everybody make way the poets Genghis & Colloidal are comin thru. who goes first? take a swig from the ol' goatskin & pass it along. Hektor plays bongos.

Colloidal steps up, fiery eye, grunts

ODE TO THE lovesick mariner

- clear throat, hock one-

Chalet & crystal brocade
Florence Nightingale & Jamaica Kincaid
How can I convince u to endure the charade?
It’s like Neil Young said
A Man Needs A Maid

SACRIFICIAL ODE TO THE MORE
if you so incline
scour thine eyes with brine
DETERMINE THE VERACITY OF LIFE
and slaughter the pig with a knife

the greatest phallacy of the music biz is that baby one more time IS about the music biz. in other news, the flying squirrel suit we have been testing scored some major coverage in the Times. too bad u r too pussy to jump.

also, magnus funeral is sunday.

if anyone is curious to attend that will be a post-life reception at Dana's. Thin man is barred. the outcry was too great and we are looking into prosecution.

if Ezekial ever gets back we should have some sports coverage around here too

my new girlfriend Laurena is also sorta freaking me out about what she said happened with her X

but Doktor what about
- i'm sorry Lucille it is terminal
but Herr Doktor what about the new experimental treatment i have heard
- that treatment is highly unpredictable and the side effects are as yet
DOktor i have heard of the miracles that are performed in these clinics in Thailand and South Korea. when you go in u r and
- Lucille, i must persuade u not to go down that route. as i said, the procedure is highly unstab-
but Doktor what choice do i have? what choice do i have Doktor? u and your medical bills have depleted my income and my strength. if i can secure the capital Thailand is the only place that offers a glimpse of hope, shimmering from aloft the Buddhist statue in downtown- i must go there and meet my one fate of finally receiving a cure for my pancreas

epilogue
thin man where is the haunting power of your rigid oppression now? now that all those around you, all those who u once knew and LOVED have passed unto the other world? Lucus is gone, bastardized by the Anglicans. Trinity is gone now, having become so fearful of your wrath that she joined up for the ballistics division of the frog men. finally magnus, as u know thin man, magnus starved in that hovel, alone and dejected.he is locked in the spare battery hole, shivering, subjected to visions of urchin cartoons, the satire that dominates the space in his head. like u dominate the space in trinity's. oh it is a bitter love triangle that ended up like a pastrami sandwich, two thin slices and the meat hollowing ou

because jayson could not let him out. jayson was incapable of lifting a finger to emancipate magnus because u cut off those fingers. u tortured and disFINGERED jayson blare and finally terminated him for all the world to see. but where has it gotten u is the question that we face as the curtain begins to unravel? u, THING man, are the living dead because everything u touch will dry up.

thin man laughs at the meta narrative. this is all so touchstone, he says. u dolts, i am freer now than ever because i ecompass the

- by the way, herandez (he interrupts), don't tilt your head that way, the camera is over here, not over by the scallion cream cheese on the gtable

nuck if u buck
NUK IF U BUICK

REQUIEM FOR A 'TWEEN


WHO DO U TRUST?
MY EYE IS COVERED WITH CRUST
I PROMISE I WON'T MAKE A FUSS
IF.............................................................................
(sign on dot)

ACT 3 SEARCH & RESCU OPERATION

tell me Jayson Blare, u impostor, where is he hiding (thin mad barely containing his rage). jayson, we know that u have been cavorting with Magnus. u have been seen, that u r fostering him in yr home. there are allegations of a secret trap door leading to a furnished basement, where magnus sleeps. and u pass him his food- tuna steaks, whatever, thru the shaft. i command U NOW JAYSON BLARE_ OPEN THE SHAFT. EXPOSE MAGNUS> WHILE U CAN STILL DO SO OF YOUR OWN FREE WILL BECAUSE THERE ARE CONSEQUENCES TO NOT COOPERATING

jayson blare- i cannot do what u wish thin man i am incapable because i would rather die than expose a true friend. magnus is what is called a friend to me, which i don't think u ever know because all u have is "pets"

thin man- then we will tear this place apart in a search and rescue operation and if u are caught red handed, so to speak, harboring the fugitive then u will be sentenced to utmost death

END ACT #

what is yr domain name?

PT II out on the street
my only advice for u, dear boy, is to engage the racist dialectic of history. that is where ur parents are.

entreaties to failure

upcoming quiz

the thin man sat stroking his pet, Magnus

i don't mean to be brutish, magnus. i don't mean to offend, but really magnus, stop doing that thing with grinding yr teeth. it is, u chew like a cow magnus. i am frank- u chew like a cow. u r where we draw the line between man and cow. subspecies hybrid.

magnus, obviously offended- how long have we been together thin man? this is approaching 12 years, and miraculous only since the last 2 days do u condemn my chewing. what i don't eat in the past 11 years 11 months? like i was on a juice diet? u think my teeth have grown too large for my jaws? my inseams gargantuan? in fact, thin man, i have given up being yr pet. i resolve to leave this shit-hovel. look at the shower curtain. there is a capital of filth, ooze. i am taking my aloe plant with me. u keep the tortoise.

thin man- magnus don't! im sorry. im just in a bad mood. i had a really really bad day at work is all.

u treat me like shit, and i am fed up thin man, THING MAN

good 'ole Wladimir, the life insurance salesman, interceded in the argument
- magnus, come on, where will u go? u have no family but thin man. there aren't options.

MAGNUS- anything is better. the street is better than daily harassment. the subjection to torturous critique. every this and that is wrong. i am, after all, somebodies child, and more than a pet. i will find my true parents.

CURTAIN END OF ACT !

i recently got in the mail a promo copy of the new bio (soon to be made into a feature length) "the swan song of Florence Henderson" about what was really going on beneath the veneer of the Brady Brunch all American charade. I'm only about 20 pages through but it is titillating. it is basically a 3 part narrative.Incest/intravenous drug/sodomy. One thing that i think not too many people know is that Dustin Hoffman was first scheduled to star as Mathew Brady, but had to pull out in order to complete "The Graduate." i give this book so far 3 stars. what could be better is that they could add some more stuff about Patricia Brady and the whole Zoroastrian thing.

did u see yoko ono on a scooter, stalking down Lafayette?

doppel- ganger effect

The Bowery

The obliqueness. The man with the pencil thin mustache who has been tracking me.

First instance- in the Argentinean meat house- chomping on a blood sausage

Zwei- At the concert, peering from the balcony

3- in the Puma store

His mustache is slender and his build is slenderer.

His gait is terrifying.

“Stop haunting me”

“Whatever do u mean?”

“Which I know on numerous occasion is what you do. Because I have seen you most recently in the Puma store, and there are others, spots where I encountered you. Because I think u know that I see u. And this is the desired effect- terror.”

