Post-Apocalyptic Wasteland of Earthly Delights

I love the awesome destructive power of Mother Nature. We had a kick-ass storm last night. I had been reading Flannery O'Connor short stories for about four hours straight when giant, perpetual thunder, lightning, wind, rain, and hail came barreling through town. Today, I grabbed my iPod and headphones and took a long walk all over the neighborhood. Besides the blanket of leaves and mud covering almost everything, I saw this stuff:
1) A sidewalk covered in dead birds. The wind and rain must have slapped them out of the trees, but it looked like some huge musclehead type had picked up each bird individually and threw them down on the sidewalk as hard as he could. Splat! You birds got pranked hard!
2) A huge tree branch that fell and landed on a Blazer, knocking the automobile's tailgate off, smashing all the windows out, and basically imploding it.
3) A rusty nail that I stepped on. Not only that, it was a Warner Brothers-cartoon-sized rusty nail. I thought a giant rock had wedged itself into the bottom of my shoe. Fortunately, the sharp part of the nail was bent and went through my shoe without going through my foot. A tetanus shot would have soured my afternoon.
4) An albino squirrel! Hot damn, I couldn't believe my luck. Doesn't it say in the Book of Revelations, "And an albino squirrel shall lead them?" I'm going back out on the streets later to find the squirrel, trap him, and teach him to read, write, and speak. Together, we are going to pitch a buddy-cop film idea to Paramount Pictures. I haven't decided yet whether I will be played by William H. Macy or Bernie Mac. The squirrel will play himself. We aren't going to like each other at first, me being a loose cannon who plays by his own rules, and the squirrel being a by-the-book straight shooter two years from retirement. Eventually, we bond over our shared love of tandoori chicken, the music of Roberta Flack, and taking no-good punks off the street.