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