“Say, Joe, that’s a mighty powerful-looking rifle you have there. Just what are you hunting that you need so much firepower for, anyway?”

“What am I hunting? Why, I’m hunting squirrels, Harry.”

“Squirrels?”

“You betchum, Harry. There’s too many of ’em. They’ll take over everything if we don’t stop ’em.”

“What are you talking about, Joe? I haven’t noticed any more squirrels than usual around these parts.”

“Ha! They got you fooled, boy. Don’t you know that the squirrels have been itching to take over the world ever since Congress dreamed up the Infernal Revenue Service? Those dirty little creatures got their paws in everything. You name it, there’s a squirrel behind it – guv’ment, the World Series, even concerts.”

“Concerts? Now I know you’re pulling my leg, Joe.”

“Am not. The squirrels took over the concert industry ages ago, Harry. Why do you think there’s so many outdoor amphitheatres?”

“Uh, because people like outdoor concerts?”

“Nah. It’s so the squirrels can watch ’em.”

“Watch ’em? Oh, you mean the squirrels like to watch the concerts?”

“No, Harry. I’m talking about the people. The squirrels like to watch the people. That’s how they decide who goes on the list.”

“The list?”

“Uh, uh. The list of people that the squirrels will ban from future concerts. Mark my words, Harry, someday you’ll need to ask a squirrel permission to see Ratt or Flickerstick. Just you watch.”

“Oh, you’re talking crazy, Joe. The squirrels aren’t any threat to people.”

“Oh, yeah? Try telling Rush Limbaugh that. The squirrels didn’t like the way he was acting at a Fleetwood Mac concert. Before you know it, he’s bundled off to rehab and the squirrels are laughing their tails off at him. Believe you me, Harry. Squirrels rule.”

“But the concert industry, Joe? I still can’t believe the squirrels run the concert industry.”

“If I’m lyin’ I’m dyin’. Name a show, there’s a squirrel behind it.”

“Okay. Third Eye Blind.”

“A squirrel set the ticket prices.”

“Uh… Bob Weir & Ratdog.”

“A squirrel decided the amount of the service charges.”

“Mariah Carey.”

“A squirrel decided… Naw… You ain’t ready for that. Yet.”

“Ain’t ready for what, Joe?”

“Never you mind. Just remember, the squirrels are out there. And if we’re not all careful, someday they’ll be telling us who we can see, when we can see ’em and where we can see ’em.”

“Okay, Joe. Suppose you’re right. Suppose the squirrels are as treacherous as you say they are. Can’t we all just… You know, get along?”

“Get along? With squirrels? Ha! A wise man on SquirrelRepublic.com once said, ‘those who think we can have squirrels and security, will end up with nothing but squirrelly security.'”

“Uh, uh. So tell me, Joe, how many squirrels have you plugged today?”

“Just one. But he was a mean s.o.b.”

“How so?”

“He was trying tokeep me from climbing into the truck and driving into town to buy tickets for Jack Ingram and American Hi-Fi. But I showed him.”

“I’ll bet. With a rifle that big, I’ll bet you blew him into the next county.”

“Pretty near. He was a tough one, he was. Funny thing, though.”

“What’s that, Joe?”

“First time I ever saw a squirrel wearing a scarf and aviator goggles.”