I Got My Eye On You

Flew down from New Yawk to stay at da Hyatt Key West. Pretty nice joint. We like it 'cuz deres plenny a stuff ta eat an' pretty much nobody bodders ya. Only ting is, we was hopin' to find some lady pigeons at da bah or da beach, but no luck. Some pretty gay-lookin' seagulls been checkin' us out, dough. Boids. Doity, stinkin' boids. Oh, well. Whaddaya gonna do? And this frickin' railin' is frickin' hot. Nice view, if I sez so myself. Fuggedaboutit.

Invasion Of Privacy

Dear Mr.Homeowner;

Although you may have seen me around, I would like to formally introduce myself. I am Mr.Robert Grandtail, son of Edward "Buck" Grandtail, of Number 1, Large Oak. For the four earth changes, you have been inhabiting the nest on my property that is set between my home and The Place Where Squirrels Are Made Flat. As you may know, I also recreate and make my living amongst the Elm, the Japanese Maple and the Southern Pines, or as I have come to know these trees are called by virtue of my research through WikiPedia.

I have tried to be a good neighbor in the hope that you would rise above your common human-ness and reciprocate the courtesy. It has become clear to me, not unexpectedly, yet, with some level of morose disappointment, that you are no different from the other furless freaks that have plagued my family for all memory.

Within the last fortnight, I have found myself very busy in the collection of foodstuffs meant to stave off starvation through the coming lean times. It has also been a rather difficult time for me in terms of Homeland Defense, as you have no doubt at least heard, having had repelled multiple incursions on my territory from gutless thieves intent on displacing me from my heritage and supplies stores. This has consumed a great deal of energy and has created an environment fraught with stress. The very last thing I need is another vector of pressure from any quarter. Yet, I find that you have insisted on perpetually insinuating yourself into my activities through unceasing voyeurism.

My father used to say, "good fences make good neighbours," As would apply to my complaint, I must now respectfully ask that you observe the spirit of this philosophy since I am unable to erect actual fencing being that I lack the necessary building permits and opposible thumbs. Kindly stop peering at me at all hours of the day and please do not distract me when I am engaged in fighting for my territory and for my very life.

If you care to reply, please wrap said note around either a peanut or chestnut of appropriate weight and loft it into the first ring of branches at Large Oak. I thank you in advance for your attention in this matter.

Sincerely;

R. Grandtail

Dear Mr. Grandtail;

Thanks for writing to me and now that I am a name to put to the face, let me straighten you out on a few things.

First of all, you're on my property, not vice versa. I own the "nest," (which is called a "house," by the way, had you bothered checking this out in WikiPedia, you would know that, Dweebish McFartwit,) the land and, guess what? the trees, too, including the large oak that I have, frankly, been thinking of cutting down.

It takes a lot of gall to basically slink around for a year and then make what I would call un-neighborly demands from a person who is a complete stranger. And did I mention that you're a frickin' squirrel. So, yeah, if I seem pissed off, I am. I pay plenty taxes and don't need to be harassed by a tick-infested forest creature.

Up until now, I thought your antics were kinda cute. Now I understand that you're basically a furry bully and that you think by using formal and official-sounding language that I'll be intimidated by your puffed-up attitude. Well, all I'm doing is standing outside, drinking my coffee and checking out the crazy-ass squirrels. This isn't "voyeurism" and it's pretty fricking rude to suggest that I'm some kind of peeping Tom.

Check your attitude, bud, and we'll get along fine.

Signed,

Lord and Master of the Tree You Frickin' Live In

Dear Manimal;

An attitude of indifference does not surprise me, being that you are a Man and therefore likely believe that all things of the earth are beholden to you. What is surprising is the utter lack of basic respect coupled with sheer hostility toward a small and, I might say, thoughtful fellow creature.

What you don't realize is that I have shown you respect and you have not returned the same in kind. I have not moved my home from Large Oak to the interior of your nest, though I am sure this would enhance my personal comfort as well as be highly attractive to a potential mate. I have not wielded my not inconsiderable influence over my fellow creatures to encroach upon your nest in any way that you might ultimately see as inconvenient. And, you will notice, that the shiny pod upon which you lavish such undue attention through the rubbing of its surface on a semi-regular basis, which I can only imagine is some sort of perverted stimulatory event, has remained unmarred by the output of my flying friends, to whom these pods are a favourite target.

Again, I must renew my demand that you keep your eyes to yourself and allow me to go about by business unmolested.