“Friend, u r delusional”

“You are waiflike. You are a waiflike fucker. Do not follow me”

Which one wishes would be resolution, but there is a final encounter in Whole Foods on the Bowery, with all the brutish history of that street and its current incarnation as Yoga capital of the world

doppelganger

the man with the pencil thin mustache- scarf blood sausage at the restaurant on Bowery. why do i see him everywhere?

when Count X initially tapped me I was enraged. Who the hell was he to abduct my family? To hold my loved ones at his mercy. But then I realized the futility of resistance and gave myself over to the Task

make way, everybody get out of the way. this poet is coming thru. Genghis finally reached the podium and recited his verse. It goes like this

Oppenheimer
U exposed redacted knowledge
Literally torn apart
And in the ruins exists
Ur terrific heart

the billboard says
don't forget to check your balls daily for cancer

GUITAR HERO

Wretchedly absurd, Squirrel’s mind was howling. The shock and the aftershock- he had botched the show. There was the live audience factor, because this had been broadcast to X millions of people on the networks, and how could this have happened. The Super bowl half time show was the event for which Squirrel had been preparing his entire career, fuck his entire life if u think about it, and there were only tatters now because who would take him for real after this. Why, oh shit why had he attempted that dumb guitar solo trick where u swing it around your neck like Townshend used to do, the free wheeling effect. But it had smacked him in the neck, the bolt of metal and wire. The song was cut abruptly, blood that u couldn’t pretend like it’s not there. And the networks cut to commercial.

i think i finally solved the mystery of what happened to our Canadian Uncle Jeremy Roschblat. From the wire-

A top restaurant is serving up free grey squirrel pancakes to hungry diners.

Peking duck-style squirrel wraps are being offered to diners at The Famous Wild Boar Hotel.

What happened in Las Vegas at the stock car rally? What happened in Las Vegas behind the sheen, in the cashier’s booth at MGM Grand? What occurred in the circuitous swimming pool?

These 3 happenings were substantiated in the following way…

Squirrel was sunbathing near Pan’s Grotto, on the east side of the pool complex. It was here that he first caught sight of Eliza. She emerged from Pan’s grotto like a water nymph, her bikini traversed in onyx. “Who is this mirage that I am witnessing?” Squirrel mumbled to himself. Little did he know that the “Mirage” to which he referred was none other than Eliza, the fiercely defended wife of Otto, Vegas’ stock car rally Fuhrer.

Otto’s operation worked this way- if you wanted have your stock car rallied with the others, there was a certain amount in tribute that you must deposit in addition to the aboveboard registration fee. The place where you make the drop is in the southwest corner of MGM Grand’s warbling game floor, where the incisive clerk, whom we shall call Niagara, accepts the bundled cash in exchange for a few worthless buffet tickets. The whole thing is totally seamless, or so Otto thought.

TO BE CONTINUED

If u stare into this cup for long enough, the mystic was saying, you will see not only your future, but the future of humanity. U will encounter shocking events- encapsulated in the vibrations upon the water’s surface. Here’s a teaser- a new king will rise from among the men. He will be of Yugoslavian descent and will most likely be a United Nations diplomat. Do not trust this man. He is the spawn of Satan- the Anti-Christ. His name will rhyme with Al Gore. For example- Slobodan L’amour. Slobodan will preach Semitic nonsense and you should avoid him at all costs.

vast conspiracy unearthed! take heed- JOHN SEXTON- nyu president & PAUL KRUGMAN- nytimes veteran are actually the same man

The framed, stilted lattice.

Where are u in there?” the museum coordinator asked Squirrel

“I am one of the nexuses,” Squirrel replied, enigmatically.

The portrait was composed of thousands of minute photographs- each one depicting Squirrel decked out in a Where’s Waldo type outfit.

Today, at the opening, however, Squirrel resembled a cross between Raymond Chandler and Raymond Pettibone. He had adopted a monocle for the occasion.

There were white wine cocktails and cheese cubes impaled upon stakes.

Squirrel, who was king of the joint, sauntered in place

“This is our first show of unique Squirrel Art,” a museum benefactor squawked. “We’ve done Aboriginal Art. We’ve done Convict pieces, but we’ve never explored diverse species.”

The Cornish Hans floating in vaporous sauce.

Squirrel proceeded to take the mic

“I alone am the beneficiary of mankind’s aura,” he began. “I am like the glass blower, except my material is fiercer. I transfix dimensionless expanses onto pixel casts. Heave when you spot me on the sidewalk. ying yang."

Phol (Balder) and Wodan were riding in the forest
Balder's foal sprained its foot
Sinhtgunt, sister of Sunna (Sol), bespake it
Frige, sister of Fulla, bespake it
Wodan bespake it, as he was well able:
be it bone-sprain, be it blood-sprain
be it limb-sprain, bone to bones
blood to blood, limb to limbs
as if they were glued!

SUPREME MASTER CHING HAI

"A Master is one who has the key for you to become a Master...to help you realize that you are also a Master and that you and God are also One. That's all...that's the only role of the Master."

“U need to tap into the depth of being,” Levon was madly flailing his paws. “Dredge porous language. The spectral deity ruminates beneath dusty words. This is why all that measurement shit in Leviticus is important, man. So- and so cubits. And Genesis- in the beginning there was the word and the word was God. They still don’t write it out, u see in prayer books or whatever, G-D. And how do you get rid of a bible? U have to bury the thing. I mean, U probably roll it up and smoke it, but the dogma is u have to bury it”

But Squirrel was engrossed in a titillating match of Guitar Hero and the riffs entombed Levon’s Midrash.

The stars were conjoined, a shifty necklace above.

Around 3, Squirrel had squandered all his money and was experiencing the totality of drunken symptoms. He stumbled down cursory alleys, pummeling a 40. Felix was disregarded.

It was on some side street that the vagrant approached. The man’s face was caked in plaintive dirt, an ecosystem of filth. Deep crevices scorched his ruinous skin.
“You and I,” the vagrant began. “You and I, we are not so different except for the trifling inhibitions that license your species.”

Squirrel’s pulse was wailing. His back was to a wall.

The vagrant continued, “Persuade me now why I shouldn’t rob you of that indifference”

Within his bristling bosom there was the force, which he tapped into thru meditation. Considering the void, Squirrel envisioned an eponymous frigid arena- Squirrel’s rink, wherein combatant hockey players battered one another into the boards. This was the soul. Squirrel also envisioned a plank of phosphorus alloy, glistening in the blank universe. This was the ego.

THE FASCIST OCTOPUS HAS SUNG ITS SWAN SONG
by Ezekiel

what resides there beneath the callous, indignant hollow?
it's an Orangutan
who can't bear to swallow
choking on a bit of maggot strewn red meat
before he withdraws
to the chamber
to savor something sweet

Fashion will not make u happy but it will make u pretty, the photographer is telling squirrel. But this is his first shoot and he is twitchy.

Squirrel is dolled up in a chemise. He wears a beaver skin hat and leather gloves on all four hooves. Fascist chic is very out for humans, but paramount in circles of rodent high society. This summer everyone wants steel- toed boots and staunch collars.

Harsh angles, seething light. The flashbulbs pop one after another in the endless procession of vanity. This is Paris after all.

Squirrel was discovered at the village baths by a couple of sex tourists who happened to be highly regarded editors. That was just a few weeks ago, and the change in his lifestyle, his daily habitations, could not have been more pronounced.

BIG CRUSH- THE ABBREVIATED ORIGINS OF HERR DOKTOR

When Count X initially tapped me I was enraged. “What does this German lunatic want from me?” I screamed at my own countenance in the mirror. I had accidentally cut myself shaving, and the blood-imbued foam lent a monstrous dimension to my face, as if lascivious lava were at that very moment erupting from some hideous pimple on my chin. My hound barked loudly at the ghoul before him. I was awash with anxiety, utterly exhausted.

Of course, I wasn’t given the luxury of deliberation.

In his letter, Count X made certain thinly veiled threats to my livelihood. He had suggested, in a smug manner reflecting his noble lineage, that should I refuse this offer, there would be a hellish price to pay.

