Danger, Will Robinson . . . Danger, Will Robinson . . .

Ok, this has got to stop!  I'm mad as hell, and I'm not gonna take it anymore!  I laid out the rules.  They were concise.  They were straightforward.  There was no room for misinterpretation.  Absolutely no snakes of any size, shape, color or creed on the two acres of land I have claimed as my own.  None!  How hard is that to get?  If you are a snake and you come onto Green Acres, you die - no pleading for leniency, no three-strike policy, no pardon from the Governor.  You die and your slimy, disgusting remains are fed to a buzzard.  Please do not give me your sob story about being helpful because you eat mice and rats.  Whoop-di-do for you!  You may patrol a perimeter outside my space and eat every last damn varmint that comes near.  If you are doing your job correctly, we will never meet and we'll both be happy.  Well, I'll be happy - you'll just be not dead.  So, here it is, one more time.  Listen up:

You have the right to remain the hell away from my house.  Anything you hiss or do can and will be considered cause for your immediate death and dismemberment.  You don't have the right to speak to an attorney.  In fact, you have no rights whatsover.  Do you understand these rights as they have been read to you?  Good!

And most importantly - - the No. 1 inviolable rule - - Up to this point you have been fortunate to be rooted out by the dogs BEFORE  I saw you.  If you disregard this warning and venture into my space, be warned!!!  If you startle me and make me wet my pants I will invent new ways for you to die slowly and painfully.  (Of course, Dave will have to be the one doing the killing.  I'll be the one screaming, crying, and running/climbing things.)

That is all!