Concernedly,

R. Grandtail

Dear Nutbuster;

You actually wrote me back? Maybe I didn't make it clear - you're a frickin' squirrel and I don't give a crap if you think I'm streaming your gay squirrel fights to YouTube. Let's get this straight: first of all, you're a frickin' squirrel and second of all, this is America and the law says that if you're in the public view, I can look at you, take your picture (see attached pic of you invading MY privacy by staring into my living room - who's the voyeur, now, bitch?) talk to you, whatever.

And you're frickin' threatening me? What? If I don't avert my eyes, your birdie friends are gonna poop on my car and you're gonna break into my attic? As to the second, go ahead - ever hear of an Exterminator? Merchant of Death, babee! And I won't let him use a HavAHeart trap. No - he'll be instructed to terminate with extreme prejudice. With the bird poop - whatever. You're bullcrapping me. You don't have any control over the birds anymore than you have over me, or over your squeaky little motor mouth.

Don't threaten me, even unintentionally, otherwise, I'll be off to the sporting goods store to score me a Wrist Rocket. Get me?

Thanks,

He Who May Determine Your Fate

Dear Fleshtard;

I see that you intend to return a friendly tap on the shoulder with a vicious slap in the face. My request is simple and perfectly reasonable. If you choose to behave like E. Coli, so be it. Reap the consequences.

R. Grandtail

Dear Squirrel A. Hole;

Very funny. Is it a coincidence that my car is covered in bird shit, that I all of a sudden have a giant spider problem, that, somehow, though I just paid 200 bucks to clean my gutters that they're now overflowing with leaves and nut shells and that skunks all this week have been walking out into the middle of the road, waiting, apparently, for a car to come by and crush the living stink out of them? I have reported this situation to the police who looked at me like I was crazy said, "why don't you just shoot him." And so, I will. Watch your back, bitch. This shit's gonna stop.

Meaning it,

The Terminator

Dear Neighbor;

In light of the recent invasion of poop-filled deer who have paved my yard with their black pearls of dung and have eaten every last bit of ground-lying foliage at a cost to me of thousands of dollars in custom landscaping, including the groups of mature hostas and every last fern in my shade garden, I am willing to admit defeat.

As a gesture of my goodwill, I am extending a peace offering in the form of a nice assortment of foods that, I am told by experts, you will find both delicious and nutritious. These strategically-placed caches have been protected from your competitors within special "safe spaces" that you can enter at will to retrieve what you want, when you want it.

I am hoping that this letter finds you in the best of health. Hope to hear from you soon.

Best regards,

Your Partner In Gaia

Dear Murderous Human Swine;

I am writing at the behest of my late father, the venerable R. Grandtail. It is my understanding, according to the forensic analysis, that you are responsible for his gruesome and untimely death. His blood is on your hands. Our home will now be thought of as the Killing Fields of Large Oak, amplified by the deception you levied in the form of a proffer of an olive branch. Instead, my noble Father was treated to "food" in fact made deadly by your minions through typically destructive human means, food so attractive that he could not resist, by his trusting nature and to his and our detriment, its appeal and did, by your urging, enter the metal enclosure which was set out with the intent not only of unlawfully imprisoning him, but arranged in such a way as to force him to slowly die without dignity in full public view. This was not an honorable death as would be befitting a gentlesquirrel of his stature.

Unlike my father, I am above resorting to reactionary tactics clearly meant to lure your victims into a confrontation. Instead, I have filed a wrongful death suit against you with the CAA, or Court of Animal Affairs. Since we do not subscribe to the biblical notion that man has dominion over animal, as if man himself were not an animal, the rules and laws that we have proscribed are binding and subject to enforcement in no uncertain and most final terms. I look forward to our day in court and expect that justice will be swift and whole.

With much gravity,

R. Grandtail, Jr., Esq.

Dear Junior;

WTF? I just got some bogus papers delivered to my door by a woodchuck who was pretty menacing, if you ask me, especially when he threw the papers at me and said, "You are served."

I'm not bound by your stupid laws, whatever those are. Your father was a dick and being that you are using the suffix "Esq." after your name, I assume that you're a lawyer, which makes you ten times the dick your father was.

My attitude to you is this - blow me.

Sincerely,

Your Personal Jesus

*****

County of Greene, State of New Jersey
First Circuit Court of Animal Affairs
Hon. J. Beaver, Presiding
In Re: Grandtail, et al v. Human Interloper

Be It Known To All Animals that in the foregoing action brought by the Estate of R.Grandtail, et al, of Large Oak, hereinafter known as the Plaintiff, with Robert Grandtail, Jr., Esq, representing the Plaintiff against Human Interloper, of Man Nest within the bounds of the property overlaid by Large Oak, hereinafter known as the Defendant, that the Plaintiff has duly served by certified means the Defendant with the Complaint and the particulars of the aforesaid Complaint and has been given the statuatory period as required by law to respond. The Court has heard the motions of the Plaintiff and given that the Court has no record of having received an interlocutory response, nor has the Defendant appeared before the court, the Court has hereby entered a Summary Judgement in favour of the Plaintiff based on the overwhelming facts within the case as presented as well as the Defendants failure to respond as opportuned by the Law and the Rules of the Court.

