No. 121

Hey, you there! Yes, you with the small child. I know you’re there.

I have forty-four teeth and six sensory-packed tentacles on my nose. I am mildly venomous. I can identify, capture, and eat prey in less time that it takes you to blink. And yet you still think that the fact that I’m a mole and I’m blind is some kind of huge detriment?

I live underground. Have you tried living underground? Hands up? No? I thought so. Well guess what? It’s dark down there. Dark. As in: I don’t have to see where I’m going.

At least nobody says “blind as a mole”. Let the bats deal with that PR problem.

In any case, I’m giving you the chance to surrender now. We’ve put up with flooding, and traps, and poison for too long. I suppose you also assumed that we’ve been down here minding our own business, blindly (See what I did there?) burrowing about in the dirt.

Well, no. We haven’t.

You have seventy-two hours to comply with our demands. I trust you will heed the warning.  

Frank Condylura pointed at the raised soil in the middle of the lawn. “Do you see him, son? He just poked his head up. Moles are blind, you know. He probably doesn't even know we're here.”