What. The. Heck. After having some piping replaced it has taken me nearly 16 months for my yard to look like it wasn't just bombarded by German mortars. Now I wake up one morning and discover a bunch of tunnels running all over the place. You better be the Harriet Tubman of the mole people and smuggling your brethren to freedom, otherwise there's no excuse for the atrocity to which I bare witness.
You probably don't even know who Harriet Tubman is, do you? Your ignorance makes me sick.
Never mind that I picture you in a little miner's helmet with a tiny light wearing overalls and the fact that I want to touch noses with you a little bit. You are a disgusting rodent and you are NOT WELCOME.
Yeah, I don't know how many of you are down there. I'm not going to dig up my yard to check. That's just playing into your abnormally large, Edward Scissorhands-like "hands." Seriously, what is up with those things? They're like two catchers mitts with teeth. I bet you couldn't even catch a foul ball with those things, so don't get cocky. It's the minor leagues for you, then probably an acute case of alcoholism and couple of divorces because you take your failed baseball dreams out on your wives.
Nice life you have there. Don't expect your own ESPN documentary.
You probably can't even read this, what with your tiny, barely functioning eyes covered in fur. You're probably one of those "too-cool-for-school" Goth high school stoners with shaggy hair that hangs out under the stairs to the cafeteria. Well guess what? You may think you're cool but you're never going to amount to anything with such an apathetic attitude.
You probably spout things like: "Yeah, my life is just a pool of darkness," to try and pick up girls. Guess what? That's not cool. That's LAME. Maybe if you had a JOB you could afford to live ABOVE GROUND. Ever think about that? Probably not because you're always stoned eating grubs and whatnot.
Seriously, mole(s), WHAT ARE YOU DOING DOWN THERE? Planning a heist with the other members of Ocean's Eleven? News flash, dummy, I'm not a casino. Maybe if you swallowed your considerable pride and visited an optometrist you'd be able to figure that out instead of bumbling about in the dark running into God-knows-what.
And don't get all "You're persecuting me because of my sight disability" on me. You don't even have a cane, mole, not even a CANE. For all we know you can see just fine and are preying on people's sympathy and using your "handicap" for the parking perks.
Oh, if you find gold or oil down there, there's no "finder's fee." That's all mine, so don't even think about reserving an attorney. No attorney is going to represent you, anyway because LAWYERS DON'T ACCEPT PAYMENT IN WORMS.
Have you not heard about the massive chipmunk relocation effort that has been happening for the last two years? I have relocated at least 20 chipmunks, or at least the same one 20 different times. That should be proof enough that I don't take kindly to freeloaders.
I'm 100 percent confident I can destroy you, for reasons I'm going to outline for your stupid face right now.
1. Bright light doesn't bother me. Unlike slackers like you, I like being up during the day. I can let the sun bathe me and it feels GREAT and not at all painful. Now that I think about it, I think it's gremlins, not moles, that have the problem with sunlight. Shut up.
2. I could probably toss out a couple of worms during the match and you'd be all "Ohmygod, worm!" then start eating them. Then I'd roundhouse kick you into oblivion, fatty.
3. I have a notebook made out of your skin. Well, not YOURS, but the skin of a mole. Before our fight I'd casually whip it out and pretend to make a note about something, which would totally psych you out. "This guy skins moles?" you'll think. "I shouldn't mess with him."
Well, too bad. You already have. If I were you, I'd put those rake-like paws to work and re-landscape the lawn or prepare to feel my wrath.
You are not welcome here. Go find some other guy's lawn to destroy.
Honestly, I'm starting to think translating this entire thing into Braille was a waste of time.
Kelly Van De Walle is the senior creative & marketing writer for Briscoe14 Communications (www.briscoe14.com). He can be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org or via looking in his window to watch him make woodland creatures out of plastic explosive. Follow Kelly on Twitter @pancake_bunny only if you're not a Godless mole. Seriously. NO MOLES ARE ALLOWED TO FOLLOW.