Photo courtesy of 22 West

Squirrels Eat Their Own Babies

By Andres Leon

Are squirrels good for anything? This is what popped up when I searched the word, "squirrel" on Google and it turns out they are nature's gardeners according to the University of Florida's News "Science & Wellness" section. However, I hate Florida and I really hate squirrels so that isn't true. The second question that popped up after that was,”do squirrels eat their babies?” I don't want to do more research so I'm deciding here that this article is a scientific journal and that squirrels do eat their babies on the basis of because I said so. I even made it the title so it's doubly true. And I'm the editor-in-chief so it's triply true.

I'll tell you what they are good for. Stealing, marauding, tax evasion, grand theft, embezzlement and looking hideous. They scour the campus in search of their next mark, their next score. Some people are silly enough to feed the brown rats willingly by offering food out of the palm of their own hands. This only conditions them to embrace the mindset that the world belongs to them and we, students of LBSU, will kneel at their beckon.

Remember the seven deadly sins? These little kangaroo wanna-be's are the face of gluttony. If you give them an inch, they'll run a lap around the entire campus. With their beady, little, dead eyes, shielding the devious thoughts they have after decades of conditioning to optimize their devious plans. They've only grown hungrier over the pandemic when the campus was empty. Now that we're back, we have no choice but to endure their onslaught of harassment while we try to live our lives on campus. Every night before I go to bed, I pray that I won't have to come face to face with a squirrel. I'm only a measly college student who can't defend himself.

At 22 West Media, we have employees who have suffered the wrath of these fiends. We have our own support group to work through the traumas that we face when near the squirrels. Multimedia manager Jesse Mar Rameriz told me about a time he was enjoying his lunch, a nice and simple pesto pita bread sandwich.

"It happened so quickly. I had just finished doing all my multimedia stuff, managing all the media multiple times, and decided to take my lunch break when all of a sudden this squirrel came out of the blue and began trying to take my lunch. He was sporting a ten-gallon hat, belt, and people call me crazy, but I swear that he was smoking a cig. I have scars on my body that I have to keep wrapped up 24/7 and I have to change the bandages daily… Every time I can't help but think of that damned rodent." Ramirez could not continue the interview as it was too traumatic, but gave me permission to include it. He said he'd want us to keep fighting the good fight.

Lianna Schieber, the distribution manager for 22 West Magazine reported an attack to me personally after squirrel bandits ravaged her distribution golf cart. It was horrifying, I can recall answering a phone call and being met with panicked shrieking. It's hard to remember what she said exactly, but I vaguely heard the sounds of a tire popping, magazines being shuffled in the air and expletives being shouted.

"These squirrels make it impossible for me to do my job as distribution manager. How am I supposed to wheel around if they keep slashing my tires and attacking me? What did I do to deserve this. I am but a speck in the universal order. My mind is matter, born of the cosmic dust and is bound to eventually return. A grain of sand in a galactic sandbox. These squirrels are the Earth to my moon, keeping me forever bound by gravity in their suppression. If it is the reality that I must coexist with these animals, then I simply refuse to believe that there is anything holy ruminating over this Earth. Our timeline has been forgotten, cast to ash." Schieber now stays in her apartment around the clock, because cart ASI #8 has a popped tire. Also because of her crippling and existential fear of squirrels. One of those, I'm not too sure, it's hard to tell.

For years it's been thought that people were the biggest threat on campus, but Big Squirrel doesn't want you to know it's them. From the shadows they plot their deceptive tricks. From the shadows they view us. From the shadows, they skulk. I have no solid evidence due to the nature of this subject, but I have heavy reason to believe that our very own student media organization, the Daily Forty-Niner, is in cahoots with our enemy.

In an article from 2019 titled, "The nutty history of the CSULB fox squirrel," author Hannah Getahun wrote, "Much like the campus, the fox squirrel that is so integral to the Long Beach State image became a part of Long Beach over time."

The article itself details the origins of the squirrels on our campus, but there's a deeper subtext that has been skipped over. Why write about the squirrels? It's almost as if there's a ventriloquist behind it all, orchestrating what articles get published in order to control the narrative. It's no secret that the squirrels are dastardly creatures, so of course the mastermind behind it all would want to lull us into a security, acknowledging the issue while ultimately never addressing it. A display of grand inaction.

Here at 22 West Magazine, however, we are standing our ground against Big Squirrel. I will not be silenced by these eldritch abominations. I refuse to be squirrel-pilled. In fact from this day forward, I declare 22 West Magazine a bastion against the furries. Furries being the squirrels. We don't dislike furries. Please don't write me an angry letter. The end I reached 1000 words, almost not quite, that's good, wait no. Okay. Wait there. Now.