So I embarked on my trip to the Fatherland out of desperation and fear. On the runway before take off, as the pert Lufthansa flight attendants made their rounds, I contemplated all that had come to pass; the brutal geysers of fortune. “Ein Bier bitte,” I bade the prettiest of all the Luftfraus, and hastily began sketching out some notes for the Count’s approval. There could be no turning back.

Now 3 years later I am still holed up in the Count’s country estate. Before my window lies the beautiful Elbe River. The documents are almost complete. I have constructed Herr Doktor in accordance with the Count’s wishes. This is to be his mouthpiece, a forum for the artistic imperatives he holds in high esteem. I am merely a humble servant to this most stringent critic.

Regulations;

HE denies all false applications of pretentious Novocain. Instead, this operation is to be performed without anesthetic. HE wants you to feel the blows of consciousness, to inhale the stink of creative ferment. Absurdity is a fact of daily life. Exhibit its infinite, monstrous facets. To feed off delirium- get high in sweltering fumigated apartments. He told me that the most important factor in the success of our Zeppelin launch is whether youthful ardor will suffice as fuel, whether we can defy gravity with curious enthusiasm and grave indignation- - what u will read was created by hearty novices. Take heed, son.

In Peru, villagers have taken to their beds after a hazardous meteor crash. The investigators of the incident too have fallen ill. Undeniably, an alien bacterium thrives on this space rock. An immense government cover up is already in the works. There is a general panic among the highest ranks about the likelihood of further attacks. There is colossal concern about whether the outbreak will spread. In accordance with the Count’s dying wishes, Herr Doktor will never yield.

Singularly funded by an elusive Deutsch ex-pat who prefers to be left anonymous to the annals of history (Count X let us call him), Herr Doktor’s stated intention is revive the artistic phoenix embedded deep within the ambling consciousness of modern man! A team of highly trained experts in the dark psychedelic arts is at this very moment conducting experiments aimed at imminently christening our newly hatched Zeppelin. If you should like to get involved in this ground breaking venture, please do not hesitate to contact our public relations director for more info.

it seems an untimely accusation of licentious libel has forced a temporary closure of Squirrel's nest. here's the scoop- a certain CELEB (i'm talking about you my scurrilous pinhead from SQUID AND THE WHALE ) has undertaken a court case to censure my little gossip blog here. apparently, comments regarding sex crimes which i swear by Zeus i overhead during the course of a yoga session are too dangerous to print. in other words, THEY DONT WANT U TO KNOW. the first amendment has never been in such danger of utter ravaging by dim-witted court appointees. please donate to my legal defense fund here
http://www.saveoursquirrels.org.uk/

loose change

Squirrel said, “I really meant to take it seriously, I really meant to.”
God said, “It doesn’t matter, what’s done is done.”

Squirrel was stranded at the Pearly Gates, denied access, yet curiously permitted to wander the outlying premises- to walk upon the gilded boardwalk, to glimpse the anointed, smirking self- righteously, extremely pleased with themselves, playing touch football beyond the shrubs. There was Ezekial, Squirrel’s old pal who got run over by a school bus, going out to receive Ghandi’s pass. Oh poor Ezekial, preemptively tackled by Herman Hesse. There was Margot, the founder of Quizno’s, shucking boiled hotdogs to haloed attendees. Squirrel wished he could join the melee so fervently, he willed it so harshly, but his prayers were disregarded. His salutations were delegated to the junk mail folder. “God has forsaken me for these losers” Squirrel thought, scurrying away from the pristine hedges, frothing a little at the mouth.

Then Squirrel bumped into Hernandez.

“Oh shit, I’m sorry,” Squirrel mumbled to the giant.

Hernandez was a badger, a creature subjected to the same eternal restrictions as Squirrel. Hernandez had been wandering the sandblasted dunes of Limbo for a couple thousand years. He had accidentally devoured his brother in law, Romulus, in 24 BC. Hernandez himself had died in a mining accident shortly thereafter, never forgiven by friends and family, never scoring karmic reconciliation.


The Badger had seen some shit occur between God and Angels. He was frequently lonely, occasionally irritable, and always indifferent to the catechisms of new age philosophy. He decided then and there to adopt Squirrel as his protégé, to school him in the myriad facets of divine abandonment; omnipity is a crock of shit, for example, God prefers simple, down home recipes, like low fat hot dogs and Pringles, God watches the L word, etc. Finally Hernandez had someone to talk to.

Squirrel, feeling utterly dejected, listened absent-mindedly. Maybe he wasn’t ready for the truth. Or maybe he was thrown off by the conspicuous absence of the Badger’s left eye, an injury resulting from a battle against rebel Jewish insurgents *Hernandez had proudly served in the roman legion as a conscript spear thrower* Whatever the reason, when Hernandez popped the all-important question to Squirrel- dude, will you join me? Embrace me? Look to me as father? – Squirrel had already left the scene. In fact, he had bolted midway through Hernandez’s speech about the Devil’s obsession with Lord of the Rings.

Squirrel wandered the barren landscape alone; occasionally parting the greenery with his paws to view the eternal salvation that might have been his, the cool blue grottoes where he might have frolicked, the trees laden with shelled goodies which he might have cracked against a rock. After several hours, Squirrel was already exhausted, totally famished, and soaked with angelic spittle raining down from the overlords.

the squirrel and the whale

After capsizing from his vessel, (squirrel was never an adequate sailor and the pursuit of the Guinness Cup around Cape Horn was a real lapse in judgment, but he had just been divorced and the adventurous pursuit had exhibited a certain luster in those harrowing days after the final separation), Squirrel got swallowed up by a titanic whale, like that forbearing pariah Jonah. Except where Jonah was created on the sixth day, Squirrel’s likeness was formulated on a prior date. Squirrel got sucked through the thick baleen squelching tusks and found himself in a hotbed of nappy fluids, a stank boiling chamber that resembled nothing in his experience so much as a Bikram Studio in Midtown commandeered by the master Takahashi, and perhaps buried deep within Squirrel's residual unconscious, the whale’s belly resembled the honest indifference of his mother’s fetal womb. What would you do when faced with such a sequence of events? Squirrel felt the pressure increase as the whale bailed deeper and deeper into the unexplored recesses of the ocean. His furry ears popped, his molars tingled. The stomach chamber was so large that there was an adequate supply of oxygen, don't even worry about that, there WAS enough time for GOD to inflict some PAINFUL JUDGEMENT. But no one will ever know how Squirrel didn’t totally freak the fuck out in the midst of all that swirling juicy chaos in the whirling innards of the beast. How did our illicit dude pass the time? According to legend after a fortnight the LEVIATHAN washed up on a bedazzled bright beach in Long Island, near the expressway. Upon encountering the deceased beast, locals swore that they spotted a starved rodent clamber with much difficulty out of its blow hole. Another, unconfirmed account suggests that upon examining the teeth of the LEVIATHAN, researched were stunned to find dozens of minute scrimshaw engravings depicting the trials and tribulations of the squirrel race in its darkest hour.

arousal

When Squirrel was bent over in half pigeon, his tail extended full throttle, suspended midway between his paws and his jaw, his lower right paw pointing towards the solstice point- Mecca, his mind was a blank slate. This was the last refuge of his weary soul, some stank yoga studio in Midtown, the furnace blaring. Squirrel had been practicing yoga for years, but it was only recently that he had stumbled upon Bikram. Here in the now, Squirrel was a nothingness, a floating furry orb amidst the constellations. All he required was a meager sustenance in the form of a few acorns a day. Squirrel pledged in this moment that he would remain in yogic position as long as demanded in order to defeat the previous world record. Squirrel would remain in upward spiral for 1 year- meditating, grooving, inhabiting this lackluster material world.

