Death By Mole

I wrote a piece about Britain being better than America because of the harmless nature of our wildlife - Libertybob commented:

"You're missing out on the benefits of natural selection. By sending hippies out into the wilderness, we thin the herd a bit. That's why we have programs to re-populate entire areas with wolves, mountain lions, badgers, and Republicans."

Thanks, Libertybob, having you visit this site is a real education - I've never given any thought at all to the use of predators to "optimise" the unworthy, unnecessary and unpleasant. (In rural parts of the U.K. we do have a tradition of feeding dead burglars to pigs, but as far as I know, noone's given it a political slant.) Brilliant! You'll be hearing more of this - watch the British press - "Leader of the Opposition Michael Howard unexpectedly slain in multiple ferret tragedy". I like the sound of it. Bring me my Master of Moles.:

Bugbear: "Molemaster?!" (Think Patrick McGoohan as Edward Longshanks here)
Molemaster: "Yes, Lord Bear" (cringe, cringe, tug greasy forelock, etc, etc)
BB: "Are your tiny charges ready?"
MM: "Yes, my Lord. They have been starved for days and prevented from copulating. They are angry and yearn for the flesh of those who would oppose you."
BB: " How fast are these creatures?"
MM: "They dig through the Earth faster than a man can run".
BB: "What kind of man?"
MM: "A slightly porky, dissolute man, my Liege."
BB: "That'll do just fine. The Young Conservative picnic will never know what hit it. I am so filled with joy that even going "Muh-ha-ha-ha" doesn't do it for me, somehow. Never mind. Unleash Hell."

Fade to Runnymede riverbank scene, where thirty or forty braying and shrieking examples of upper-middle-class idiocy are plucking expensive things from Fortnum hampers and flicking them at each other in a languid manner. FX:Sound of scrabbling feet and squeaking (try recording rats or mice and overlaying some backward guitar, I'm thinking The Beatles' "Tomorrow Never Knows" here. In fact the whole track would be perfect for this scene - it's got a lazy feel and has lyrics about "relax and go downstream". Or something. Anyway, can't get bogged down in detail.)

Close-up of Angus and Jocasta:
Angus: "Oh, Pooh-Pooh, I'm so happy." They try to kiss, but generations of in-breeding have their way, and their foreheads bang lightly together.

The picnic in front of them explodes as thousands of ravening moles hurtle from the Earth and launch themselves on the the helpless young people. The screen fills with a mist of shredded flesh.

Fade to Bugbear and the Master of Moles rocking with helpless Muh-ha-ha.

That's the kind of thing I have in mind (a lot of the time, which is a worry in itself). In any case, Libertybob, I take your point that here in the U.K. we have to put a lot more effort into this kind of thing, whereas in the U.S. you might have to syphon some petrol or rub the occasional backpack with bacon rind, but that'd be about it.