by The Peppercorn Kid
-Humor – 5 Pages –
You know what they say about squirrels and politics. But as much as I try to avoid it, there are those unfortunate times when I find myself caught in a discussion about the furry little critters. And then what am I supposed to do, not mention the fact that squirrels are plotting to take over the world? So I usually come right out and say it. “Listen dude, one day soon those squirrels, their gonna rise up man.” The reaction to this statement is always the same. Some version of “What the hell are you talking about you crazy fool?” To this, I often respond by making reference to my book.
“Squirrel Man, My Years as a North American Ground Squirrel” is an autobiographical account chronicling my successful infiltration of the squirrel population in my neighborhood during the late 1990’s. I had always known in my heart that those nutty old rodents were up to something big, but I wasn’t sure what. It’s just that they’re so damn hush hush around humans. So I decided the only way to find out was to get myself a squirrel suit and do some “undercover” work.
I spent nearly every waking moment for months studying squirrels, trying to get inside their knobby little heads. I watched their movements and habits. Measured their demeanor and how they responded to stress. In general, I became intimately familiar with what made them tick. Eventually I was able to comprehend what few humans ever have. I came to fully understand and appreciate what being a squirrel was all about. So, when I suited up, I was not a man in a squirrel suit per se. Oh no, for all practical purposes, I was a squirrel. Then it was only a matter of gaining their trust.
The major obstacle to overcome was the size difference. Imagine if you will the reverse scenario. A squirrel in a man suit trying to fit in with regular men. Surely he would be the object of ridicule initially. It would take some time before he would really become one of the guys, so to speak. Well it was the same for me. I had to put up with the usual new squirrel harassment. It was mostly jokes about my size. Nothing overly offensive until one day this loud mouth jerk of a squirrel said something about my mother and I lost my cool. I crumpled him into a ball and hurled him about 50 feet.
After that, the teasing pretty much stopped and I earned the nickname “Big Ole Bad Ass Bert”. Now I’m not sure where they came up with Bert since my squirrel name was Arty. I guess it’s just that “Big Ole Bad Ass Arty” leaves something to be desired. Sometimes a name change is simply warranted. For instance, look at the case of that once loveable loser, hard luck little Ernie Finkle. When one day his luck turned and he achieved military greatness in Greece and Persia did they call him “Ernie the Great”? Hell no. And they sure didn’t call him “The Great Finkle” although I happen to think that would have been very becoming. No, as we all know, he became Alexander and the rest was history. But I digress.
As it turned out, my size became a real asset during the whole infiltration process. I became a bodyguard for one of the most prominent squirrels in the neighborhood. Acting as his escort, I began to attend secret meetings and at these meetings, as I had suspected, world domination was openly discussed. Actually, their plan happens to be modeled after the Bolshevik Revolution of 1917. As you might expect, squirrels adhere mainly to the Marxist philosophy. They believe that once they overthrow those capitalist pig humans, a system will be put in place, in which, all the happy little squirrels will work together for the common good in a utopian environment. They seem oblivious to the dangers of tyranny inherent in such an idealized society.
On several instances I tried warning them. “My fellow squirrels, don’t you see it will never work? A handful of evil power hungry squirrels will seize control and subjugate the masses. Are you blind to that fact?” But they never listened. I guess, to them, I was nothing more than the big silly squirrel with the thick human accent. I did my best, but squirrel is a tough language to master. Alot of repetitive squeaky sounds. And heaven forbid I should speak my native tongue even though most squirrels do understand English. Squirrels are like the French that way. Snooty little bastards.
Anyhow, despite my accent and alternative ideological perspective, I was very well liked in the squirrel community. After nearly three years of deception I came to a crossroads. I was becoming completely assimilated into their culture. Before long, I knew that there would be no going back. As a matter of fact, a big part of me didn’t want to go back. As a squirrel I was somebody. Kind of an Arnold Schwarzenegger type. When I would scamper from tree to tree, there were shouts of “You da Squirrel” and chants of “Bad Ass” would erupt. Oh yes, there were even movie offers. In contrast, as a human I was never anything more than a face in the crowd. But I could never forget that promise I made myself long ago. It was the only thing holding me back.