Squirrel’s paw was caught in the fierce trap, blood oozing, soaking the dark fur on his extremity. The answer was lucid, a stark monolith, set against the psychedelic anguish of the previous 48 hours. There would be only one way to get out of this mess- To gnaw off the whole lower half of the leg. Close your eyes, thought Squirrel, concentrate. Have all other options been exhuatsed? Is this what it had come to? He had been stuck in the rat trap for 16 hours, allured into its guillotine jaws by a smoldering piece of cheese, a tidbit, a morsel for which he would now have to sacrifice his right leg, his ancestral paw. Mothfucker, thought,Squirrel, succumbing to the panic. Motherfucker, now I am really fucked. Now would be the time for God, that crusty fucker, to appear and save my furry ass. But always, lingering in the back of his mind, Squirrel knew what he was capable of, what the situation demanded. He remembered that time he fell from the nest when he was a pup. The crunch of his tailbone on the pavement. Tears welling up in his eyes, Squirrel took his first bite. There was only numbness down there and he was shocked by how easy the operation could be.

tales from the front

who goes there? squirrel shouted, mimicking a quick two step, tossing his lit butt to the mud. it was the midnight shift of guard detail in the pouring rain. the road to Berlin had been long and tenuous. there was no reply. squirrel fingered his bolt action Comanche weapon. Halt, he shouted in the drizzle. The rain was indifferent. Squirrel fired a warning shot into the air, his paws shaking. Then Damian emerged from the brush, "fuck mate, you scared me pants off" Damian pronounced. In the faint light of morning Squirrel saw that Damian had been clutching a copy of the latest playboy featuring Marilyn Monroe. He could also see that Damian pants were actually off. "Just trying to steal away some private time, mate" Damian spewed by way of explanation

squirrel's back to this digital simian jungle. is he hoarse from the journey back from the underworld? totally. but revival is revival. 2nd incarnation, whatever, 2.0, whatever dude. this is the formative word, this is the digital oblivion. drink up that nutty, milky horchata. let it soothe your mucus lining. COME warm your extremities by the radiator. COME sit on its brink. THERE IS MUCH TO DISCUSS

narwhale encounter take 4

u know who lives here why did u knock?

dude, i

listen james, u fuckwit, i think it's time we

narwhale, please, don't

james, u scarecrow lookin,

narwhale, it's not my fault, i never- it wasn't my re-spons-i-bility in the

CUT

no rest for the heavily sedated chimp

i am demonized by modernity, squirrel proclaimed in a harsh voice above the roar of the rig's 16 cylinder engine. they were speeding towards Topeka, through the heartland of the Pennsylvania dutch, vigorously blowing away intrepid Amish entrepreneurs on equine models. where did squirrel hitch this ride? somewhere north of jackson, florida. and the truck driver, josh, was a skinny nervous chap wearing high heels and listening to jackson browne tapes while cruising the expressways of the eastern plate. they shared a doobie, and squirrel attempted to finish the long winded introspective speech he'd begun 10 minutes earlier, while josh nodded his head and slammed his fist against the wheel to the jackson browne beat and his high heeled spike to the gas pedal "why must u (meaning katie couric, ALLAH, L magazine, dinosaur jr.) be so harsh in your declamations? it's a goddamn hanging verdict, josh! can u anticipate it- 12 angry men- a goddamn death sentence for my species, dude

the new i phone allows the user to communicate with the dead

u r portable;

squirrel issues the following demands in the name of our holy father Squid (Syd to friends & followers alike)

Whole Foods- u are hereby commanded to adhere to the precepts of the radical vegan agenda. u know what this will require. ALL SHOPPING BAGS & COUPONS MUST BE PRODUCED FROM HEMP LEAVES. NO LONGER WILL YOUR SUSHI BAR BE ALLOWED TO THRIVE. INSTEAD IT WILL BE REPLACED BY AN EXERTION MACHINE (HARVESTER OF GOODWILL) FOR HUMANS WHO HAVE FAILED TO RECOGNIZE THE ABYSMAL HYPOCRISY OF NANCY DREW AND NANCY REAGEN

MAYOR BLOOMBERG- u must replace Alexander Hamilton's grave on wall st. with the grave of Edward Abbey. what u do with Alexander Hamilton's earthly remains is up to your own discretion.

we will not stop until there is a juicer in every household (farmingdale included, corpus christi you are not immune)

the sommelier's finger got lost in the juicer

subsonic sounds are emanating. this reminds me of a drawn out version of the noise somebody's stomach makes when they are too hungry for words. but slooooooooooow. hey man did you wake up in the ship's electric room with no idea how you got there? squirrel smoked too much weed and wandered up the galley way of the Queen Mary 3. No one noticed him sneak on board because of his size. Now they are somewhere in the mid-Atlantic on route to Morocco and he rises from his costly cinder induced slumber, eyes aghast like 2 Martian landscapes. fuck. look out the porthole dude. there is only deepness. look up at the sky dude. there is only deepness.can you get a job as a short order cook on board in an effort to legitimize yourself? head up stairs and present yourself to the captain like a shamed child. or maybe work nights as a prostitute for the first class fatties? you decide but it's 3 weeks before we reach the Berber coast and in the mean time you can't live off machine grease now can you?

whatever happened to A.J (the blind seer)

from this shimmery vantage point on top of bunker hill, i can see deep into the Boston Common where 10,000 squirrels lay enveloped in one another's coats, a vast orgy of legs and fur. I christen this spot Mt. Whoredom after my late Godmother.

the above passage is from the novel I've been reading about the role of rodents in the Revolutionary war. the retreat was great and i feel very refreshed. 10 days of meditation and brown rice.

the house that roof built

she was wearing espadrilles. he was wearing moccasins. their cultures would never let them be together. surveying from the mountain top, it was clear that the land of milk and honey was a mis-translation; the correct pronunciation would have been blood swamp- fecund jungle. it was here at the garbled gates that the sons of Israel built golden squirrels for worship. it was here that the fabled beast came alive and spewed all over the front lawn

yucca leaf cocktail sauce- 3 unpeeled shrimp- dice & mash together until firm- add 4 quarts cellophane & let rise until gigantic (great with ambrosia also goes well with avocado

"My spirit or soul did not like the way I was being seen and that is why I was sent to jail."

tonight at the salt lick- 100% venison shanks marinated in Punjab sauce, crispy with all the fixings (burdock, parsnip) like your grandma used to make 'em. no invisible numbers here folks.

today i received this e-mail
-- God has heard your requests, however due to the high volume of spiritual submissions he may not be able to get to you as soon as you would like. we are doing our best to process in a timely fashion. please be patient.

