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January 29, 2002 the lone baritone The house in which I live is one of many backing up to a park.  I was jogging in the park today when I heard the unmistakable sound of a Daisy BB gun being pumped and fired.  It seemed to come from behind, I shit you not, a grassy knoll.  I stopped and peered in that direction and spied a middle-aged man standing in his backyard, looking up into an oak tree, and raising a BB gun to his shoulder.  I hailed him from the jogging path: "Hey, there.  Whatcha doin'?" "What's it look like I'm doing?" he replied. "It looks like you're shooting at something in that oak tree," said I. "You don't miss much, do you?  I'm shooting at these goddamn squirrels, if you have to know." "As it turns out, I DO have to know.  I don't want you shooting at the squirrels." "They're in MY yard and they're running around on MY roof.  I can shoot'em if I want to!" "They may be in YOUR yard and running around on YOUR roof, but they are not YOUR squirrels.  They don't belong to anybody but, if they did, they'd belong to everyone.  I'm an Everyone and I don't want you shooting at MY squirrels." The man was puzzled for a moment, but quickly recovered.  "Then I'll just shoot MY part of the squirrel," he said. I was ready for this.  "We do not own SEPARATE parts of each squirrel, Einstein.  We own ALL parts of every squirrel in INDIVISION.  If you shoot your squirrel, you are necessarily shooting mine.  Now put your pop-gun away or I'll shove the muzzle up your fat ass and use your boggy prostate for target practice!" My baritone was especially rich and thunderous.  The man lowered his gun and lowered his head.  Then he turned around and went inside.

©  2002 by the beastmaster