To wit, the Court finds for the Plaintiff as follows:

1. Immediate Relief: The law provides for the immediate and permanent ejection of Human Interloper from his unlawfully constructed nest by any lawful means.
2. Direct Compensation: Human Interloper is hereby ordered to pay the sum of twelve seasons of food adequate to provide for the descendants of R.Grandtail as this is in line with the period of time that he should have been able to provide for himself, his mate and offspring were his life not so brutally cut short.
3. Additional Relief: Human Interloper is and shall evermore be the subject of Animal retribution so that none of his days shall be without the reminder that he is not only Man Amongst Men, but also subject to the whims of Gaia, as are we all. The Court shall not interfere with, nor take notice of, nor punish, any animal(s) whose activities may result in the immediate or eventual demise of Human Interloper, either through direct or indirect action.
4. Damages: Human Interloper is hereby ordered to pay the sum of More Than We Can Count in the form of premium, unsalted, lightly toasted cashews, macadamia nuts and dry-roasted almonds, but in which proportion shall not exceed less than two parts macadamia nuts to all other nuts combined.

This Judgment is entered this First Day of the Third Season, Season Set of The Owl.

Signed,
Hon. J. Beaver, presiding

*****

Moral of the story? Don't f*ck with the squirrels, or any living thing, for that matter. Woodchuck Connection = Mobbed Up. If you see one coming, dear FSM, RUN THE OTHER WAY!

Lie Low, LiLo

It makes my daughter's skin crawl to hear me refer to Lindsay Lohan as "LiLo," but frankly, the former has too many syllables, causing me to waste even more time discussing her. What's the fascination? Schadenfreude? Oh, how the mighty have fallen kind of thing? Yes and no.

For those who don't know, Ms. Lohan's is a tragic tale of a yet another Disney star gone wobbly. Ejected from the same fame mill as Justin Timberlake, Christina Aquilera and Britney (do I have to say her last name?), she rocketed to fame as a co-star in Disney's Parent Trap with follow-ups Freaky Friday, across from mega-star, Jamie Lee Curtis, and in Mean Girls, all high-grossers. Maybe what cracked her pot was having a car as a co-star in Herbie Fully Loaded because after that, both publicly and in her filmography, she moved toward strictly grown-up stuff, like rampant, in-your-face sexuality, beaver-reveals and nip-slips a-plenty, the rumoured, but so-far-untrue, cell-phone sex videos, allegedly being beaten up and spat upon by her supposed ex-girlfriend, Samantha Ronson and, of course, not one, but two DUIs within a ridiculously short time span, both also involving the possession of coke, and I don't mean the fabulously sweet carbonated beverage that gives me agita, either.

Really, WTF? We are talking about a "successful" 24 year-old with two records under her belt and more than fifteen movies, a few of which have been huge hits, right? And the potential is there, not because she's a great actress or a fabulous singer, but because she is smack-dab in the middle of the Hollywood success machine, at just the right age, with loads of momentum. And she apparently doesn't give a f*ck. That's sad.

What's sadder still is that she hadn't taken a page from the Celebrity Manual of Contrition. Michael Vick took his lumps, served his time, apologised and ponied-up a barrel full of money to help counter the publicity surrounding his dog-fighting conviction. It didn't mean that he had to lay prone while animal rights activists took their best shots in a poorly-lit east Philly parking lot, but he instead negotiated the situation and whatever arc of a career as a star NFL player he has left can now be followed neatly to its inevitable conclusion to a network color commentary chair, surrounded with a smattering of dealership ribbon-cuttings and a side of strength-training supplement endorsements. All because he got caught, weighed the difference between being a feckless thug and the potential of true star status, and decided that it would be better to make people like him again so that they would show him the money. LiLo's attititude is exemplified by the creative mani she sported on sentencing day in July - "f*ck u."