4-live couplets

1- Alexander Hamilton is buried on Wall st. in the husky shadow of Equinox Fitness Club, whose columns are robust and lauded
2- Sesame was run down by a livid cabby on Rector st, right next to the cleaners. Feral dogs materialize from the exhaust vents.
3- on Fulton & Broadway there is a memorial plaque embedded in the sidewalk commemorating the Mets 1969 World Series domination against the Cardinals. 2 blocks up is a plaque for the fated 1986 show down.
4- there is a hole in the sky thru which u cannot be validated

the man somersaulting throughout the subway aisle, pole vaulting on the express train, whispered something cursory in my ear.
what did he say Uncle Likud?
the man said
"i know if it wasn't for my butt, i wouldn't be making all this money"

the man with no legs rummaging through the subway aisle, thrusting his stubs off the floor & heaving, whispered something cursory in my ear

posied to conquer?

i slammed my audition for true life- i'm in fat camp. i gargled with ketchup- that one really impressed the judges. also, i told them about how my father used to call me Umberto the clam man, and all the other horrid names- like slime. i guess i really can pull off the role of an obese 16 year old from New Providence. keep yr fingers crossed for me- call backs are on Thursday!

meanwhile, i fessed up to my parole officer about a crime i witnessed while shopping for a juicer;

they went into hot topic and stole 12 social distortion t-shirts, edible undies, and a fat records comp. they were wearing t shirts about leonard peltier and spoke with south African accents

10,000 michael douglas fans really can't be gay

ethnographic charades for the jet set. the latest macrobiotic installment from modern day Parker brothers (dwarf Olsen twins) AB & BR- starring one hairy, filthy stunt man, 3 ravenous billionaire elves, an escaped psychopath and a bad glass of chardonnay. in all its threshing glory (& gory)=

http://zimmerfidget.com/studios/24Hours/Film16_PAGE.htm

behold this year's answer to MYSTERY, ALASKA or GOOD-FELLAS meets SLEEPLESS IN SEATTLE

what other shit is new? my acting career is going great. my agent says it really lends cred that i have an actual rap. sheet. i think i am gonna have a gig with law and order SVU coming up some time soon- keep y'all posted about that. something about a female embryo stealing ring. the only draw back is that the limitations of my parole state that i cannot ingest any diary products for a period of 26 months and just one violation is gonna get me thrown back in Attica for at least 7 new moons (that's like 3 months according to the Judeo-Christian calender). i am worried that this is gonna negatively effect my budding acting career

also pls don't forget ANTHONY HOPKINS REALLY NEEDS YOUR HELP. love & vivacious submission- squirrel XOXOXOXOXOXO

do u speak urdu? teaky wood coffin

teaky wood sex edict

TEAKY WOOD SEX EDICT;
from the highest mouth-

i took a wheatgrass shot at dawn and built an altar of teaky wood. i placed sage on the altar's brim and burned precious oils- castor oil, canola oil, grapeseed oil. i roasted acorns on the holy mountain flame and ingested the body of Raj (Ahmed priase Raj the anointed one, Raj the truth and reconciliatory diva). All this could not protect me from my doppel-ganger- Phalanx and his troop of insurgent Lufthansa flight attendants.

i woke up from my dream in a cold sweat. it was not a troop of Lufthansa mavericks on my tail. i reached to the place, my tail was still there. the altar of teaky wood was no where in sight.

squirrel project for a new American century is defunct. the ideologues were proved to be syphilitic. the grand illusion was squashed like a boiled black bean underfoot. we are living in the space between the crushing and the bean- the worst possible spot to occupy if you are a mammal. if there were a god, he would help us if we paid the right amount in sexual favors. even that is tragically forlorn. the nuts we had stowed away for winter are rotten; creepy crawling day-glow maggots suckle the pus.

encounter with god

the swami positioned himself on the pillow mountain, his gray hair drawn back in a pony tail, tied with a bright pink tassel. "young devotees," the great man spoke in a squeaky voice reminiscent of one of the three chipmunks, "follow me in prayer," AGASHNU AGASHNU AGASHNU. with that the room exploded in a succulent eruption of powerful high strung voice- AGASHNU AGASHNu AGASHNU. three thousands squirrels alone together, reaching up towards the heavens in the Swami's fifth avenue hut- paws through cracks in the glistening mud strewn pavement (this dirty, dirty crust we call Elijah). i have never felt so ravished, so exorbitantly used. ezra, bet your sorry you missed this one you slimy okra fucker.

woah that was so random. i just ran into my old friend from pre-k in c block. i used to know him as wolfie, but now he goes mainly by the nick-name Titus (the torturer). we used to play hop-scotch near the revolving doors outside Staples super center. now he is planning a prison out break. Titus says he needs more muscle. Should I get involved? this could seriously f up my parole options. i don't really have a choice because titus says he will poison me unless i comply.

Marv Albert Senstation

Rashid the fucking tyrant, Rashid the sensation. Rashid is going on a speaking tour ladies and gents and he'll be hittin' up your university some time this winter (provided your student senate will condone and shell out the necessary nuts for his momentous visit to campus). on the agenda- Rashid's brief stint as lead singer of black flag, his run for new jersey state senator and founder of legalize Oxycodone movement, transcendental mediation, announcer of XFL. don't miss this once in a lifetime opportunity to recognize how abysmally insignificant your life is in comparison to a titan of culture- RASHID

release the four-legged creepy crawlers to the otherworldly practice with Candy- summer= dogged practice, Bikram submission, Vinyassa.

now that that's off my furry chest=
jail is alright. i got a job in the kitchen mixin grits. it is a good position when i need to kill someone because i can easily poison their ration with hemlock. if all goes according to plan, i expect to be out in 22 months. hasta la vista- squirrel

where have all the squirrels gone? used to be teeming the hallways, scurrying around under the floorboards. now only dead hides- all been sacrificed to the thunder gods to assuage the lascivious RAGE

girlfriend in a coma

rise from the dust thou young coriander seed. the elusive future resides there- across the bridge, over the bend, make a right at the stop and shop, it's about 5 miles down next to the Staples stationary outlet. can't miss it. i never been there myself but driven by it loads of times. alright now, good luck son

jad fair/ tad fiend/ QUINTUS

controted & twisted playing twister. there is nothing to do in this cell except play games.

on aging

on average squirrels live to be about 110. my family's life expectancy is higher than most hives. our hive can live to be up to 140. upon reaching 75 i still feel that i have half of my life in front of me. there is still time to do all the things i have always wanted to accomplish like see daft punk in concert. i figure i get out of prison in a week or two, after that i'll hit the road to toadsville and do some construction for jimmy. with some cash in pocket i'll hit all the strip clubs this side of manhattansville.i'll hit all the dive joints and play pinball with my life. i will go on a 12 day bender before i wind up in a Phoenix discount furniture store, collapsed on the frilly duvet in a pool of vomit. after that i'll compose myself, move in with my great aunt, and get my shit together.

call me squirrel

Mark McGuire really drove it home tonight with that homer in the bottom of the ninth with 2 outs and 7 strikes, no balls. I curled up into a ball and listened to the howling of the fan's applause shaking the prison walls. Luis was losing his shit. Manuel bit off the finger of a former flight attendant in c block. I am still in solitude, icy solitude but I can hear, I can hear and I can imagine, construct, build and destroy. this is the essence of feline existence.GO YANKS

book review 4 u

don't believe everything you read, if you do you will be sourly disappointed by former Met's center fielder Ricky Henderson's new memoir- my life, my strife, diary of an enemy combatant. it is not Henderson's lackluster prose that I take issue with, it is not even his confirmed Nazi affiliation that irks my system, most of all i am squandered by his improper use of the semi colon; the fundamental building block of grammar. ;; don't make the same mistake i did. instead, pick up Thomas Pynchon's new thriller- Dinotopia, magic and the avant-garde in non- kosher hot dogs

