Walking from class to class recently has been quite an adventure – except by “an adventure,” I mean “a gruesome, dreadful nightmare provoked by small animals.” Squirrels, which are better known to scientists by the classification Demonikae evilus, have become perhaps the biggest threat to the campus since we had a McDonald’s on Washington Avenue.

In fact, my official estimates show that more than half of the student population has been negatively influenced by squirrel behavior while on campus. This bushy-tailed plague is only getting worse. The squirrel crime ring can probably be associated with more crime in the last week than an entire mob does in a month. Offenses include defacing public and private property, stalking, smuggling, reckless homicide, indecent exposure, chipmunk enticement and tax evasion, to name a few. Squirrels can also be held accountable for many millions of dollars of damage to siding, electrical transformers, wires, gardens, the economy and so on.

The problem with squirrels is they only have two select goals in their lives. The first is they try to eat as much as they possibly can, sometimes to the point of immobility. Have you seen the beasts on Northrop Mall? I’ve seen smaller full-grown kangaroos. The second goal is also somewhat obvious, being that the squirrel populace aims to take over the world using various tactics of annoyance and provocation, thus incapacitating mankind’s societal infrastructure. Unsettling, isn’t it? In just a few hundred years, we could be the ones wreaking havoc on their birdfeeders.

Evidence of increasing squirrel hostility is everywhere. I have heard countless horror stories from friends who were either bludgeoned with falling walnuts or lured into car accidents by squirrels who cheat death in the middle of the road.

I got my first taste of squirrel malevolence early last year, as I was strolling past the chemistry building. Ahead of me, I saw – and I’m not making this up – a squirrel leap straight up from the bottom of a garbage can, only to plunge back inside where he started. Frankly, it was hilarious to see the little vermin stuck in there. But as I approached the edge of the receptacle, taunting it the whole while, he scurried up the side and onto the top.

“Screw you,” it said in perfectly clear, chirpy-sounding English.

I turned, flabbergasted, and started to run. It chased me for a block, if only to make me hear its maniacal laughter, and then retired back to the bushes. I sprinted home, nearly peeing my pants because of all the hysteria.

OK, fine, I’ll admit it – I did pee my pants. There. I said it.

Anyway, the point is that there has to be some sort of underground squirrel conspiracy going on. Their campus regime needs to be stopped once and for all, and efforts must be made to educate students and faculty about squirrel safety. Additionally, we might need a few hundred exterminators and an electric fence installed on the campus perimeter. That said, I propose we all agree to a small tuition hike (somewhere between 2 percent and 45 percent more per year) so we never have to worry about succumbing to a complete squirrel takeover.

And with my lofty pull in student government, I can virtually guarantee things are gonna change around here.

So for now, be safe, don’t provoke the squirrels and use your “shifty eyes” at all times.

Mat Koehler welcomes comments at [email protected].