Congratulations Fallen Chipmunk!

When the Chipmunk Council calls you in, they'll be wearing their most elaborate robes.  Since Chipmunks lack any real capacity for textiles, that means they'll be wearing tattered sleeves made of leaves, gazing down upon you from Great Stump, tails swishing with anticipation.

They'll speak in brief chirrups.

"YOU ARE FOUND TO BE GUILTY OF CRIMES MOST FOUL AGAINST CHIPMUNKANITY!" the Council will chirrup in unison.  You'll stand towards them paws raised in alarm, back straight, tail still.

"There is no crime in love," you'll say in a low true voice that resounds throughout the clearing.  The Chipmunk Council will be unsure how to respond to that.  Their pause will grant you opportunity to continue your speech.

"There is no crime in submitting to love, in admitting to love, in permitting love to guide your actions in a way you would not have anticipated."  You'll gesture at your love, Frizmeena, the squirrel maiden who showed you the tallest tree branches she could climb without falling off, who now stands bound and guarded by Chipmunk Council guards.  "The greater crime is in denying that love, in defining it as wrong simply for falling upon another species."  You'll clench one of your tiny hands into a fist.  "That is the truest of crimes."

The Chipmunk Council will begin chirruping amongst themselves, but the guards will not be so torn.  One will slice the bindings holding Frizmeena's paws while the others drop to one knee.  Frizmeena, every inch the Squirrel Princess she always told you she was, will gracefully touch each of their heads before commanding them to rise in the rapid chirping voice that first struck deep into your heart.

By the time she reaches the earth the Council will be squeaking madly, but you won't hear their words.  With your face buried in Frizmeena's fur, you'll only hear her delicate purring and the beating of her heart, in tune with yours.  As you flee the clearing together, you'll feel for the first time like you're truly free.  Which is good, because you're both tiny rodents, and you're going to die in a few years, so you've got to take what you can get life wise.

Congratulations Fallen Chipmunk!

Congratulations Ambitious Squirrel!

You’ll be sitting in your campaign office, turning a particularly interesting nut over and over in your hands. You’ll occasionally bring it up to your mouth to take a nibble, but you’ll be careful. You won’t want to get acorn bits all over your suit, especially if you have to go on camera.

You’ll have been sitting there in a mix of terrible anxiety and fascination with a nut for nearly an hour when your campaign manager bursts in with the exit poll numbers.

“We did it,” he’ll say flatly. “You got it.”

You’ll scurry out of your chair and on to the desk, where you’ll begin chittering incoherently. Your campaign manager will calmly nod. Then he’ll put his hand on the table and permit you to crawl up his arm to his shoulder, where you’ll sit in your cute little suit and look absolutely adorable up on his shoulder. He’ll walk you out of your office and into the main room, where your staff will be standing and already applauding.

Your campaign manager will carry you to a podium, which you’ll delicately hop down from his shoulder on to. Then he’ll adjust the normal sized microphone so that you can reach it. Your campaign manager will step behind the camera, where he’ll begin counting down. You’ll straighten your adorable little tie with your adorable little squirrel paws and then, at the one, start speaking.

Since you can’t actually speak English, you’ll just make little squirrel noises. Mostly squeaks, a few chitters and chatters. One or two growls, to show that you really are serious about tackling the local problems of your electorate on a state-wide level. Then you’ll hold up your tiny squirrel fist as if to say “we did it!”

Then you’ll return to your tree, where you’ll forage for nuts for the rest of the day and try to avoid being eaten by a hawk. Later, you’ll move into a nice little apartment, but for now, it’s all about staying alive for the next ten days. Good work on the election, though. The real challenges have just begun.

Congratulations Ambitious Squirrel!

Congratulations on Finally Catching That Squirrel That's Been Fucking Your Wife!

Today you’re going to burst into the room while the squirrel is nestled between your wife’s thighs, tail upright, fur bristling with pleasure.

“Chitter chitter,” the squirrel will moan, romancing your wife.

“What the shit!” you’ll shout, hurling your bag across the room, straight into the ancient lamp your wife forced you to buy at a yard sale far too long ago.

“Oh god! Honey!” your wife will shriek, forcing the squirrel out from between her legs and clutching the sheets to her bare bosom, soaking it with blood from her squirrel bites. The squirrel will scrabble away, fleeing to the windowsill where the window will still be open, curtains billowing out, showcasing the ingress first used by the squirrel. He’ll pause there, giant squirrel erection pulsing awkwardly as he looks back and forth between the two of you, trying to decide if he wants to flee.

Your wife will get out of bed, the sheet wrapped around her. The stains on her chest will be spreading slowly and surely as she stares at you, horrified, not even glancing at the squirrel, whose erection will be fast fading.

“I didn’t think you’d be home from work for another hour.”

You’ll rip off your jacket and throw it at the other lamp, the one you bought at Ikea. You’ll knock this one over without breaking it and advance on your wife and the squirrel, walking towards the corner of the bed on a vector that carries you closer to both of them. Your mind won’t be made up.

“Does that make it better?” Your voice will be flat, emotionless, as scary as a voice can be.

Your wife won’t respond. She’ll be frozen in place. The squirrel, however, will not. He’ll take the cue and book it out the window. He’ll be well clear by the time you make it to the top bureau drawer, get the gun out and point it out the window, letting three rounds fly, taking chunks out of the tree.

You’ll turn from the window still clutching the gun. Your wife will stand there, trembling, eyes flitting between the revolver, still smoking, and your eyes. They’ll flit between her chest and her eyes. Your jaw will be locked. The two of you will stand there for what feels like a very, very long time, but will, in reality, only be a few seconds.

Congratulations on Finally Catching That Squirrel That’s Been Fucking Your Wife!