an open letter to jimmy on the day squirrels' earth stood relatively still

Dear jimmy,
You know this is not easy for me...but, I feel that the only way for me to get back on my feet, is maybe for you to start your blog again. I miss you. I need you. I know that I should take responsibility for my own life, or what is left of it. I know that you are, at your core, dung. And yet, I heart you man. So come on jimmy, quit hiding. If you want, I'll go easy on you. We all know you are a little dim, but that is the one endearing characteristic you exhibit. I say, go with it, jimmy. Show it off. Proudly let your character-defining lack of luster dull everything it tries, in desperation, to reflect. Write jimmy, write. I have no idea why, but since you stopped blogging, my life has turned into a turd-log parade without wheels. Is it coincidence? Probably, but I don't care. I am desperate. So here goes....Jimmywrites Barada Nikto. Jimmywrites Barada Nikto.
Your Pal,
Squirrel
BTW - I can see into your bedroom window from my new "apartment". Don't be ashamed. You have every reason to be ashamed, but don't be, i mean, shame is not going to improve your performance, is it? Jimmywrites Barada Nikto.

hey raccoon, just because i didn't feel it, doesn't mean it didn't happen

Does no one recognize the signs of a stroke? I had a stroke. I was delirious - no blood was going to my brain! Who would actually think I have a god damn boat? I live under some leaves by a puddle. How could I possibly, instantly, afford a boat named "Get on Bitch!"? What I did do, is spend the last few weeks 100 feet from the library, paralyzed from the neck down, sucking dew off grass blades, thankful nobody mowed me. I should have heard search parties and helicopters, but instead I heard only my own labored breathing. Oh, there was a raccoon that sniffed my ass one day, and a crow that periodically stopped by to see if I was dead yet...FOR ALL THE WRONG REASONS! But you, my "friends" are the ones who truly sicken me. I miraculously regained my strength, slowly, on my own, with daily progress I made it back to my leaf pile and once I was able to open a can of Spaghettio's - I knew I was going to be okay. I thought I had done some real deep soul-searching in the slammer, but now I really got to know hate, lying there on the ground, left for dead, by idiots too stupid to recognize the obvious signs of a squirrel in peril. I would like to publicly admit that I did make one "death's door" promise to God while I was face down outside the library. A single heartfelt promise that if he, dear God, got me through this alive, I vowed, I promised, I swore, to stop believing in him.

i never promised you a wildflower garden

Where is me.
I'd like to know.
Where is squirrel.
His wife was a ho.
Where oh where.
That sister-in-law so fine.
Where be he.
That shadow of mine.
Well I'll tell you where i am...on a good day - when I am not getting shot at - i am eating out of goddamn dumpsters, picking up fleas everywhere I try to sleep, looking for any drink of water that hasn't been crapped in by birds, losing a fight with the squatters that moved into my house, finding out that medical care for all hasn't happened yet, wishing I was still in prison and hoping jimmy gets hit with a big goddamn shovel in the back of his big ugly misshapened goddamn head.
yeah i am out of prison and life is one big goddamn field of goddamn flowers.
I guess I have more to say, it isn't all bad, i'll try to get back into the library and type more as soon as I can, but my left arm is getting numb and I can't type animo

Whoa, I think I had a stroke. anyway. I bought a boat. Named her the "Get on, bitch!"

Hell yeah.