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.