Mister Skwerl, why must you torment me? Every day when I patrol the ranch, you taunt me from up above in the tall trees with your ear-splitting voice, calling out “Wyatt! Wyatt! Wyatt!”
I’ve been nice to you so far. All I’ve done is chased you up a tree a few times. Hey, I thought you liked exercise.
But now that your measly little teeth are chewing the insides of my big truck, you’ve gone too far.
Codie Rae and Spirit Yoda, hear my plea.
This. Means. War.