Ricky Henderson



Annete Bening

red leaf lettuce/ oily isolation/ castor oil

you should have seen it hombre- there was fight in the inner yard, next to the shaft. 7 visionairres got shanked by Rafael and the raptors. i was in solitude myself. i have been in isolation ever since i was caught sneaking weenies out of the mess hall into my cell. the pigs said i was tryin to make a weapon out of the buns. i told the pigs they were beef dogs- ballpark style- i told the feline freaks i was just hungry. the acorns here taste like walnuts. ive posted a picture of maggie gyllenhall up on the wall next to bunk. she is my only companion and i know she'll understand and emphasize when i get out. it's like i'm living in a film- basketball diaries or something. what do i do all day? i sit around and study german, i try to work out, keep my tail groomed. i'm benching up to 17 grams. i listen exclusively to the new Bjork album (thanks Patrick for sending me that one. i can't wait till may 4th when i'll be free to pursue my passion- online rpgs. peace and love- squirrel

cloned squirrels

what is squirrel's favorite musical number u ask? 1. Sitting on the dock of the bay. Squirrel cries fiery tears whenever he hears this one on the airwaves while he is sitting in his cubicle at work. 2. anything by POD- especially that one called youth of the generation. Squirrel relates to this song because at 99 (20 in human years) Squirrel is reaching the point in his life where he feels there is a decision to be made about which path he will take through the stormy night. POD empowers and inspires Squirrel to choose the path on the left (the path of suffering). Lying at night in his jail cell, staring at the crusty ceiling, Squirrel wishes he had never met rabid robby. also, squirrel wishes he had given ezra a chance to make it up to him before acting so rashly. What is Squirrel's number 1 regret? hangin with rabid robby. 2. mashed potatoes & steamy gravy at redneck's. 3. gettin tossed into the slammer for a crime he didn't commit

'A young whale thrashed the water, beached itself at an oil depot dock and died suddenly on Wednesday after two days of swimming aimlessly in a small bay off an industrial section of Brooklyn.'

prison dream

in my dream there is a white wolf standing on its hind legs. the wolf is the general of an army of squirrels perched in the branches of an oak. they represent the homo thugs here in the meat locker. there is also a seal with legs pacing around the oak and playfully bouncing a ball off its nose. i am wearing a red cape and a three cornered hat. i remember that i am late to class and scurry off to the subway. on the way, i stop at dunkin donuts and buy a boston creme for the pigeons. the river is ice. the tree is on fire. in the flames there appears the image of my father Herman cradling a young child. i hear a noise that sounds like a garbage truck drowning.

i wake up in a cold sweat and Bruce is hovering above me swigging from a bottle of acorn brandy. he looks into my eyes and says, "you sleep like a baby, baby"

they only let me send one letter a week from this panopticon. it is hell. i am bunking with a biker squirrel named bruce. he has done unspeakable things with his gang. now in the slammer on a murder charge, bruce has gone born again. he's 3 feet long and he's shaved off all his fur. instead, he's got tattoos of bikes and damsels and anchors and a porcupine and one that says "nest." bruce is teaching me the ins and outs of the tombs. there are several different crews in here which you must join in order to survive. there's the white power squirrels, the homo thugs, and the visionaries. then there's outsiders like bruce who keep mostly to themselves. i think i better join the roosters if i don't wanna get shanked by a visionary.

an apology

let me explain; i've been in jail. locked in the tombs, ya know. the cops picked me up on a charge of loittering. apparently these days hangin in the park after hours is a crime. i tried to tell the pigs i live up there in one of them trees but they wouldn't hear it. sons of bitches beat me too. things ain't what they used to be. i remember way back when the cops were too afraid to even come to our area of the park. after rabid robby got picked up on the dope smuggling charge though things changed real quick. the judge set bail at 300 bones- i told him i only got nuts. the fucker says "THEN YOU'LL ROT"

The whale turned up dead on the Isla Vista beach over the weekend and was quickly targeted by people seeking to remove the leviathan's teeth, which are valuable for use in a type of handiwork called scrimshaw.

GOD IS A GROOVY GOD

hyper cortex laser fabric lighter. this fine piece of panama cloth retails (normally) at just 107.37. today it is cheaper. alot cheaper. there have been a few moderate defects discovered with the technology. for one thing, once u put on the jacket u can never take it off (never). it clings to yr skin like rubber cement clings to construction paper (even better than rubber cement). the other thing is that this material is infested with lice. today it is only 107.89 per pound. have a nice day- om shanti

machine grease is american butter

u there, on the forward mainstay, scurry up the jib and set the tri sails. hurry man for the easterly squall approaches off the starboard bow. off larboard spot ye the fleet of whales breaching in the misty seas. 30 degrees to port ho! we'll catch em, by god we'll catch em. Mr. Taft- my stethoscope if you please- Mr. Hairy 10 more degrees aft, easy now, easy. Into the wind boys!

THROBBING GRISTLE

Die Kunst des Wartens

Leben ist warten. Wir warten bis Tod. Tod ist warten für Wiedergeburt. Ewigkeit ist ein Kreis. Wir warten an der Parkbank für Ewigkeit. Wir warten und verpflegen die Taube. Wir verpflegen die Taube Giftbrot weil Frühling es ist. Wir schlafen an der Parkbench und warten für Lola aber sie wird nie kommen. Wir wissen das aber wir warten jedenfalls. Wir werden alt an der Parkbench. Haare wird grau. Wir warten für der Vater aber er wird nicht kommen. Wo ist Lola? Sie wartet an andere Parkbank in andere Staat. Sie ist verlegen. Sie dachte, dass wir am Mitternacht treffen wurden. Ich warte mit meinem Hund an der Parkbank und sehe die Grauhörchen. Die Grauhörchen kämpfen für Eicheln. Sie verbergen die Eicheln und warten sie umgraben. Sie steigen die Bäume aus und springen unten. Mein Hund sieht ein dickes Grauhörchen und springt um das Tier zu essen. Aber er ist zu spat. Jetzt muss mein Hund für das nächste warten. Ich wartet für meine Mutter mit mehr Giftbrot aber sie werden nicht kommen. Die Taube werden sterben und werden menschen in dem nächste Leben. Der Hund werden eine Kröte werden. Und ich? Ich werde ein Zyklop werden. Ich warte an der Parkbank mit die Tiere und realisiere die Zeit. Es ist jetzt eine Million Uhr. Ich bin spat. Ich muss Madonna treffen. Warten gefällt ihr nicht. Sie wird sehr aufgebracht als sie warten muss. Auch wird Oprah sehr aufgebracht als sie warten muss. Es ist der Sonnenuntergang und wir haben kein mehr zeit.

an open letter to olbert

Olbert u slimy fuck-
first of all where the fuck is my toadskin jacket? u took that piece over a year ago to wear to yr senior prom and i never received it back. really man, it's just rude and disrespectful not to return that especially since you know that it was a gift from my godmother. second of all- i fear that you are spinning out of control. when you first started doing yoga i thought it was cool and that you could handle it but i fear that you are becoming reckless. what is this i hear about you attempting a double bind in broad daylight on the god damn concrete pavement with your dog Vishnu lifted over your head and chanting hari krishna rants all the while. your loosing your marbles. besides it was always more about the outfits for you than the practice. you were always - look at my new organic breathable fiber undergarments spun by syphilises worms in Eurasia. get over it dude. when will you learn to transcend? OM SHANTI. love eternal & death is only the beginning of a new journey into cyberspace- Sydney

A BOOK FULL OF HORRIBLE THINGS

Candy cane

what kind of freaky shit is Candy up to?

