About a tree

Dear Beavers of Flower Mound,

I have this tree in my front yard that looks awful. No one in the whole neighborhood has anything like it, mostly because it’s the ugliest tree in the world. It even makes Charlie Brown’s Christmas tree look like a majestic pine a la Clark Griswald. I’ve raised the canopy and the branches just keep sagging to the ground. The bark peels off constantly and none of the branches are more than an inch or two in diameter. It’s the most disgraceful thing. Please, please chew down my tree and take it to your damn dam.

Thanks and keep chewing!

Dear Kevin:
Sorry about the tree, mate. Right oh. The thing is though, mate, we don’t want your damn tree either. Better it’s in front of your house than part of ours, you know?

Best and all,
The Beavers

Dear Ungrateful Beavers,
First and foremost, what’s with the fake accent? I’ve seen the cartoons, all you beavers talk with a speech impediment because of your huge flipping chompers. C’mon, y’all – come get this tree.


Dear Kevin:
Stop calling. No one likes your tree. If it makes you feel any better, you probably won’t have any trick-or-treaters this year either because your tree scares them all off. Bugger off, mate.

The Beavers

7 thoughts on “About a tree”

  1. I am damn glad my office chair has a sturdy and dependable backrest, otherwise I would have flipped backwards laughing!

    What is wrong with you, boy? Your blatant use of the word beaver had me thinking things….

    I thought you were going to launch into calling your neighbors beavers.

    And beside, I should take the liberties and send a picture of the pitiful forsaken uglier than yours tree in my front yard, standing there like it has a right!

    I’m done being a bad blog neighbor and making comparisons.

    Ps…it would be fun to see Josh 4wheel the tree to smithereens!


  2. Okay, so no laughing: I thought for a minute that he was referring to my mother and her family, as her maiden name—and her nickname— is (no kidding)….Beaver. Imagine my horror, when , at the tender age of 12, I learned that there was…um….another meaning of the word. For years I’d been picturing a furry and cute animal with big teeth, then—wham! Shattered illusions.

  3. Is choking part of the laughing experience? It shouldn’t be, should it?

    It’s too much!

    I am Not 12.
    I am Not 12.

    Ah, but Beaver is cute a nickname, no?

  4. Ok, the fact that you can converse with beavers frightens me. The fact that beavers can write frightens me even more.

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