Ever since news of the vicious raccoon attacks in Olympia, Washington crossed our coffee-stained, dust-covered desks, Tim, Loren, and I haven't left our apartment building after 7pm. Who knew the King Raccoon could be training a gang of followers, preparing themselves in the park across the street, behind the Federal building, like terrorists at an Al Qaeda training camp? When will they be prepared to strike, ready to unleash their reign of terror? Sensing we're on the verge of a full on outbreak of attacks, we've decided it's better to play it safe and stay inside - at least until the lead pipe I ordered can arrive in the mail. I would have overnighted it, but I don't have the money thanks to the hospital bills I've had to pay to try and figure out why I have floaters in my vitreous gel. During all of this, my paranoia has increased. I swear, at times that the black streaks that float by my eyes aren't dark strings at all, but raccoons dashing across the street, on their way to maim a pregnant Yorkshire Terrier.

In the past day, I've been frantically trying to get ahold of the Olympia Raccoon Watch to ask for their help in setting up a splinter group. My hope is to stop the raccoons in Westwood before the situation escalates (although we've lost one cat already...the episode is too difficult for me, personaly, to relay. I'll let Tim, a stronger person than myself, tell the story of "Mike and Tim hear the raccoon kill a cat"). Unfortunately, I've been unable to get contact info for any of the people mentioned in the article, including the presumably legendary Tom Brown, who's in charge of trapping the urban raccoons. He is, undoubtedly a brave man that I would be honored to meet - even if it was just on MySpace.

I will continue to try to get ahold of the Olympia Raccoon Watch to ask for their advice and possibly arrange a visit. Until then, we are on our own and I am awaiting my lead pipe. May God bless us all.