Yesterday was Valentine’s Day. I’m sure you noticed. I don’t get all hot and bothered by it, because I don’t have a girlfriend. I’m more of a summertime kind of guy. Besides, in this economy, who can afford a girlfriend? Instead, I chose to spend my sweetheart money on High Life (The Champagne) and Goldschlager (The Clear).
Buda and I decided to head down to Fontaine’s and get some liquor drinks rather than our usual Sunday night Moe’s and Joe’s ritual. To make a long story short, we got a pretty good buzz going and ranted about guns, women, and taxes. You know, the usual.
I ventured back to Narnia and as I was stepping onto my front porch, I heard something scurrying to my right in the bushes. I looked over, thinking it was one of those God-forsaken squirrels that haunt my existence. To my surprise, it was a possum, a big old veiny bastard, climbing up the tree directly adjacent to my house.
“I’m gonna tag that sumbitch!” I thought to myself and looked around for something to throw at it. My first thought was a piece of a 2X4 laying near my steps. I picked it up and immediately thought better of it. The tree the possum was on stradles the fence between my yard and my neighbor’s yard. They park their cars behind their house and if that 2X4 skipped off the tree and smacked their BMW, I’d be up shit creek.
Mr. Possum was snakin’ his way up that tree and I was weaponless. I hurriedly glanced around the porch for something, anything to peg him with. My eyes came to rest on a 3/4 can of Coca-Cola someone left on the porch a month or two back. I raced over to it, picked it up, and rushed back to the porch steps. I kicked open the screen door and reared back and hurled that Coke can with all might.
As I watched it flip end over end, spewing that brown nectar all over God’s creation, time seemed to slow for me. I flashed back to my youth. There I was, 10 years of age, bunting a triple in the bottom of the 6th to win the game for my baseball team. Another scene flashed in my eyes, I was 18, sprinting down the runway of the pole-vaulting pit and launching myself high into the air. I narrowly missed the bar, winning the County Championship for myself. My vision cleared and for the brief second that Coke can was in the air, I was the champion of sport. All the world was my oyster and I was gonna eat. Mmmm nom nom.
The possum was nearly to the safety of the branches when the Coke can struck him; a deft blow to his jowl region. He squealed in pain and the force of the blow knocked him from the tree. The Coke can bounced back into my yard and I heard the possum land in the neighbor’s yard with sickening thud. I’m sure I didn’t kill it, there’s no way I could be that lucky. He probably only fell about 10 feet and landed in the grass on the other side of the fence. But the knowledge that I scored a decisive win over a creature so foul was enough to send me to sleep last night with a mile-wide grin on my face.
Know ye this, Herr Possum: Whence the battle of Good Vs. Possum commences, I’ll be there on the front lines armed with an entire fridgepack of Coca-Cola. Abandon all hope vermin who darest cross into the realm of Narnia!