This has just come to my attention, and the situation is dire. Forgive me if I fore-go pleasantries and formality, but this matter is too pressing to concern ourselves with decorum.
There are two videos on your right, on the surface they appear to be harmless television ads for a TV provider. I am not in the habit of showing commercials here especially if they aren’t advertising me or paying me for the space.
But there is much more going on here than is immediately apparent. It may be wrapped as a sales pitch, but the project was no doubt commissioned by the Squirrels. A thinly veiled facade for the actual transmission, a rodent-centric call to arms, as well as training guide for young marmots, vitriolic anti-human propaganda.
The first video, for the sake of folks who can’t work the videos and those allergic to advertising, is called Squirrels Revolt, and shows a group of the rodents, forced to work in sweat-shop conditions by their human captors, a common theme in anti-human squirrel art. One brave squirrel worker stands up and calls on his squirrel brothers to revolt.
The second video is similar, featuring a squad of guerrilla squirrels attacking a human civilian in the park. I will spare the gory details, as much as they might turn your stomach and turn your hair gray, I cannot bare to imagine them enough to commit the vile actions to paper.
The words are hard to read, and the video is tough to watch, but be assured the most violent and disturbing aspects of these incidents have been cut out by the Marmot Overlords. They are always careful of the image they project; they keep a tight leash on the information they release.
Those of you following my work for any length of time know how outspoken I am about the Invasion of Squirrels, and the evil plots they develop, and some they have hatched over the years.
In 2007 I wrote the song ‘Squirrels’ as an attempt to warn the world about the coming war. We were able, finally, to record the track for inclusion on the Labrador Dali ‘Possum House’ CD. I thought I could spread my message far and wide, warning people of the impending violence, the Rodent’s Revolt.
I was shocked, livid and terrified when I first received the acetates. My twenty minute masterpiece, the anthem of humanity, the cautionary tale of danger approaching; it was hacked down to three minutes. Nine verses, the ones explicitly warning about the evil of Marmots and the destruction they planned, had all been cut. The remaining lyrics told a disjointed tale of quantum wave-particle duality and the sun blowing up.
I stormed over to Hermetic Medical Records’ underground bunker, lurking through the sterile hallways looking for our A&R guy. The faint greenish-yellow light barely limping out of the bulbs and out of the fixtures, it had little strength to shine at the cold hallways around me. The strange echo of my footsteps bounced back louder than the original sound. It was all intentional, all installed to make any big-headed musicians uneasy and possibly nauseous.
I couldn’t find our representative but I managed to find the label’s CEO. I happened by his open door, and saw him inside sitting at his desk.
I walked in without knocking, sat down without asking; I threw my test-press disc on his desk.
He knew my issue, he wasted no time. He apologized, said regretted trimming the song, but he had no choice; it was just too damn long.
I didn’t stick around argue or let him say anymore. I wanted out of the building, my whole being shivered, an icy fear. I wanted to run far and fast, away from the situation.
He was lying. The song’s length wasn’t the issue, I knew this in my heart. The real problem was the message, the warning I tried to give humanity about the coming danger.
The CEO made excuses; but I knew calling him on it, or getting him to admit it, would be useless. It was too late, he was already on the take. The Marmots had gotten to him, either coercing him with wealth or threatening him with violence. Either way, it didn’t matter, he was now in their employ. There was nothing I could do but save myself; get out of this building as quick as I could before they got me too.
I was certain the CEO wasn’t the only one, the whole company was likely infected, possibly the whole industry, maybe even all media.
The squirrels won this battle; I could see it plain as day. I saw it sitting on CEO’s desk, something new. It had never been there before; not in all the years I had been with Hermetic Medical Records, all the time I had spent in this building, this office. I knew exactly what it meant; they were in control, this was how they marked their territory.
Somehow it seemed menacing, it sparked fear in mt soul, I thought it was mocking me somehow. It was a dish, only a dish that had never been there before, atop the sparse desktop before; a half-filled, glass bowl of mixed nuts.
©Robert Emmett McWhorter