Igor was also a biker. He loved nothing more than to ride his hog around the mountanious terrain of northern california. igor never felt so free as when he was just one squirrel without fur on a bike doing 100 in the foothills of the sierra nevadas. igor spent days up in the mountains eating mushrooms. he strove to regain the innocence that those smirking humans in the white van had stolen from him. igor's dreams were filled with white vans and giant crocodiles. igor's waking hours were spent hustling, being a bandit. igor scurried up khaki pant legs and stole fat leather wallets with his teeth. the last time i saw igor he was strung out on coke. he said he hadn't slept for weeks. his eyes were white like yogurt. i said igor you gotta chill out man you don't look so good. igor smiled and laughed. he hopped on his hog and rode off into the mist.

after squirrel got out of rehab he was clean for 3 months. he was holdin down a job as a short order chef and things were lookin up. veronica had even started returning his calls. that was before squirrel met Igor. Igor had grown up in some rich ass nest in Westchester but the dude was fuckin nuts. First of all he had shaved off all his fur. He looked like a homicidal lunatic. Also Igor had been abducted by humans and experimented upon. People said he was never the same after the men in the park took him in their van.

work it

ommmmmmm ommmmmmm

a call to action

THEY are forcibly sterilizing squirrels across the globe, performing all sorts of weird tests and shit on our boys. we need a plan. i propose a demonstration in which we levitate the pentagon. i propose a psychic sit in. we will jam the air waves and military channels with psychic babble. any other ideas brothers and sisters?

beach hopping

squirrel and mahatma were in south beach riding the waves. alicia was drinking dunkin donuts coolatas and was feelin pretty good. maxim hit the harder stuff; daiquiris. the scene was so chill, you would have never imagined what was lurking deep beneath the surface water, in the ocean's icy bowels. it was a gigantic monstrous audacious murderous TO BE CONTINUED

u r special

tonight's special at salt lick chateau- fofu ala carte ($27.95). this exotic Ghanaian dish is made up of the finest ingredients- onion grass, coconut, weevil, dylar compound yellow 5. also including yr choice of 3 scrumptious side dishes- twizzler sticks, lobster claw soup, organic dylar yellow 5 compound. come now and we'll throw in a free Mimosa.

Meet the chef. winner of american kitchen-

SYD

part 3 (squirrel diving)

the pez army approached, lusting for the kill. Mahatma jumped out the 4th story window and miraculously landed on his paws. "get out of the fucking car now." Mahatma screamed at a nearby driver, flaunting his magnum in the air. the driver of the bmw s class ran away in fright. Mahatma jumped behind the wheel and put the pedal to the medal, swerving and bumping down the steep hills and narrow streets of San Fransisco 1975. but the druids were not far behind. their caravan included 7 dark suvs and a hummer. they also have a helicopter and a speed boat. TO BE CONTINUED

Matilda self portrait (castration anxiety)

dream couples
capt. ahab (not to be confused with other ahab) + michelle pfeiffer
rashid + whitney
sandra bullock + levon

a fairy tale ending (walk the fur plank)

Reese Witherspoon, Alicia, and Igor were walking on the beach watching the surf wash up onto the rocks. Igor was wearing no shoes. Alicia was wearing sandals. Reese was wearing Moccasins. Igor was scanning the sand, looking for the shells. A huge crab crawled out of a hole. It scurried towards the friends and grabbed hold of Igor. It swung him by the tail, capitulating him into the surf. Igor can't swim. Alicia screamed in horror. Reese ran towards the water. Igor was helpless. A wave was about to crash over his minute furry body, already soaked with salt water, caked with sand. HELP screamed Igor at the top of his lungs but it was too late. The ocean swallowed him up. He was swept out to sea. Reese could see his bushy tail poking through the white caps far out past the breakers. Alicia Silverstone called her dad Shel Silverstein, who is captain of the local coast guard patrol but everyone knew that the chances of finding Igor alive were miserable. The worst part of all was that Igor's family, being Catholic, could not have an open casket funeral as was their want. Igor's mother is devastated. Igor sleeps with fishes and drowned squirrels in the depths of night. Reese Witherspoon eats giant crabs in a Malibu condo. Alicia Silverstone mourns at the chapel, stays awake for days on end, and takes amphetamines to dull the pain of loss.

what is candy doing tonight?

rashid's war

as i was saying, we descended into depths of chocolate. there were rivers of milky chocolate, flowing like hot lava, yielding a nostalgic steam that reminded one of winter days spent at the craft fair with a cup of mother’s finest hot chocolate in hand, bobbing for apples, chasing turkeys. i clutched the Nestle key in my hand. suddenly, i was overcome with the urge to take a bite out of it. oh how delicious it was! crispy golden outside, smooth caramel inside. a meal fit for the titans. BIG MISTAKE. i nearly ate the whole key before I realized that I had just digested my only ticket out of this twisted realm, this warped chocolate prison. i was trapped. without the key i could not access the twizzler ladder or enter the hall of gummi bears. i would never return to earth. never absorb the rays of a sun that is not a cadbury egg. at that moment the army of pez dispensers began to march towards me, their gaping holes seemingly intent on swallowing up my very being, they were lusting for human flesh. there were thousands of pex cadets arranged in a line as far as the eye could see, cloaked in little loin clothes barely covering their private pez parts. The general was a specimen onto himself. Standing 10 meters tall at the front of the line urging his comrades on with shouts of “never take our freedom.” i grabbed the first thing that caught my eye- a gigantic dum dum lollipop and used all my power to swing it menacingly around my head. i wanted to convince the pez army that i was a mad man, incapable of defeat. i hooted and howled. they were not impressed and continued to advance. the chocolate mahogany doors slammed shut behind me. the key was in my stomach dissolving in a pool of gastric acids. there was only one thing left to do. TO BE CONTINUED

Rashid's debacle

from the hairy mouth of rashid himself

i stumbled across the golden key last evening. it was buried nearby some shrubs. at first i didn't know what to make of it but then i saw the ancient inscriptions. there were hieroglyphic symbols engraved onto the base of the key. the key was gleaming. it must have been made of 34 karrot. it was also very heavy. i carried it to my friend who is knowledgeable about hieroglyphics and ancient magic. after a preliminary examination he said it looked like what has been referred to as the key to the catacombs of Damascus- a key that will unleash confined demons. i booked a flight to Damascus. i sprinkled myself with holy water just to be safe before entering the tombs. i descended down deep, deep, deep, deeper into the darkness TO BE CONTINUED

A time for family and joyous festivity. A time for gathering around the ceremonial table and reclining in recognition of our ancestors who were slaves. That's right it's that time of year again and all are welcome (except Leonora). Here's the yummy deets (can't wait to see ya'll);

Seder this year is at Levon's nest. Mark your calenders. Levon's nest is a cute little place in the village in a big old oak- the kind you wish you lived in. Marvelous views 24hr doorman, washing machine, you get the picture (Levon what the fuck do you pay for that place? how much dick you have to suck?) All Levon asks in return for his generosity is 1. if you know any Jewish squirrels who don't have a place to go to on Passover please by all means invite them to join us 2. do not invite any humans. additionally, please come prepared with interesting thoughts and questions regarding the theme of Liberation and also the theme of alienation in modernity. There will be bitter dank herb galore, chicken bone, and Deborah's voracious ancestral charosset. next year in Jerusalem.

