I’m not really sure how it happened, but at some point I became obsessed with having a great suburban lawn. Where in the past I merely viewed my yard as a convenient place for the dog and my kids to take a dump, now I flip out anytime I see so much as a dandelion encroach on my special blend of fescue and hybrid bluegrass.
That’s why I was so put out when moles suddenly made an appearance this year and wreaked havoc. I’ve tried poisoning them, drowning them, and I even turned to a humane trap out of desperation, but nothing has worked. I was about to give up hope when inspiration struck from an unlikely source.
My wife and I are both Polacks and last week we fell asleep watching a documentary on Auschwitz because one of her aunts was interviewed for it.
As I slept that night I had a wonderful dream. I was Dr. Mengele, and as I whistled opera and waved my conductor’s baton back and forth, I effortlessly directed inmates to either the gas chambers or the comparative safety of the work camp.
When I awoke with the strains of Bach and Wagner still on my lips, I knew I had the solution to my mole problem. Technically, the final solution. I needed to use gas.
Luckily, my emergency suicide kit already contained a length of hose pre-fitted to my car’s exhaust pipe, so I used that to pump carbon monoxide throughout the tunnels and chambers of their lair.
I’m not sure if it worked yet, but based upon the staggering amount of exhaust that somehow leaked into my poorly sealed basement; I figure I reduced the lifespan of every single living thing on my property.