The body trembles, the heart pounds. It’s like Janet Jackson, Madonna and Ozzfest 2001 all rolled into one. It grabs your body and gives it a good shaking. Then it takes you for a ride.

Your feet hit the pavement, your soles pound on the concrete. You check your pockets. The tickets for U2 are still there, as well as the ones you just bought for 3 Doors Down and Dub Syndicate. You stop. Your lungs desperately suck air. You hear a rustling behind you. You turn and you seeā€¦

You see their bushy tails of death sticking out from behind the trees, their insane chatter roots you to the spot like an offer for a front row seat for The Monkees. Is this how it ends?

No one quite knows when the squirrels first banded together to overthrow humanity. Some say they made their dastardly plans during a Black Crowes concert in 1996. Other’s say the buck-toothed conspiracy started in Vegas during a matinee performance by Robert Goulet. Makes no difference. The squirrels are here to stay. They want our concert tickets and mankind will just have to deal with it.

But we shall fight the good fight. We’ll fight them from the upper levels at , we’ll fight them from the private boxes at . We’ll fight them at concerts by Buckcherry, Lydia Lunch and The Wailers, and we will be victorious. We’ll lead the armies of man in a sanctified campaign to rid the planet of all those evil pea-brained nut-gatherers of the forest that threaten the very existence of Gary Puckett.

And when it’s all over, when we’ve cleansed the amphitheatres, arenas and music halls of their excruciatingly high-pitched chippery cries of terror, we’ll sell their stuffed and mounted carcasses in the store for 16 dollars per (free shipping, of course). We’ll show the world that to the victors go the spoils. The spoils of war.

And tours.