One summer evening on the outskirts of town, right next to the Bayou, two squirrels sat on a porch. One, a young lad, listened eagerly as the other one, much older, whittled away at a piece of wood and shared his wisdom.
“Boy, lemme tell you a story. A story of intrigue, deception and heartbreak… that all took place right down hyeah in da Bajou…”
“Daddy, is this the story of my conception again?”
“Nah child, I told you that story last week… and two hours ago… and I’ll tell it to you again before bedtime. This here story’s about a squirrel… a squirrel named Gus.
“Gus was a good squirrel. Brushed his tail thrice daily. Some said he was the most handsome squirrel in the woods. Others said he was the most buff. One thing was for certain: he was the squirreliest squirrel of them all. He fetched acorns for his elderly relatives and read to deaf orphaned puppies every Tuesday. But Gus had one misfortune in his life. He had a cruel, cruel neighbor named Stan. Stan was no good — no better than a glorified tree rat. Stan was jealous of Gus’s custom, high-end nutcracker. This nutcracker, it had chrome spoilers, a mother of pearl handle, a specially designed grip, a five speed clutch and an automatic suspension. Stan stole that nutcracker and sold it to a gang of shrews in the backwoods.
“Gus was furious at this moral transgression, but he was a peaceful squirrel, so he went to confront his neighbor in a non-violent fashion. Stan opened the door of his tree, and when he saw Gus, he was so frightened that he wet his pants and pulled out a revolver — although not in that particular order. With his squirrel-quick reflexes, Gus knocked the revolver out of Stan’s hands and proceeded to give him what for. And then, Gus became the –”
“Bull-shit Gus!”
Suavely leaning against a nearby tree was an elderly gentleman of a squirrel. He wore a frayed but elegant red robe. He was looking debonair with a salt and pepper tail.
“Who is he talking to, Daddy?” asked the younger squirrel.
His father leaped out of his rocking chair. Extending one furry digit toward the handsome newcomer he cried, “How did you find me?!”
The newcomer answered: “Face it, you can’t run from your problems. Did you think you could really escape to Louisiana without anyone finding out?”
“I faked my own death!”
“It was pretty obvious you were still alive. Besides, everyone knows you’re too stupid to ever pull off such a complex scheme!”
“Daddy, who is this guy?” piped up the young squirrel.
“He’s evil, meanspirited, and he socializes with snapping turtles. Don’t listen to a word he says.” He looked at the charming intruder. “What’ll it take for you to leave me alone!”
“How about this. If you can beat me in a race up and down this oak tree, then I’ll leave you alone. I’ll even give you a head start!”
“What if I lose?”
“Then I’ll hound you for the rest of your life.”
“Don’t you have like, work or something?”
“Nah. I was pretty successful early on. Besides, I like watching you suffer.”
Gus muttered a three syllable blasphemous phrase. “Alright, fine. I’ll do it. Life out here on the bayou has hardened me. You look pretty soft.”
“We’ll see about that.” He motioned to the young squirrel. “Count us off, son.”
The young squirrel gave a quick 3-2-1, and Gus began to slog up the tree, his folds of fat smashing against the trunk. When ten seconds ended, the challenger flew up the branches and was back down again before Gus even passed the ten inch mark.
“Looks like you haven’t changed a bit, Gus!” He looked over to the young squirrel. “The names Stan. How would you like to be my son? I used to have fifteen kids like you. I forgot to pick ‘em up from soccer practice once; never knew what happened to ‘em after that.”
The boy looked at Gus with his beer gut and withered paws. One ear was limp, his whiskers crooked and unkempt. Then he looked at Stan, his whiskers finely trimmed, his pompadour slicked neatly back, his chiseled abs rippling underneath his robe. “I wanna be just like you!” the boy said to Stan.
“Well then come along,” Stan replied. The boy kicked Gus in the shins, hopped over the fence, and he and scampered off with Stan into the sunset.
“You bastard!” Gus cried out, helpless and alone, reluctantly settling back into his rocking chair.
“You’re all too right about that one, Gus,” Stan called back. “Oh, and I forgot, Nancy says hi.”