Racoon Manifesto

We are a brotherhood. We may seem disorganized. We may seem scattered. But, we have an agenda and we will not be stopped. We have cells in every city, town, and village. We live in your community and you do not see us. Your eyes pass over us. Your headlights reflect back our gaze. But, you do not see us.

We are a brotherhood of Racoons and this nation will be ours. You find our brothers dead by the side of the road and think nothing. These brothers are soliders and their deaths serve a higher purpose. We lull you into a false sense of mastery, superiority, by the loss of these brave brothers. We want you to under estimate our abilities so that we may implement our plans unimpeded.

We are not going to gradually infiltrate your world. There will come a day when you will open your doors to us and willingly allow us our rightful place. The alternative would be a painful, sordid end to the way of life you hold so dear.

For how long have you seen us sifting through your trash and just considered it a nuisance? Taken measure to make your trash cans more secure to no avail? Your assumptions as to why we do this have always been wrong.  Why should we eat your leftovers when we can catch fresh fish with our clever hands? Of course, we enjoy your cuisine but this is not our motivation.

You are not cautious. You are not thorough. With your own overconfidence, you have provided us with information vital to our cause. We have your social security numbers, bank information. We have your passwords, cell phone numbers. Are you frightened yet? Do you fear what is coming?

We are not cute. We do not look like "adorable, little bandits". We are capable and effecient. We are master locksmiths. We are security systems experts. We are computer hackers. We know how to use a telephoto zoom lens. We know about your standing Tuesday reservation at the Motel Pine Knot. We are your downfall. Nothing is hidden from our brotherhood.

Our plans are approaching fruition. Soon the day will come. And on that day, a letter will arrive at every home across the nation from the humblest trailer to the seat of power. You will tell no one about your letter. You will say nothing to your neighbor. You will only begin the preparations we have outlined.

Each letter will contain, in exact detail and precise information, your every secret. We will expose your every foible and lay your souls bare. We will leave you no choice. Bow to our demands or face full disclosure.

We have broadcast stations, completely undetectable by current methods, hidden across the nation. At a moment's notice, we can air the dirty laundry of an entire populace. You will comply with our every demand or suffer the collapse of your entire way of life.

With your compliance comes the assurance that your lives will continue relatively unchanged. On the date specified in your letter, you will open your homes to a designated family of racoons. You will make the preparations outlined prior to our arrival.

All dwellings will be expected to have a central area; well-heated and filled with pillows and fuzzy blankets. No wool blankets or old quilts will be permitted. Predominately, we expect cheerfully-patterned, velour style bedding.  All plumbing will be retooled to render it workable by racoon paw as we require a constant supply of fresh water.

Each home should have at minimum, one month's supply of Rice Krispy treats for a family of six racoons prior to our arrival. Grape Kool-Aid in at least six individual gallon jugs will also be needed.  Do not attempt to pass off-brands as actual Kool-aid or the consequences will be swift and severe. You will purchase cases of only the best tuna in tear-open pouches. No cans. All must be in readiness by the specified date. No excuses will be accepted or exceptions made.

This manifesto is for the eyes of the brotherhood alone. No human will know of our plans or preparations until the moment that all the letters are delivered. Do not cease your toiling, Brothers. The Day of Total Racoon Comfiness is at paw!

[This manifesto was turned over by human sympathiser, Edwina H. Beaver, who is currently in protective custody.]



Bounce to The Beat

Everyone thinks they know about bunnies. Little cute, fluffy rodents that eat our gardens and flowers. We see them out in the early morning and at dusk. We assume that when we don't see them bunnies sleep. That's where you're wrong.

In the deepest burrows, all through the day, bunnies are busy. That is because bunnies have discos. Seriously, Bunny Discos! These bunny hot spots are everywhere. One may even be under your very own garden. The bunnies use a lot of interesting fungi in their decor for mood lighting. They know exactly which type glows in which trippy color. They've even contracted out to the lightening bugs to add that extra ambiance. These clever bunnies would never use electric lights because they want to minimize their power drain. They need to make sure they use the least amount of electricity possible to avoid detection. For the bunnies, the Disco Party must go on and on.

Electricity is use for one thing and one thing only. The Music! Now, I am sure there is someone who will want to make a joke about bunnies listening to Hip Hop but that just ain't so. Bunnies only listen to Trance and Reggae. It's the only kind of music that reaches their carrot-powered soles and makes them Dance! Dance! Dance! Most bunnies only sleep two hours per day. The rest of the time they are twitching their ears and stomping their feet to some spaced-out beat or Third World.

Next time there is a bunny munching your basil plants, just crank up some Bob Marley and get ready for the magic. 'Cause let me tell ya, there are no bad dancers at the Bunny Disco! All bunnies have natural rhythm. That's why there are so many of them.

