DAILY MONSTER 91 (of 100)
Good morning. And Happy Friday. Another week on the books. Are they going by faster than they used to or is that just me? At any rate, all is well in Monsterland. The technology is cooperating again* and—according to today’s medical checkup—I have excellent blood pressure and the metabolic panel of a young Clark Gable. Which further confirms that the only thing healthier than watching a monster a day is drawing a monster a day.
In that spirit, please take a look at the stories about yesterday’s monster:
Now please meet Monster 91, He’s a happy fella. And wouldn’t you be, too, if your nose telescoped out like that, and you could fly? Why do you think 91 has those evolutionary adaptations? The extending ratchet-nose, in particular, seems a bit odd. Are we dealing with a wine tester? A food critic? A parfumeur? Or am I way off base here? What’s this little guy’s story?
I can’t wait to read your posts. (Because you’re brilliant!)
In yesterday’s comments, Ching asked if there will be further adventures beyond the 100 Daily Monsters. Yes! Absolutely! After a little time traveling, I’ll be back with the Weekly Monster. Beyond that, I’m sure some completely new thoughts will pop into my head, too. All of you coming to check in on the creatures and posting stories every day continues to be such a remarkable and excellent experience… I’m getting all kinds of inspiration! So will there be further adventures? Oh, you bet!
I hope you’ll have a great day today and a lovely weekend ahead!
I mean it when I say that 344 LOVES YOU
* The poster frame problem persists for the moment. Revver is going to roll out a new feature that lets users set the frame, but it may not go live until the very last monsters. I could switch to posting Quicktime vs. Flash movies, but since so many of you are working on Windows machines I’ll stick to Flash right now.
The news of Bernice’s death came at a really bad time for her however, true to form, she made it as entertaining as possible for all involved.
The curious evolution of what we know now as the Tromboid is enlightening to all students of Monsterism.
Some branches of the more lunatic fringe of monster biologists seem reluctant to admit that the Tromboid has only recently developed the unique attribute of the extending ratchet nose. This reluctance often stems from a desire to believe in a sort of monster creationism, a belief that there was, or indeed is, a ‘creator’ who just draws these monsters out of thin air and taht they arrive fully formed at their present condition.
It is beneath this historian to give such fancies even a moment’s thought and i would urge all others to do the same.
The Tromboid of course is a descendant of the Trumpoid – a simliar creature who’s distinctive thin legs, pointy shoes and wingless flight always made it such a popular dancing partner at some of the rowdier parties that most adolescent young monsters like to attend.
At one such party as many as several years ago a particularly roguish Trumpoid was cavorting so outlandishly and exuberantly that they careered into the band (who, as memory serves, were playing a charming foxtrot to the tune of Nirvana’s ‘Lithium’ – well worth a listen… just google it!)
in the collision between Trumpoid and band a trombone was swallowed. At first no-one spotted it, because as must be clear to anyone who knows anything about Trumpoid’s you could fit an entire orchestra into the jacket pocket of a Trumpoid and still have room for a packet of crisps, a ten bob note and most of Holland. So the absence of a mere trombone appeared superficial.
But it wasn’t.
And thus when this cavorting Trumpoid calmed down enough to reproduce they gave birth to the first Tromboid.
and a whole new family of noisy monsters evolved.
They make for disagreably niehgbours as anyone unfortunate enough to live next door to some-one learning the trombone will testify.
Interestingly they have no sense of smell.
Bicycle pump meets mullet meets monster. I likee.
>>Which further confirms that the only thing healthier than watching a monster a day is drawing a monster a day<< That proves: You must continue, at least because of your health. :))
I had my story all worked out. Leroy was to be first trombone in the school band. Not first chair, mind you, but first trombone. Amusing things were going to happen at the first school concert of the season. I wasn’t sure what exactly but it would have involved a cello monster, a flute monster, a mini couper, and an avacado.
Then I read Ted’s very funny piece. I guess great monsters think alike. I decided to put the imagination on hold, after all it’s friday night, and I’ve got a real blues band to go see. Alas, no Tromboids.
Just one quick question. When a Tromboid makes a call, does it use a xylophone?
Rufus Arvind’s been growin’ that sweet rat-tail since who knows when. Poor guy’s dumber than a box of rocks but he’s got a great party trick up his sleeve. He limps (on account of a bear trap incident a few PBR’s back) slowly up to a group of carousers and starts by flingin’ that greased-up tail uh his back n’ forth. Pretty soon his bulb of a nose’ll start to grow. Like friggin’ Pinocchio or sompthin. Seen him leave with some mighty fine tail usin’ that one.
This monster, though dressed in cute clothing and fancy shoes as others, is quite a rare find in the realm of Taxonomy and Taxodermy for that matter.
This stunning creature actually holds Man’s future, a product-species of evolution which even now as we speak is becomming endangered. Endangered in the FUTURE, all at the hands of the past [dramatic chord]. But in order to take that journey we must first identify this prime example of evolution.