Blah, blah, so it's a "shame." Unfortunately, it's a little more than that. Hollywood types have been self-destructing since the days of Fatty Arbuckle and we've been eating it up since then, gossip whores that we are. Thing is, it's not alright. It's about time that the divas and dudes that do this kind of thing understand that a nip-slip or drunken brawl might be momentarily entertaining, in the end, it's pretty nasty and does nothing for our country's image in the world. Further, as a celebrity, one has the obligation to be respectful to one's fans. Celebrities don't have a private life when they're in public and if they want to behave like drunken, drug-addled idiots, it's really an intentional insult to the lesser "great unwashed." Hey, listen, you're cute, hot, talented, whatever, but there are limits. So, behave badly all you want, just not in our collective livingroom. It's just plain rude. And sad. And it's about time that we collectively set a standard both for ourselves and for our kids that says to these lilotypes that we're not sinking any further - sorry. And for those celebrities - and sports stars and politicians - who can't respect themselves enough to show a little respect for the rest of us, well, we must commit to just turning away like we turn away when someone else's toddler explodes in frustration at the Pathmark because he just wants it wants it wants it. Well, you can't have it. Behave yourself.

It's Magically Delicious

Forget about the Pink Hearts, Orange Stars, Yellow Moons and Green Clovers. Here's something better, kiddies:

It's incontrovertible proof that what lies at the end of the rainbow ain't tiny marshmallows or Pots O' Gold, but BOOZE! Glorious, soul-numbing, mind-deadening hootch. My favorite? New Jersey Port. Yum. Makes me all English an' sh*t.

Can You Keep A Secret?

I learned the hard way that not everything needs to be said,even when this means that an opportunity for understanding is lost. In fact, i paid a lot of money to a very able therapist to train me to shut my big trap. Oh, i understand why i "share too much." And, yes, i have parents at fault. My father was my guide to this M.O.. He simply uttered every thought that entered his brain without an apparent thought to self censorship, though i have no idea if he actually had more vile and horrible things to say that never made it out of his pie-hole. Frankly, i can't imagine it: it would be much better if all he had to say was said. It was enough as it was.

So, now i consider, reframe, scenarize my thoughts before my internal editor will release them to publishing and, i must say, it's difficult and unnatural for me. the further downside is that i seem stodgier than ever, unless i employ the body language techniques i learned to help my talking buddy feel at ease and speak on. In other words, i'm in the role of the non-directive therapist. The upside is that people like me better, mainly because they are of the impression that i give a fashizzle.

One other big downside is that since my free-wheeling stream-of-conciousness has been clamped, i'm not as brilliantly funny in person as i uster be. This is disappointing.

But, i can talk to the dog and he looks at me questioningly, trying to pick out words like "walk" or "bisquit." Convinced that i am not near to an action that addresses his needs, he lowers his head and snuffs his disappointment. Little bastard.

There have been collecting a coven of secrets in a sort of pool in my mind, things that should probably be talked about but that i know may more organically resolve on their own or things that are, by themselves, not all that important. Still, there are things that i just know in my gut have to be resolved before i croak. Maybe if i mix those things in with far more pedestrian issues, the impact will be diffuse. Maybe i am wrong. Maybe these are secrets that should be kept. Maybe i should just keep my big trap shut.

I'd rather tell you, though. I'd rather it all get sorted, but only for you, whose loyalty could never truly be called into question, except in anger. On the other hand, what right do i have to impose the truth on anyone, whether it's a universal truth or mine alone. Ah. What does it matter? Who cares?

I do. Dammit. I do.

Where Am I?

It's dark out and cold. I catch a glimpse as I pass a mirror and see a gaunt face that I am surprised to recognize as my own. My body is lost in the zippered black fleece that makes the unreasonably chilly air just this side of bearable.

There's nothing to remember except that I am in the prison of my decisions under a sentence of death.

I don't think I can stand it much longer. Where am I?

9 Lives of The Undead Zombie Superhero

Ya know, i took inventory of how many close calls i've had in the white-light-at-the-end-of-the-tunnel department and it seems i've just about run out. There was that time i found my father's Manlicher Carcano carabine in the bedroom closet when i was very little and very curious. Then, there was the ravine-tumbling challenge by by school chums. I can scarcely forget the high-speed crash with Howie's Dad's Impala while were we on our way to a midnight show (totally not Howie's fault, just so you know.) Then, there was that unfortunate toxic substance incident on a rather hot day, to boot. Let's see, that makes four, so far. Then, there was the throat cancer scare, the skin cancer scare, the thyroid scare, the crazy ex-wife arrow-flinging event, the near-miss, icy spin-out, the fall, the bee attack, that stupid bar fight with the broken bottle in the neck, that really crazy red-headed chic with the Harley tattoo and only one nipple.

Oops. Seems i'm over. I guess it's actually a mode of superherodom that i've failed to fully engage. Perhaps i am in fact indestructable and can only be finally downed when presented with appropriately weighty toxic jewelry from the deepest part of the methane oceans on my home world.

I am writing this at 36,000 feet. I think this would be an opportune time to test my theory. Well, then . . . I need a catch-phrase, something heroic?  Ah, yes: Salute The Day! Away! Aaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhh!