DAILY MONSTER 159
Good morning. And a special welcome to everybody joining us from BoingBoing today. How are you? I hope things are well on your end. Do you have time to read a little? Because yesterday’s stories are not to be missed:
You might also want to give today’s monster a look:
This looks to be a very happy, peaceful symbiosis, but I could be wrong, of course. Maybe this is one single creature? And if these are, in fact, two distinct characters, maybe the power distribution between them isn’t as it seems? The more I think about it, I feel that there is more to this pair than meets the eye. And I’m sure you know exactly what it is. Will you please take a moment and fill us in? As always, you can…
This is going to be a fun monster week
and I’m happy you’re here. Thank you for visiting.
You know, don’t you, that 344 LOVES YOU
A story from the 6 yr old today:
You’d better watch out Stefan, because the big monster whose name is Chompy, is going to catch that little bird monster – Cutie – in his mouth by chasing him around your studio!
She would also like to know how you draw so fast?
Ignatz: “Komm schon, Schatz… du sagst doch selbst: Liebe geht durch den Magen!”
Learn German, it’s beautiful! 😀
Otto gazed downward, his heart swollen with love for the slender, graceful graklodike.
Daily he paraded her through the streets of Sycrust, his jaws opened wide so everyone could admire his sweetheart. He ignored the titters and murmurings behind his back. So what if they were from opposite sides of the chasm? True love would out…
The first time he’d seen Desdi, he was smitten. He’d been stramping vestraculites with his cloven fists – and Desdi, blown off her flight path by a northern toracawind, was snapping up the dintleflavens that flew upwards from the mess he was making.
Though his best friend, Iggi, constantly whispered rumors of Desdi’s infidelity – Otto was determined not to let the past be repeated. The taste of his last lady-love still lingered in his…uh, memory.
Boris Bird-tongue decided today would be a good day after all.
Horratio exclaimed “Lunch is on me!” to his dear friend.
Astrud, the oxpecker, happily feasted on the buggy goodness that Horratio’s back had to offer.
somebody has casted a little baby-monster- cutting into big daddys hungry maw. now the hunger is over and a real symbiotic love begins to grow. the little one with his long size mouth catches flying objects to feed his broad-mouthed dad.
before the little cutting grows up and plugs big daddys mouth, he will easily jump out to stay on his own feet.
“The new dental hygenist is the best ever,” exclaimed Trog. “My teeth have never felt cleaner.”
The colossus and the crane – actually a very weird couple, but still you only saw both of them at the same time. This wasn’t all surprising, since the crane grew out of the colossus’ mouth. People stared at the massive bulk of a man passing through the streets to go into the park, always grinning with his huge mouth open and the small, thin crane looking out of it at the people.
They always went into the park. Actually, those two were sibling, born in a lush green forest. For a monster, they are quite young, but somehow this bond seems to be formed eons ago, personally crafted by a higher entity.
The forest they spent half of their life in is no more. It had to surrender – though being a old and beautiful example of its kind – to glass and steel and concrete, like an ancient god of nature and life had to surrender to an artificial new god that wants to take its place. While a city sprung out of the newly-created plain like mushrooms, the odd couple wandered about, touching things they never knew, adapting.
They had found an appropiate compensation for their lost home in the park. They spent hours there, even days. The colossus as the walking, eating and simple part of those two and the crane as the rational, thinking part were smiled at even there, but not as much as in the city, where every monster was so equal – in their looks, in their lifestyle, in their thoughts.
As time passes by in the park, they talk. Nobody can hear them talking, for they communicate in the enormous head of the colossus. It is a bit like the tea party of two little souls. Inside their shelter, they laugh and wonder about this weird hustling and bustling at their feet and about the monsters themselves. How strange they were, always doing the same and still fighting for change!
The wobbling pair walks on, in an ocean of artificial freedom and happiness without smiling really. They walk, these two creatures who still seem alone, and maybe they are the only ones who are really free.
Most people would be angry about having a flamingo in their mouths, that is unless your Frankie who actually does have a flamingo as a tongue. And if you are one of those people that dislike having flamingos in your mouth its probably because you’ve never actually had one there. At least thats what Frankie told me.
Everyday Frankie awakes and yawns, the flamingo feeling the morning air arises from its nest inside Frankie’s mouth and begins its daily routine. As Frankie moves about his house the flamingo fixes its feathers and starts to brush Frankie’s teeth. Frankie combs his hair back under his medical hats because of Frankie’s job in the local hospital (Monster Care) where he takes out the trash. as he looks in the mirror with his lab coat on he thinks about his beard that has gone unshaven for the past few days because flamingo hasn’t been doing his job with the clippers which he usually does. So until his wing heals Frankie goes grizzly to work. As for flamingo he has the day to sit and keep Frankie’s mouth tidy, also to occasionally talk to for Frankie while he takes his daily 4 o’clock nap in the break room.
