to enlarge).

I was bored, so I made it dance. Here’s a really, really stupid video for you to watch.

Lates, y’all.
-Nathan

Are we human? Or are we dancers?