portrait of Olbert as a young man

Just got off the phone with the author himself. Olbert told me that he's chosen a title for his forth coming autobiography (previewed on this site not 3 hours ago) - the book's gonna be called "The Hashish Diaries" and will focus on all aspects of Olbert's existance including his time in Turkish prision, his participation in Timothy Leary's first acid experiments, his notorious involvement in Watergate, and details of his juicy affairs with former President Gerald Ford and talk show host Montel. Be sure to check out what is sure to be the hottest tell all since Rachel Ray's classic cookbook cum memoir "me and rover"

family tree=

patriarch= olbert + sandra

kin= Igor + Leonora

offspring= levon, rashid, simba

a chapter from the autobiography of olbert

i came to this country in 1897, following the potatoe famine and the czarist revolution in lithuania. i didn't have any money for a ticket so i stowed away on a german ocean liner called the lufthansia. for 7 weeks while we were crossing the atlantic i survived on butter cookies and apple juice which i found a plenty in the ship's hold. it was not so boring down there. i became friendly with several rats with whom i'd occasionally share my ration of butter cookies. there was one female rat, elke, who i would paint in the nude. how pleasing was her perfect bushy tail! i painted her in the ample morning light- i painted her in the evening, her yellow eyes illuminated by the last rays of the dying sun. i painted her dozens of times and we made love but when her rich husband edmond caught onto the affair he forbade her to see me and challenged me to duel. i fought him and severed his tail but he lived. when we landed on ellis island i had to wait for days on line. when i finally got to the head of the line i was examined by a mean old man with gingivitis. i had to give him my last scheckl in order to enter the states. on the docks i found work as a longshoresman.

there are devils living among us in the flesh, masquerading as sherpas and yoga instructors. devils of the new year we shall refer to them as- do you know who they are? not yr parents. i know of two off the top of my head. 1 is a vile man who resorts to spiritual co modification as a means of self justification. you might say he is selling out the dali lama. oh his intent seems so pure to you now- but mediate upon his impact and vocabulary and the shocking truth will fuck you up. it is the role of the preacher, intellectual, squirrel to unveil these devastating thinly veiled abominations, to uncover the incest that lurks beneath the seemingly innocuous facade of whole foods, et al. number 2 still to come- his name starts with s - one might say he is giving it to the people whole sale, if my drift is clear enough

off to the vicious east- a two week lama trek thru the canyons followed by base jumping off mt. washington. we will survive off acorns and road kill. we will leave no trace. we will sleep suspended 12000 ft up in the himalayas with no oxygen or sherpas. we take peyote at the mall of america and transform into squirrels. then we will be back to dog sit and resume german class. i will fed ex you the agenda

BREAKING NEWS

Last year, the company went so far as to trademark “technosexual,” anticipating it could become a buzzword for marketing to millennials, the roughly 80 million Americans born from 1982 to 1995. A typical line from the press materials for CK in2u goes like this: “She likes how he blogs, her texts turn him on. It’s intense. For right now.”

sometimes the voice of a single squirrel gets drowned out in the insane white noise of the blogosphere. but this is the way igor would have wanted it. let me give a short history for those of you who are not familiar; born 1890 in Transylvania. 1918- forced into exile by the czarist regime becomes futurist poet in bakino faso 1945- indited for complicity with nazi authorities in africa 1960- receives new found admiration from generation of young radicals. poetry rediscovered by critics and students alike. 1992- appears at mtv music awards to present award for best female artist (madonna, duh) 2007- run over by bus of horrendous gum chewing school children on their way to ride roller coasters and eat greasy foods and drink sprite
never forget igor (friend & prophet to young and old alike. saint of jolly ranchers and the block corner)

I AM A NEW YORK YOGA INSTRUCTOR WHO HAPPENS TO BE A SQUIRREL NOT THE OTHER WAY AROUND!

today i witnessed my best friend igor get run over by a busload full of hideous children, snorting, their faces covered with acne, their mouths lined with metal, their hands grasping terrible multi-colored balloons; purple, yellow, orange helium infused orbs trailing behind the caravan of catastrophic debasement. They were on their way to Six Flags Great Adventure. Cries of debauchery were audible emanating from the bus, vicious giggles, haunting songs of death- old mc donald had a farm, ei ei o. Who is this old mcdonald, saint of cretins and war mongerers? where is his farm so that i may kill him in revenge??? OH IGOR, I shouted into the air. WAS HABEN SIE DIR GEMACHT I chanted wildly in Igor’s native tongue. Igor’s eyelids flashed open for a fraction of a second- his yellow iris met mine- he mumbled something in German, I recognized the word Mutter. The rest was incomprehensible. Then his eyelids slammed shut. The essence of life left his corpus. Igor's squirrel soul floated up into the heavens. I was alone on 4th street with not an acorn to my name.

PURIM FESTIVITES BEGIN NOW

the miracle of spring! the cherries burst forth from their bulbs! the slumbering squirrel awakens! he climbs forth from his dank lair smelling of squirrel sweat and dung where he has spent the past fortnights meditating on the previous solstice cycle, making silent resolutions to himself- to go to yoga more often, to give up horse tranquilizers and onion cream cheese; the horrible occurrences of the tropical months resonating throughout his peanut sized brain, seeping into his bloodstream like a never ending cacophony of terrorism, ENOUGH! the squirrel rises, shakes off his bushy tail, enamoring himself at the sun's bright orb, its rays warming his coat. the squirrel scurries forth, up trees, down into sewers, playfully in search of fresh acorns and decomposing bodies to feast on, for with the spring comes the unfilled promise of redemption! NEXT YEAR IN JERUSALEM!

our first review

BIG news. new york magazine writes a rave review of salt lick opening night. my fantasy to adorn the pages of ny magazine has become reality!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

read review here- http://youtube.com/watch?v=H7SjWXRZNrk&mode=related&search==

come one come all for tonight's grand opening of the salt lick- an organic american restaurant featuring the finest local produce and meats, as well as aquatic creatures direct from the unfathomable depths. space will be extremely limited so call now to make a reservation. dinner will be served from 6pm to 11. here is the menu for tonight's opening for your convienance.

surf and turf special- this features steak as well as lobster. it will be a decadent dish of death for your enjoyment. if you especially enjoy selecting your victim, you may choose the lobster you wish to eat from our massive tank. the beef you will eat is grass fed and has spent its entire existence being massaged by geishas in a japense ocean resort. it is really top quality and comes highly suggested by the chef (yours truly)

vegetable special- all kinds of weird vegetables. vegetables you've never seen before. vegetables that haunt your dreams. so strange looking you'll believe it's meat, but alas it is not. vegetables with teeth and ears. a never ending platter including grilled, diced, chopped, baked, smoked, roasted, braised, and fermented goards, celerly root, kashi kashi, mushroom, giant pumpkin etc. gonna fuck you up. vegetables have never been so dangerous and the best part is you are supporting local goard dealers!
note- the dna of some of the vegetables featured in tonight's special has been tampered with by our geneticist for maximum customer satisifcation

desert- apple pie ice cream made on our own horse powered ice cream maker however powered by a team of dwarves who sing since our horse has passed away (rip squirrel rider)
- if we run out of apple pie we will use strawberry-rhubarb
see you tonight!!!!

an online forum for e-eunics