Since the days of my youth I clung to that elusive dream. It was, after all, the dream held by so many children of my generation. Most grew up and entered into the mundane existence we call adulthood, losing sight of the prize, but not me. To me it was the hope that my life had a purpose. That I was put here for a reason. That I could truly make a difference. To break the surly bonds of Earth so to speak. To go where no man has ever gone before. The center of a Tootsie Roll Pop, the final frontier. To determine just how many licks it takes. My God man, can you imagine it? To unravel the secrets of the hard candy shell and find salvation.
Prior to going undercover, I had reached an unprecedented 2,632 licks before succumbing to the overwhelming urge to bite. The old record was 2,130 set by a fella in 1939. They called him the Iron Horse and said his record could never be broken. It was a major accomplishment for me, but being the record holder was not enough.
My goal was always to reach the center. Not out of a yearning for tootsie roll mind you. Hell, I don’t even like tootsie rolls. I much prefer the Blow Pop. After all, bubble gum is far tastier than that pseudo chocolate crap, but countless people have licked their way to the center of a Blow Pop. Where’s the challenge in that I ask you? On the other hand, the Tootsie Roll Pop has always been the Holy Grail, the Mount Everest of the lollipop world if you will. My friends, it’s all about the quest to reach the summit. If I ever get there I’ll probably throw the damn tootsie roll part away, but by God, nobody will ever again have to ask how many licks it takes. And in the end, that’s what it’s all about.
So there in lied my dilemma. A man chasing his lollipop dream in a squirrel society where, in case you didn’t know, lollipops are not socially acceptable. Why you ask? Well for one, squirrels are real sticklers about dental hygiene and there’s no denying the link between lollipops and tooth decay. Secondly, you have the whole fur factor. Sticky lollipops and fur just don’t mix. It seemed I couldn’t go anywhere without being reminded of the infamous lollipop fiasco of ’79. Apparently a bag of lollipops got handed out and some squirrels wound up stuck together. They were just a bunch a dumb kids out to have a good time, but I guess things got out of hand. A damn shame it was. After that, the sale of lollipops was banned. You could still get them if you knew the right squirrel but they were going for 90 to a 100 acorns a pop.
It had gotten to the point where I was lucky to get my paws on one or two a week and that wasn’t cutting it. If I was ever going to reach my goal I would need to train and that meant lollipops morning, noon and night. In the end I was left with no choice but to return to my meager human existence where at least lollipops were readily available. I just couldn’t let go of the dream. So one day I reluctantly removed the squirrel mask and simply walked away. I was Squirrel Man no more. Back to being the poor human wretch known to the locals only as “Lollipop Boy”.
Do I miss it? Let me tell you something Buster, not a day goes by when I don’t yearn to be a squirrel again. To once again dawn the furry suit and take to the trees. It’s like they always say, “You can take the man out of the squirrel suit, but you can’t take the squirrel out of the man.” To this very day, I often get chased from my neighbor’s yard. Apparently eating the sunflower seeds out of his bird feeder is so terribly wrong. Well if that’s wrong, then Mister, I don’t want to be right.
I won’t suppress my true feelings any more. To be honest with you, I feel like a squirrel trapped in a man’s body. There, I’ve said it. It took a lot to admit that, but in many ways I’ve never felt more free. No longer will I have to claim to be chewing tobacco to hide the fact that I “squirrel” acorns away in my cheeks. No more secret scurrying. Now, when I scurry, it will be for all the world to see. Look at me world, as I scurry and hide nuts and dart in front of oncoming cars. That’s who I am and I’m damn proud of it.
So that’s my story. I guess now when you hear me speak of squirrels, you’ll take me a little more seriously. Maybe I’m not just some crazy fool after all?
The End