Public Relations Quandry

Memorandum from Alastair Crow, Chairman of the Public Relations Board:

As you all know, our previous campaigns to improve our image with the human population have met with little to no success. Our attempt at voluntary trash collection was wholly misinterpreted. We all remember the troubles humans went to in order to keep us out of "their trash".  As if we had nothing better to do with our time! And no matter how fantastic our coordinated aerial display, the humans could only focus on the amount of guano we produce.
After much brainstorming and human analysis, we believe we have hit upon a method to finally sway human opinion in our favor once and for all. Imagine an end to persecution forever!
We have noticed the time and energy that humans expend in feeding and observing certain of our avian cousins. We decided to do some focused research on this particular phenomena and have reached the following conclusion; All the birds that the humans lavish their attention on have one common factor. Colorful plumage! Little yellow birds. Red birds. Green birds. Birds with spots. Humans set up little baths for these birds and give them tasty seeds like thistle and sesame.
Our new policy will consist of two stages. The first stage will be feather collection. Each crow must be vigilant. We are to find each and every cast off feather of a hue other than black. I do want to stress that we are not to collect feathers still currently in use by our more prismatic peers. We do not want to gain the goodwill of the humans at the cost of an inner species war.
All collected feathers should be brought to a regional supply depot. [See attached map for your assigned location] Once enough multi-colored feathers have been amassed, the second stage can begin. All crows will report to their regional supply depot for Operation Rainbow. At this time, we shall assist one another in weaving the brighter plumage into our own. From there, we can begin out new careers as "pretty birds".
It will not be long before we are the darlings of the human race. No longer will we have to fear "bird cannons", "crow culling", or poisoned seeds. We will be well loved and all the tastiest morsels will be ours. Let a new golden era for the crow nation begin!

The Violet Vase

In the spring, the backyard became busy. Lots of leaves had to thrust their way to the sun and grass had to grow and stretch. Worms had extensive burrowing to do and the bees could barely find enough hours in the day for all their work.  It was my job to observe the progress and carry reports and samples back to my mom. Leaf samples, worm samples, and lots and lots of soil samples. It was important to test the backyard daily for ripeness, greenness and general fecundity.

One of the most important tasks was violet watching. Through extensive experience, I knew all the best places to spot them and the heart-shaped leaves to watch for. Nevertheless, it always seemed to go from one or two isolated blossoms to more than I could possibly count. Once the backyard had reached violet saturation, the harvest could begin.

I would start by choosing four leaves with excellent size and shape and pick them first. Then I would carefully choose the violets by depth of color and length of stem. The violets had to be plucked carefully from close to the ground to keep the stems at maximum length. As my hands filled, it would become more and more tricky to do, requiring me to stick the tip of my tongue out between my teeth. Eventually, I would end up with an overflowing, double handful to take to my mom.

When I came in with my full violet harvest, my mom would always compliment me on my work. But the biggest compliment was the Violet Vase. It was the perfect size and shape to display my work. It was so exciting to watch my mom carefully remove it from the breakfront, fill it with water, and carefully arrange the violets. My mom would always commend me for remembering the leaves to give the final arrangement the perfect touch.

The Violet Vase was never used to hold any other flowers that I can remember. It was, and still is, the most amazing soft shade of blue with just a hint of green. Its shape suggests a flower of four petals just beginning to open. It is beautiful and looks more like a part of nature than a made thing.

This year, for my birthday, my sister-in-law provided me with an amazing gift; my own Violet Vase. She had found its twin and recognized it as the miracle it was. It now sits on my dresser, patiently awaiting its first violet harvest. As soon as it is full of long-stemmed violets and four carefully chosen leaves, I will take its picture and send it to my mom. 

Bias

Pete the penguin was pissed. He'd just finished watching the umpteenth, flipping Christmas special that featured a cute, little penguin wearing a red and white striped scarf frolicking about with Santa and some freaking elves. Pete was sick to death of all the stereo-typing. Here he was- sweating his penguin balls off- on the coast of Africa while the world dreamed of snow. No one associated sun and sand with penguins. Madison Avenue didn't use adorable, swimsuit sportin' penguins to sell sunscreen. But every Christmas, here come the frolicsome, big-eyed penguins to help Rudolph load the sleigh with comic slip and slide action.
Pete could execute the most graceful dive imaginable and held the flock record for catching fish on the fly. Yet, no one had ever offered him a supporting role in a heart-warming holiday special. There were hundreds of different breeds of penguins, spanning the globe. But, all anyone seemed to care about was a few backward cousins living in the frostbite zone.

If any posts I make are interesting to you and you would like me to write more on the theme, please let me know.

Megan the Wonder Bunny

What?

I am a 39 year old woman with amazing super powers. No, wait. I am a 39 year old woman who makes amazing murals out of old teabags and toast crumbs. No. That's not right. I am a 39 year old vegetarian pelican with a nest in an old tractor tire. Dammit. This is not going well at all. Let's try it again.
First, we fact check. 39 years old. Check. Female. Check. Human. Ummmm. . . Check.  Good so far. Lack of super powers. Check. Lack of murals, teabags, and toast crumbs. Check. Lack of webbed feet and giant beak. Check.

I am a 39 year old woman. I like to write things. I won't go so far as to say I like to write [insert genre or format here] because I really don't know what I will end up writing. Poems, essays, stories, rants, grocery lists. I am just going to start using this blog to share what I write and see if anyone feels like reading it. I think I will put it pictures from time to time to make it more visually stimulating and hope I don't get in trouble for copyright infringement. This one is totally safe as it is me not being 39 years old.