My Garage Is Full Of Possum

So. I go to the garage, to get a gallon of milk from the extra fridge.

And, there is a Possum, walking in through the slitted door.
Big, about the size of a Beagle, or a little fatter.

Grey & White(ish).

Pink nose.
Naked tail.
Legs…longer than I’d expected. I had thought they had little stumpy legs.

I have to shout “HEY!” twice before it runs away.

My hovercraft is full of eels.

Eels?

Or…something more Ovine?

In your Hovercraft’s back seat, perhaps? Up at Inspiration Point, watching the submarine races? :smiley:

Do the hovercraft go whoosh? :wink:

In my opinion ‘possums are too stupid to be frightened. In my cat-trappin’ days I trapped the same one several times. Either he figured out it was a free lunch or he was to stupid to realize he was getting into the same predicament he was in last night.

Speaking of possums and cats, we used to leave some dry cat food out on our porch for some feral cats who lived in the neighborhood (we’d had the cats neutered already, and they were unsuitable for adoption as pets). More than once, opossums came to eat the food, and the cats were scared spitless of those possums. Maybe they thought they were humongous rats, or maybe they’d had scuffles with them in the past and received injuries, but whatever the reason, the cats would scatter in panic when a possum showed up. Don’t mess with a marsupial.

Dinner at Bosda’s place! :smiley:

Swampy, he said it was about beagle-sized; that’s a bit old for eatin’. It would be tough and gamey. You want first year possums for eatin’, and you have to pen them for a week and feed 'em sweet milk and cornbread to clean 'em out. See White Trash Cooking for details.

Ah yes, the ever-popular Southern delicacy, “Possum 'n taters.” That brings back fond memories of childhood in the deep South, except I didn’t live there at the time, so I may be thinking of the Haunted Mansion ride at Disneyworld instead, in which case I’m not sure how the possum fits in.

In any case, a poem, for the Digital Age:

O Possum!
U
R Awesome.

Title of the thread should have been “My Garage Is Full O’Possum.” Because then it’s like a pun.

Herbert Hoover had a pet opossum named “Billy.” Interestingly, the opossum is one of the very few wild animals that was not named after Hoover during the Depression. Armadillos were “Hoover hogs.” Gopher tortoises were “Hoover chickens.” Chickens were “Hoover pierogies.” Pierogies were regarded as a type of pasta until they were reclassified as reptiles by executive order of Herbert Hoover. Yet Opossums remain opossums, even to this day.

The fumes of the opossum are hallucinogenic. Do not place your lips on the opossum unless the venom glands have been extracted by a professional.

O, possum.

Well, I just completely mis-read this thread title. As you were.

The more you know …

Thanks, Terrifel!

Is it just me, or does anyone else hear the thread title sung to the tune of “Have A Holly Jolly Christmas”?

It was just you. Thank you so very much for the earworm.

Well, I do now!

My garage is full of possum!
It’s the worst time of the year.
“Hey! HEY!
Get the fuck away!”
And yet he shows no fear.

Oh, hay-ul!
That nekkid tail
Out where I can see…

I hear it sung to “The Yellow Rose of Texas.” Wish I didn’t.

My garage is full of possum
And that is vexing me
For the piles of possum poopage
Are very plain to see…

Really, for me it was “Have You Ever Seen A Lassie?”

"My garage is full of possum

O-possum

O-possum

My garage is full of possum

O-possum

Oh my."

Yankee Doodle Boy:

My garage is full of possum,
Walking through the slitted door!
A North American marsupial,
right by the fridge, on the floor!

Big, and fatter than a beagle,
Pink nose, and hair of white and grey;
Naked tail and legs much longer
Than I had expected;
I yelled “Hey!” 'til it ran away!

My garage is full of possum
And that special possum reek
But I don’t enjoy it half as much
As dancing cheek to cheek

  • with apologies to Irving Berlin

You know the song. . . just roll with it, baby. . .

Blame it all on my roots,
I showed up in boots,
prepared for an Orkin affair. . .
The last one to know,
the last one to show
in my garage–how’d you get into there?

Well I saw the surprise,
and the fear in yer eyes,
as I drew my forty-five.
And I aimed at you an’
pulled that pistol trigger too,
but now all I can do is complaaaaain. . .

‘Cause I got possum guts in low places
Where my whiskey drowns and the bleach chases
my pest away. . . washin’ down the drain.
Yeah I’m not big on social graces
think I’ll pay some fine, as the ASPCA’s
gonna hit me good. . . in low places!

Tripler
Okay, the fiancee didn’t know: it’s “Friends in Low Places” by Garth Brooks

Well, I guess I’m not very creative 'cause I just heard the following to the tune of Beethoven’s 9th;

Possum, possum, possum, possum
Possum, possum, p o s s um um

and so on