So is it really all that bad to have a flamingo as a tongue? I guess it depends on the person, but i can tell you one thing Frankie’s loving it.
Leetna smiled dotingly across the table into Snorb’s large, round eyes. How she loved him – his muscles, his bulk, his smooth, gleaming teeth. And she especially loved the way he spoke – always so delicately, with his mouth opening just so to whisper sweet nothings in her ear.
Snorb, however, looked a bit nervous tonight. He fiddled with the tablecloth and looked about his dining room. Finally, he cleared his throat and addressed his love. “Leetna, we’ve been dating for about a month, yes?”
Leena smiled and said, “It has been the best month of my life.” Encouraged, Snorb proceeded, “I love you more than life itself, and I hold you in confidence as a lover and friend. Thus, I must reveal a secret.”
Leetna looked apprehensive, but answered, “You can tell me anything.” She began to tremble a bit.
Snorb downed the last of his wine and pushed back his chair. He knelt at Leetna’s side and opened his mouth.
And opened it wider. And wider.
Leetna’s eyes widened when she saw a black-feathered head emerge and give her a charming smile.
The tiny head said in the same deep voice, “I’ve been blessed since birth with a rather large and shapely tail…”
Pollard wanted to find out more about himself so he hired Sarfraz, a world renowned phrenologist. Sarfraz’s method is quite different than most; he reads the skull from the inside out. “Hop on in, “Joe proclaims. “I don’t bite.” Wink wink. Frazzie never saw it coming.
Thirteen Ways of Looking at an Ortolan
By François Mitterrand (as told to Wallace Stevens)
Inside twenty smallish cages,
The only moving things
Were the eye sockets of the ortolans.
I was four times my size,
Like an ortolan
In which there is a lot of millet.
The ortolan swirled in the Armagnac.
It was a small part of the recipe.
A dying French president and a napkin
A dying French president and a napkin and an ortolan
I do not know which to prefer,
The sweetness of the meat
Or the bitterness of the entrails,
The existential crisis of the bones
Or the nausea.
Napkins covered the guests’ heads
With blank laïcité
The aroma of the ortolan
Could not escape.
Could not see their sins:
It was a thick napkin.
O thin Aunt Alicia,
Now let’s go into luncheon.
Today you will learn to eat ortolans.
What are ortolans, Aunt?
Exquisite little birds.
I know French accents
And uvular, fricative ‘r’s
But I know, too,
That the ‘r’ in ‘les ortolans’
Is hard to swallow.
When the ortolan flew into Gascony
It marked the edge
Of endangered species protection
At the sight of an ortolan head
Sticking out of Mitterrand’s mouth,
Even the board of directors at Tyson Foods
Would cry out sharply.
He rode over to a churchyard in Jarnac
Followed by his wife and mistress.
Once, a fear pierced them,
In that they mistook
His illegitimate daughter
The napkins are running low.
The ortolan must be the Special.
I was chewing all afternoon.
I was chewing
And I was going to chew.
The ortolan sat
In my isthmus-faucium.
Oh my goodness! GREAT GREAT monster! You really outdid yourself, Stefan. Great stories! Great modernist poetry!
I am of two minds
like a monster in which
In his daily commute, Drengo Tinwhistle turned on the Sounder in ‘This Year’s Model’. The low, guttural reverberation hummed his favorite tune against the squishy pink luxury vehicle-seating. He joined in the humming as he was really appreciating his day.
This new vehicle was much better than that older one and he could tell. The women couldn’t help but ogle. His old one was a bent and ugly thing that overheated all the time and smelled awful, no matter what kind of incense or minty discs you used in it. It ran terribly. He was glad to have traded it in. He took in two nostril-volumes of air: that new-vehicle smell seemed there to stay.
The luxury options on it were incredible: reaction-sensors, voice-command, excellent traction on the road, large custom-modeled flat white cupholders, not to mention the astoundingly fuel efficient engine, and the ample headroom…
The vehicle maneuvered into the parkinglot of his work and found a spot next to several other ones, forlorn-looking and faded by comparison. He got such a deal on his new vehicle, and nothing could spoil his day…
Until noticed the scratch on the side panel, the mar on a perfectly new coat.