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?