Gary the squirrel was no ordinary squirrel. He was a mastermind, a tactician, and—according to a very questionable online personality quiz—a “natural-born leader with a flair for drama.”
For weeks, Gary had observed the old man in the park. Every day at noon, like clockwork, he’d sit on the same bench and unwrap the same colossal sandwich—layers of ham, turkey, cheese, lettuce, tomato, and just the right amount of mayo. It was, in Gary’s professional opinion, a masterpiece.
And today was the day he would steal it.
Operation: Sandwich Swipe was a go. Gary had enlisted the help of his cousin Marbles (who was not bright, but extremely fast) and a seagull named Kevin, who worked for breadcrumbs and chaos.
The plan was simple:
- Kevin would divebomb the old man to cause a distraction.
- Marbles would fake a dramatic faint near the bench.
- Gary would sneak in, grab the sandwich, and vanish into the trees.
Everything was going smoothly… until Marbles actually fainted from excitement.
Gary had just gotten his tiny paws on the sandwich when Kevin, misjudging his dive, smacked into Gary mid-swoop. The sandwich launched into the air in glorious slow motion. All three of them froze, eyes wide, watching it spin like a meaty frisbee.
It landed… perfectly… in the old man’s lap.
He looked down. Then looked at the squirrel, the twitching cousin, and the concussed seagull.
“Well,” he said, taking a bite, “at least someone appreciates my sandwich artistry.”
Gary, stunned, could only mutter, “Respect.”
They all shared the crust in peace that afternoon.