The Chipmunk's Story

I am a chipmunk. I live at the zoo, yo. I don't live IN the zoo... shit... that life's for suckas. I just live AT the zoo. I take what I want. I feel sorry for them animals all cooped up in their shitty cages, but hey, they got caught, and I'm free. Should have tried harder, suckas.

When I say I take what I want, I mean it. I don't need a soft life of waiting for each meal and eating from the hand of some bigass human-fuckin-being. Hell no! I make my own plans for dinner! That's real talk!

If I want to fall back on that ass with a bonafide gangsta lean, like just cold chill in my crib, then I make preparations so as I don't have to go out. I survey my hood (the Australian Outback or some shitty rendition of it) and I scurry across the stones till I smell a plate full of food. Mmmm, mmm, that shit gets my tail perky, know I'm sayin'?

Like the other day I went out to fill my cheeks and I could smell a plate of food somewhere near the bat exhibit. When I investigate, what should I find but that the fools enjoying that plate are a couple dumbass birds. Faggots, too, by the looks of that rainbow plumage.

Well they're on the inside and I'm on the outside. It's not only in the fuckin zoo where jailbirds are given better meals than free men. You gotta get used to that shit, though, that's life.

Getting to the cage is quite a scramble. Keeping out of sight from those loudmouth brats holding Dairy Queen cones is tough work, for sure. If I hear another snot-nosed punk call out "Hey mama, look at the cute little squirrel" I'm gonna go apeshit on his ass. Squirrel? Fuck those big-tailed monkey-ass niggas! Last thing in the world I'm gonna put up with is shortie belittling me with that kind of shit talking.

Anyway, I creep up on the cage outside the bat exhibit and start digging. Nothing comes easy. I hit a rock and I've gotta quit and find a better spot. So I creep over to the door, these are always a little loose, no barriers underground. I get underneath and then I realize I've gotta get under another door. They put two doors into these bird cages so that the zookeepers can always keep one closed, keep the birdbrains inside. Well, no amount of doors can keep me out. I smell that birdseed and those exotic nuts and grapes and... well you know, right? I gots to be about my food storing.

When I'm on the other side I stay under cover of the planted foliage, bushes and shit, till I'm under the plate. I'm about to make a go up the branch when I spot this damn guy.

He looks like a fag to me. Grey striped hoodie, short fucking shorts, tight t-shirt, half-assed beard, and blue mouth from a slushie he's holding. But even though he's watching, he's not making a show of it. This punk may look like a softie, but he's no squealer. He's not going to walk over to the zoo folks and tell em whats up in Gay Bird Cell #69. He'll keep it to himself. And that's all I need to know.

Go ahead and watch, punk. You might learn something.

Up the shrub I go, and the birds scatter. I doesn't matter how big they are, how sharp their claws, how long their beaks. Soft-ass animals know hard-ass animals when they see them, and I fit in the latter category. Best recognize.

That punk stares as I cram it in. I start with the seed first, pocket it in every crevice of my jaw that's too small to put the real goods. Then I start in on a nut, rolling it perfectly in my hands and nibbling away till it fits with the seeds. Then a grape, letting the juices soak what I've already got and making it easier to mash down for efficiency. After that I move to breadcrumbs, then back to seeds... the cycle continues.

Then I'm interrupted. No, not the punk. Some shortie standing next to the punk. He sees me too, and he's getting ready to tell somebody about it. That shit will not stand.

I'm out.

Back to the ground, under the brush. Have to make it to the gate before the kid sees me.

Too late.

I tried to make a break but I can hear this fucking kid's mom now. "That's right sweetie, that chipmunk is stealing all their food."

Yeah, and I'll take your eyes if you don't shut the fuck up, bitch. I've gotta blow. I'm under the first door, making it towards the second. The punk in the grey hoodie is just watching me with understanding. I'd almost let him help me out here, but trusting is for suckas.

I'm under the second door. The brat that tattled is making like he's going to try and get to me now that I'm on the outside of the cage. He might get too close before I make it to a bush.

The punk steps out in front of him, says, "Don't worry about it," and the brat is stopped in his tracks.

I'm under a bush.

"Hey! Where'd he go?" the kid is loud as a fucking bullhorn.

The punk repeats, "Don't worry about it."

What a fucking hero. Not like I need that shit, but still, every little bit helps. When the kid gives up trying to spot me in my hiding space, I creep out to the punk's foot and look up, trying to show him some appreciation, just a look of recognition. I think he sees it.

The moment stops when I catch a whiff of stale popcorn and decide that I could probably use it to top off my load.

That's what it's all about. Get what you can, take what you can get, and don't regret your take.