YOU RACE DOWN YOUR DRIVEWAY

Desperate to clear your view, you slap the wiper control. The blades spring to life with their familiar rhythmic thump-thump.

THWACK! The first squirrel goes flying off, tumbling into the second, and they crash into your neighbor’s rose bushes in a tangle of tails and indignant chittering.

But the third one… the third squirrel has somehow gotten its tiny paws wedged deep into the wiper arm mechanism. Instead of being flung away, it’s now being swept back and forth across your windshield, its black eyes wild in astonishment as it goes swish-swish-swish like a demented metronome. Its little mouth is furiously chuffing its angry “chuff-chuff-chuff” sound you can hear even through the glass.

You can barely see the hood of your car. This is insane.

(No. This is NUTS! HAH!)

Without thinking, you hit the windshield washer button. Blue wiper fluid douses the furious rodent, which only makes it chirp LOUDER, its wet fur now plastered against the glass as it slides back and forth, back and forth, in frenzied squeaking and squealing.

Then something impossible happens.

The wet squirrel… ignites.

A bright red flame flickers to life across its soaked fur, dancing along its tiny body as it continues its frantic windshield journey. But instead of burning up, instead of dying, the flaming squirrel just gets MORE ANGRY. It’s literally on fire and doesn’t seem to care—or even notice.

You realize with growing horror: the methanol in the wiper fluid… mixing with whatever gasoline-infused chemistry is now running through these creatures…

The squirrel is a living Molotov cocktail, and it’s stuck to your car.