I don’t know what I was looking at; the husk that was my
good friend Jack was borrowing my couch for a psychedelic escapade. Meanwhile, all
intentions for thirty minutes were devoted to teaching a squirrel to do a
backflip. There was no validation in living in the suburban area, being
responsible, or biding by my morals; but if I could teach this furry bastard to
accomplish the unexpected, I’d become immortal.
Training is eliminating options. The knowledge implied minus
the knowledge impaired. Remove choices; fuck the corpse of alternatives until
this diseased mammal puke has no choice but to throw it’s legs over it’s
head. I could use shock treatment, or
motivational pin pricking; fur plucking might – OH! It just did a backflip.
Damn rat must’ve been reading my mind. 
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