Chow Killer Raccoons
It appears that the killer raccoons, like killer bees before them, are migrating north. First spotted in Olympia, where they’ve killed cats, attacked dogs, and robbed coffee shops, this strain of aggressive, crack-addicted raccoons have arrived in Seattle.
Late last night my boyfriend got up to let our dog out for his late-evening piss. I was upstairs in bed when I heard what sounded like two mountain lions trying to kill each other, which was closely followed by the sounds of my boyfriend shrieking—er, screaming, not shrieking. Screaming in low, manly tones. I ran downstairs and out into the yard where our dog—a five pound, deaf, one-eyed, brain-damaged toy poodle (don’t ask)—was being chased in circles and occasionally tackled by a hissing, screeching 300 pound raccoon.
The raccoon was trying to kill—and eat—the dog. Once I was on the porch the boyfriend ran inside, leaving me alone with the killer raccoon and the retarded poodle. I picked up four large table legs that were sitting on the porch. As soon I spotted a little space between the dog and the raccoon I hurled a table leg at the raccoon, like Zeus hurling lightening bolts (did Zeus did that in his boxers?), in an attempt to get the raccoon away from the dog.
Once I successfully separated the dog and the raccoon, I expected the dog to run into the house. Ah, nope. Our retarded dog, seeing the raccoon in retreat, concluded that he had the upper hand now, and proceeded to charge at the raccoon. The raccoon, seeing a dinner-sized dog coming back at him, proceeded to charge after the dog. The dog, suddenly remembering that the raccoon outweighed him by 295 pounds, proceeded to turn and run. I managed to separate the raccoon from the dog four fucking times, and each time the dog went after the raccoon, which then went after the dog.
I managed to separate the dog and the raccoon one last time just as the boyfriend came back out the house. He grabbed our retarded, suicidal poodle and dragged him inside.
I hate raccoons.
Killer beers?