My colleagues, I advise you to rise from your plush and/or rolling computer chairs for this information, for it shocks even myself: This creature is actually the final evolution of…The French.
Yes the French! Their supremacy over fine wines and cheeses, their elite and sometimes questionable taste in fashion, and their impressive noses have transended through nature itself into this creature. Such a prodigy we in the Taxonomy industry have affectionately dubbed: Jean-Richard-Luc-Nicolas-Francois-Stephane-Robert-Yves-Pierre Le Mieux. [Pronounced in a very french way it sounds very professional] It’s been proven in this field that the faster and more French-like the name it’s said, the more important and plausible it sounds.
Studies have also shown that it helps to laugh heartily through your nose swiftly after.
Frivolities aside, Jean-Richard-Luc-Nicolas-Francois-Stephane-Robert-Yves-Pierre Le Mieux is in grave danger. His species as I’ve said, hails from the far future, and is being hunted down for its various uses. Combs, scarecrows, Braided-hair extensions, Balloon-animal Pumps, Plus-Sized dressmakers’ dummies–Staplers cheif among them. Because of its Taxodermic versatility, it is fast on the road to becomming extinct.
The cause? The past, which is currently our future, but the past in proportion to THAT future. You see, in THAT future, time-travel is a thing of the past, and all comb, scarecrow, Braided-hair extension, Balloon-animal Pump, Plus-Sized dressmaker dummy and stapler-resources had long-since been exaughsted [in the Luke-warm War of 2245]. Stapler-manufacture seems to be the leading cause of the gennocide of the gentle Jean-Richard-Luc-Nicolas-Francois-Stephane-Robert-Yves-Pierre Le Mieux. Without them corporate offices and cubicles would be in pure chaos.
So which path do we choose? Save this majestic creature or make sure our beurocratics are orderly and metallically-secured?
At this point in the far-past, nothing is sure of Jean-Richard-Luc-Nicolas-Francois-Stephane-Robert-Yves-Pierre Le Mieux’s fate. The only thing we as people can do now is…Hug a French person.
This has been another [sporadic] Silly-Taxonomy from The Respected Taxonomist Kukuttan saying “Bonsoir tout le monde”
This is Little Tommy TwoBit, the invisible backup singer for The Smiths. His middle name is Punnochio and he was the guy who actually came up with the lyrics to The Smith’s best song, How Soon Is Now: “…I am the son/and the heir”. Every time he makes a pun his nose grows just a bit longer.
yay for a technically goofy-free day! Er, yeah, ya know what I mean!
No, we are in a sirius time warp, dude.
Ever since Reggie was just a little blob, he had always had this one cowlick in the back of his head that his mother couldn’t get rid of. Reggie liked it though. He thought it made him look cool, like having a ponytail. No matter what she did though, and believe me she’d tried everything, it just wouldn’t comb down or over or even up.
It was just, there.
Finally at her wits end one day, she tried cutting it off. Reggie’s nose caved in. So rather than have her son look like he’d taken a cannonball in the face, she gave up and let him wear it long.
Over the years, Reggie became the life at parties having learned to manipulate his cowlick. He didn’t like cherries, much less the stems, and couldn’t wiggle ears he didn’t have, so it was all he could do to impress the ladies.
…in fact, it was at one of these parties that he met his now wife, a plastic surgeon with a nose fetish from Dubuque, Iowa.
Treachery! he fumed. How could Designer have been so blinded? Rufus Arvind, aka M91, with his impeccably styled rat-tail had indeed fared far better than he’d ever dreamed with the She (not to mention a few He) Monsters. But now all that was in jeopardy. He was no Bucher U. grad, but even he knew what premium exposure on Store 344 could have done for his growing reputation. Damn that Raoul, he cursed, it had to be the shoes. Those monstrous blue suede shoes. And to think, he had traded his in for basic black…
Raoul, too, had understood the value the humanoids placed on their precious wall adornments and he smiled about his clever success. The coy look in his eyes, an impossibly cool strut with a perfectly timed grin and M92 knew he had her. A final, brilliantly placed flash of his magical blue platforms and Designer was captivated, too distracted to notice Raoul’s expertly executed sleight-of-hand. In an instant, his exposure had doubled and that smug-nosed Arvid was out of the picture—literally.
Ein wenig verkleidet kommt er sich schon vor, an seiner Graduierungsfeier, mit dem übergestülpten Nachttopf seiner Oma. Um seine Riesennase zu kaschieren, hat er eine dem Anlass entsprechende Kopfbedeckung gewählt. Ein paar Anpassungen im Design mussten allerdings sein, um ihm zu einem würdigen Auftritt zu verhelfen. Dass ihm nach Höhenflügen zumute ist, mag an den Ausdünstungen liegen, die, trotz der peinliche genauen Reinigung aus den feinen Haarrissen des Porzellans treten. Aber egal, Hauptsache, Freude herrscht.