I'm going to just go ahead and assume you've never seen a squirrel alfredo pizza, before. This, then, is a squirrel alfredo pizza. You're welcome.
The thing about putting together a squirrel alfredo pizza (believe it or not) is that it's really hard to find a grocery store that carries authentic, organic, non-gmo squirrel meat. So you've got two options... you can go for those tins of "imitation squirrel" everybody's always trying to sell you... or you can get out there and shoot a squirrel, yourself.
It may shock people who know me to learn that I am more patient than a squirrel.
And living, as I do, on an acreage where every single fruit tree now gets completely cleaned out by the little monsters, every single year, well... that patience is the kind of thing that comes in handy.
I do have to assert, here, that I absolutely LOATHE killing things.
I'm the guy who tries to not slap mosquitoes, and it's not just because of my freakish tolerance for mosquito—(what, venom?)—it's also that I don't think making killability-distinctions based on relative attractiveness or annoyingness is something I really wanna get behind. I mean, someday I'm gonna be a whiny, toothless old sag-bottom, and as I see it I should build up as much please-don't-kill-me juju as I can right now, while I'm still young and pretty.
At the same time, I acknowledge that to live is to kill, and that even vegans participate in killing when they drive on petroleum-based roads, or when they boil the bacteriums trying to make a life on their potatoes. Bacteriums have feelings too, peoples. As do the mice and worms that get chopped up when your horse-drawn plow turns the soil in your organic, authentic, non-gmo fields.
Killing is inevitable.
Still, the point today is about patience, and how even though I really, really hate killing things and don't want to kill squirrels anymore (even though they've ensured that I haven't had a home-grown peach, apple, or pear in two years), I still might keep doing it.
I hate sitting still.
But making squirrel alfredo pizza requires me to go out and sit still in the forest for long stretches of time. Long, long stretches of quality time spent feeding those mosquitoes I love so much, whilst thinking about how much smarter these little satan-rodents are than me, and how cute they are, and how I'm a bad person for shooting them just because they're not satisfied to eat nuts and berries their whole lives, like God intended.
It's bad for them, of course, getting shot and pizza-ed like this.
But it's good for me to just sit there and contemplate stuff.