Dear Mr. Stein,
I’ve got a big problem you see. It seems there is a man living in my walls. He is living with me.
Tuesday night I heard a crack, I grabbed my cane, ready to wack. But I did not yet find the sack… of shit living in my walls.
Sorry about the Dr. Seuss silliness. The Doc is on my mind these days since his cancelation.
Anyhow, yes, I am an 82-year-old man, and I have lived in a large villa in North Carolina for the last 20 years. Over my time in the home, I’ve encountered strange occurrences, like the faint scent of ketchup and onions, and I’ve often noticed food goes missing from my fridge from time to time. Occasionally the WiFi slows down, and I can not watch my favorite shows. I’ve always attributed this to ghosts, sleepwalking, and a WiFi virus from pornography viewing, respectively.
That was until the other night. I could not sleep, so I arose to fetch myself a glass of warm, delicious cream I keep in the cupboard.
I heard a pitter-patter. I turned, slowly. You see, it is difficult to turn when using a cane.
I saw a blur of fluff move past me, like a dust bunny of the night.
“Stop now,” I exclaimed. I slammed my cane upon the floor.
The blur stopped. It fell on its side and remained motionless.
I stepped closer and what did I see, an elderly possum was beholden to me. Its fur was taught. Its legs, small and wrinkly. Its tail, more horrifying than Beelzebub’s weeny.
And in its dry, cracked lips, there was a bag of chips.
Tostitos they were. I’d purchased them two fortnights ago.
Confused I was by this mature marsupial. Where did he come from? Where ever will he go when he returns from his possum slumber. Is his name Cotton Eyed Joe?
I hurried to the loft to grab my GoPro I often use when strolling the neighborhood to make Youtube videos. I returned to the kitchen. The adult critter was still playing the game of "possum," so I attached the GoPro to its wiry body, yes.
Then I camouflaged myself behind an elderberry bush and waited for the rodent to slip off. I then went to my computer to watch the action.
Perhaps a hot Youtube video will come out of this, I thought. Titles like “Tostitos loving possum loves me” swirled my brain.
But this possum did not love me, no. In fact, the old boy was loyal to a man I am certain is a demon. This possum entered the wall via a small door I’d never known of beneath my stairs and returned to his master, a one-legged squatter named Karl.
Yes. I watched as Karl stroked upon his friendly possum. “Hello little Carley,” he whispered. “Did you bring daddy his onions, my little angel, oOoOoOoOoh?”
Carley, the mature possum, squealed, “Not today, Karl.”
“Oh, no, I will need my onions, little one. Go fetch them for your daddy,” Karl whispered, and the rodent returned.
It was at this point, I began knocking on the walls, screaming, “I know about you, Karl. You darn squatter. You’re banished from my estate!”
After six hours of ignoring me, I finally lured him out by holding Carley captive. Yes, I placed the rodent in the microwave and turned it on for four seconds. That is something I did. It twirled one full twirl on the microwave plate. Like a radioactive Tilt-o-whirl, yes.
Fearing the annihilation of his possum, Karl presented himself through a hole in the ceiling. The smell of onions and ketchup was incredible. Karl refused to leave my home. In fact, he says he owns the attic of my home by prescription. Apparently, he has lived up there with his possum dog for nearly 14 years.
Just amazing.
Now, Mr. Stein, I have some questions. Being as it is, that Mr. Karl has prescribed my attic, I would like to kill him.
- I’ve thought of putting a small improved explosive device on Carly next time he comes down for onions. Perhaps I could disguise a grenade as an onion. You tell me.
- Maybe I will set a fire in the attic and have a strategically placed fire patrol brigade ready to douse the blaze once Mr. Karl has been dispatched.
- I’ve been watching Breaking Bad. Maybe I could have my home fumigated for termites. But instead of termite poison, I could use chlorine gas… This is obviously banned as a result of the Geneva Convention. Could I be convicted of a war crime should I use this method?
- Another option is to poison the Tostitos and onions Carly has been stealing from me. When Mr. Karl makes his special treat, he will ingest the poison and die in my walls.
-If I decide not to kill him, may I sue him for the onions and Tostitos he has consumed?
- How much can one get for a well-trained mature possum on the black market?
What are your suggestions, Mr. Stein? I understand most lawyers deal with such grim subject matter fairly regularly. This shall be a “piece of cake” for you, as they say. I would like your response by Sunday, for I will not tolerate Mr. Karl much longer.
To kill Karl or not to kill Karl, that is the question.
As we say in North Carolina, one with the wicked, two for the show, three for Santa, ho ho ho.
Yours truly,
Sir Martin Bradworth V