Don't give me that look. Eleven months and you haven't done a thing other than watch your old James Bond VHS tapes, and you're trying to act surprised that I need rent? Did you think you could just lounge around forever? That your room and Block Buster rentals were free if you wagged that bushy tail back and forth once or twice a month? Sure, it worked for awhile when you hopped around my yard all day long. Cocaine, I thought, and money allowed you such a high strung life. I thought you were one of the Kardashians. But you aren't Kim or Courtney. You aren't even Lindsay Lohan. You are a squirrel and you need to get a job.
And I'm sick of it. You're dead weight. A drain on my pocket books. But this isn't about me, it's about you. You've changed. Whatever happened to your digging? Your climbing? What ever happened to your love of acorns? You haven't scurried in weeks and the tulip bulbs have gone untouched. I just don't feel like I know you anymore. I mean, it's three pm, and you're sitting around eating Papa Johns. My Papa Johns, no less. When I met you, you'd run across four lanes of busy traffic just for the thrill of it, and now you don't do a damn thing. It's pathetic, and I want no part of it. Starting tomorrow, squirrel, you're cut off. On your own.
Don't roll your eyes at me. I'm serious. No more taking advantage of my hospitality. That means no more rides or money, no more free access to the bird feeder. As soon as the sun comes up, you'll need to learn that Craigslist is for more than massages. You need to fix yourself up and find a job. It's time to get out there and find a girl or guy, to be honest, I have no idea what you are. But that's beside the point. Feed yourself some good old-fashioned squirrel food for your own good. Your beady little eyes are drooping more and more in front of the screen. I mean, when was the last time you looked in the mirror? You've lost your thin figure and that fur that I loved so much is oily and falling out. You need to get back to the squirrel I once knew. You need that sleek look, that full bushy tail.
And please, please, please don't give me that introduction to philosophy speech you're so fond of. Employment is just another system of the status quo, fine. Capitalism shrivels creativity and the soul, okay. You're a squirrel not an acorn digging robot, sure. You refuse to follow the Man's orders, great. I get it, but what part of your rebellion revolves around DVRing episodes of Price is Right so you can watch them when you scratch out of your nest? You aren't fighting the system, no, you're drowning in it. Drowning like your brother in that trashcan filled with rain water and a thrown out bag of chips.
Okay, that was harsh. I'm sorry, but I'm serious. What happened to your goals? Your drive? Didn't you ever have dreams? One of the first times we met you said you wanted to bury three trillion acorns in a week. I knew it was impossible and pretty stupid sounding, but I let that go because of the cocaine I thought you were on. But I guess I was wrong.
Look out the window at the other squirrels. It's spring time and they are doing whatever squirrels do in those creepy leaf ball homes. I don't even understand how they build the things, but there they are, a whole family of them in there. Don't you want to be a part of that? Don't you miss productivity? Watch how they jump and run all over the ground. They don't push themselves between the computer, television, and kitchen in a computer chair because they're too lazy to stand.
I'm sorry, but this is it. I thought we could be friends, but, Squirrel, I have to let you go.

– Ian "Salmon Season" Golding (@iggolding)

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