in the hanger or on the launch pad, does it really matter?

I think i am going to get a colonoscopy.  Stuff just isn't working right.  I don't know if that is covered by my healthcare insurance, but since I don't have any healthcare insurance, I don't think it is, pretty sure it isn't.  The guy in the underwear ad I posted, you know the one, well, his boyfriend called me and told me that the guy in the underwear ad wanted to re-connect with his daddy and make the family whole again. I said good for him and him, get your hand off my wallet...bloodsuckers.  All of me is shrinking.  How am I going to get that colonoscopy?  I think that is what I need, maybe it is the prostate check thing - I'm not sure, finger or camera, something alien will soon be in area 51.

free

Well, my life is about as public as a life can be, so I decided to publish the photo of my son, that my wife emailed me. So, junior is not just any old type of model. Turns out, if it is all legitimate, and I think it is, my son is an underwear model. This is the ad from his latest ad campaign. His model name is "Tosh". Why do I think this is my son? Well, he is an underwear model, he can thank my genetics for that...and look at him, it is me one year ago - I can see it in the eyes...my, I mean his, whole life ahead of him. Poor bastard.
Bottom line anyway, he and my old lady can still fly a magic turd to Mars for all I care - they still get nothing from me. "Tosh"...what a load. He is looking less and less like me all the time. "Underpants"...what a load. God didn't make me magnificent so it could be hidden. Squirrel is free! All of me.

hang on loosely, please

Well, mrs. squirrel did get back to me about my son. She says she has proof, and photos, and did email them with me. I just don't know that I am ready to share them with you. I don't mean to be a tease. I don't make any money with hits on this blog - so what would be the point? I need to think this through. I need some time, alone. It's really windy tonight and the apartment is really rocking and rolling. I'm strapped in - for safety, not fun - but would it be so bad if I got blown out of this tree? Out of this life? Don't ever say to yourself, things can't get worse. They will. Maybe things get worse just to keep you aware that fate always has his hand on your nuts, and not in a good way, and not his gentle hand either, rather it is the one he exercises with that squeezey spring handle thing, that hand. Although, maybe fate is a woman; that would explain a lot.

I guess I just care too much

Okay, turns out (thanks for the idiotic emails, you know who you are) - no one who reads this blog has a smart phone, or the ability to read a QR code. Wake up people, it is the new millennium - even unemployed squirrels have smart phones with QR code apps. Get one, Jethro. Anyway, I doubt any of you cheapskates will be buying the t-shirt anytime soon either, but in the interest of goodwill - here is what the QR code from the post earlier today decodes to read:

"Help! I am being held against my will by this woman and our children. They require me to spend 40+ hours per week laboring at a soul-devouring job to keep them in food and clothes. Please rescue me; however, understand that if you do liberate me, they become your responsibility."

Couldn't you imagine Dads all over this country displaying this code as a bonding display? I could, at least I could until I realized you all suck.

scan this

This is a QR code. Scan it with your smart phone. It says something clever. I was sitting around (actually hanging around for dear life in this wind) my leaf bundle in the sky, waiting for mrs. pain-in-my-butthole to send me proof of fatherhood and I came up with what I thought would be a catchy little QR code I could print on t-shirts for like-minded men-about-town. You know, it is kind of about my situation, which I am sure a lot you share, but yet not specific to me, so you can wear it too. $20 each. Whatever size you want. Send me some money. Send it to jimmy's house - I check his mail anyway and the post office stopped delivering to my house, because they say I don't have an address, which I think is a federal crime on their part, but anyway, to hell with them, send it to jimmy's house, but make the check out to Squirrelwrites. If you don't get the shirt in a reasonable amount of time, don't worry, it's on the the way.

do i have a kid or don't i?

That is the question my unemployment check needs to answer.  The last few days, I have been sending emails back and forth with mrs. squirrel.  She claims that she and "junior" moved out to California.  She needs the money because although "junior" (she won't tell me his name, because she doesn't think I should contact him) has a part-time job as a model - it isn't paying all the bills.  I know this isn't much information for a post, nor particularly entertaining - but I want to stay in touch with you my REAL friends, loyal blog readers, and this situation with mrs. squirrel is occupying all my energy, and isn't progressing very fast. Why isn't SHE working? But oh no, I can't ask that, god forbid she gets her lazy @$$ off the...nevermind, I am not going to start that again...where I have left it with her is - I have told mrs. squirrel that I need PROOF that "junior" exists, is alive, and then we can continue this discussion, until then - she and he don't exist.  I need a nap.  Cali-F-ing-ornia.  Unbelievable.  My Miss-is Squirrel...I wonder what she is wearing right now, or not wearing, or partially wearing, kind of barely on, but mostly off, and she's tired, but not too tired, and she looks at me and I know.      Okay, now I need a nap.