"It's a cycle, I've found, it always comes around…"-Soul Asylum

"Use road flares."

That's what they said. Nope, it wasn't a secret family heal all for hemorrhoids; it was some Dad's idea of gopher control. That's right, I'm back to talk about my gophers. In most cases I'd be worried that everybody would roll their eyes across the floor just to watch them hit the wall, roll back, and then click the "last page" button.

But no! Not now. Not when it comes to gophers. Gophers seem to be the great uniter. I start talking about divorce, or this nasty rash on my inner thigh and everybody disappears. I bring up gophers and everybody's chomping on the carrot bit.

Gophers!

Gophers!

Gophers!

I've got people offering every remedy and ex-gopher-ant from road flares to sour grapes. My dad doesn't have his ferret anymore, otherwise I'd be borrowing her. She liked varmint. Me? Not so much.

My neighbor says that if I release a combo of propane and oxygen into the holes then light it. That will kill the critters. I'm sure it will. If I wanted to turn my house into a Wyle Coyote Acme rocket, I'd think it was even better. But it doesn't work on roadrunners, how can I be sure it would work on gophers? It's kind of like switch hunting with a bear isn't it?

My neighbor also said something about hyper-pressurized air concussion, but now he's talking dead rodent McGyver magic. I don't know how to do these things. I'm just as likely to try limited nuclear assault. What the hell, they've already dug the silos.

I'm amazed at all the rodent murderers out there. Everybody's got a way to build a better mouse trap and slap it on a gopher. I'm just an Elmer J. Fudd huntin' wabbit. You know I'm not gonna get it, but it'll sure be fun to watch.

That's what strikes me as weird. Gophers, everybody has an opinion. Divorce, the place goes cricket quiet. Where were all the helpful voices when I was filling the holes in my marriage?

"Use road flares."

Ok, so maybe some advice is more valuable than others. It's just interesting how everybody's got something to say when cute critters are involved. What if I told you MyUnwife was like Smurfette? Would that have helped?

"Oh, she was cold and blue?"

"No…" Hmmm. That sort of made it worse didn't it?

The reality is, it doesn't matter now anyway. Once you've fallen down the gopher hole, there's no coming back. And in reality divorce isn't Bugs Bunny. Nothing Robby Fudd does is gonna make you laugh. That's probably why nobody had anything to say.

"Wabbit Season!"

"Gopher season!"

"Divorce Season!"

Yeah, you can focus group that one till you're all Smurfette in the face, and nobody's gonna wanna watch it.

Still, now that I've found a point of interest. I've found something that everybody wants to talk about and I'm the vermin of the season. If I dose my divorce blog with liberal gophers I'll get more vocal support than Barack Obama.

Yeah, I'll be the blogmaster and you guys will be trapped by my furry blog-spell. Trapped and unable to look away as you nibble at my text fruits. Ensnared by my gophers, without escape.

"Try road flares."