Good morning. How are things on your end? Going well, I hope! We are, of course, in overtime on the Month of Daily Monsters, and nearing the end of that, as my monster mural trip to Seward, Nebraska approaches. There will be one more monster today, and a double shot tomorrow. After that there’ll be mural action, the Monster book launch party, and whatever we can cook up on the new Flickr group — until April 1st, when there’ll be one more month of Daily Monsters. We’ll have fun!

Right now, more brilliant stories are waiting for you right here:


It feels like you’re just getting warmed up on the stories, so I’m truly bummed that I can’t give you new creatures every day to write to for the next month. So many of you have only recently joined the site that I hope you’ll use the temporary lull of new monsters to explore some of the creatures that have gathered here over the past months. Some of them still need stories, too.

But today there still is a brand new monster, of course!
It’s an odd one, and it definitely needs a story!

What is happening with 166? Did he want cheekbone implants, but get plungers instead? Or are we looking at a cunning evolutionary adaptation? And why, out of all the monsters, is this the very first one to wear (or perhaps reveal) socks? I’m not even going to ask about the teeth. But I’m dying to hear what you think made 166 into the odd creature we see before us today. If you can find the time, I hope you’ll…


I hope you’ll have a lovely 4th of March.
Thank you for coming to visit the monsters.
How you treat your monsters says a lot about you.
And it’s just one more reason why 344 LOVES YOU


  • Paula
    4 March 2008 7:14 am

    I have to say I love watching you draw. These drawings remind me of a game I played with my so when he was about 3 0r 4. I would draw a squiggle and he would make something out of it then he would draw a squiggle and it would be my turn. He is now 24 and pursuing an art degree. Thanks for the memories.

  • eclecticheart
    4 March 2008 7:27 am

    I’m the ongoing victim of Lillian DeGroot’s household beautification project. The little lady is constantly redecorating, which results in the disappearance of many of my things, not the least of which are my paychecks. She slowed down some after the incident at the factory a couple months back which rendered my eye appendages immobile, but now she’s back with a vengeance…literally. She actually built in the door frames so they’re just a hair too narrow for me to fit through without turning my head. It’s more an annoyance than anything, but boy it smarts when I forget and ram into them. Of course the physical pain is nothing compared to the heartache knowing that the love of my life did this on purpose. I know it’s because of the shoes, her shoes, the ones I borrowed. She doesn’t appreciate them, hardly ever wears them herself. These shoes have the most incredible arch support it’s like a religious experience just stepping into them. I think the thing that really bothers her is that my feet are smaller than hers and I have to wear these heavy sport socks to keep them from falling off. Ah, well. Things have been escalating for awhile now. I suppose I’ll figure out some way to get back at her and then she’ll retaliate again. Maybe we should just get a divorce…but, I’m keeping the shoes.

  • 4 March 2008 8:49 am

    Socks…*L*….those aren’t SOCKS! That is way too obvious for the monsters. You know how they are always “shopping” at the dump. Well, this guy found a pair of matching lamps tossed there…..he turned the bowls upside down and stuck his feet into the light bulb screw-in thingies. Seemed like a good idea at the time.
    However, now he can’t figure a way to take them off. In order to see where he’s stepping, he has to maneuver his eye sockets on the extensions they all have. Surely there will be no more sitting on branches for him, unless the branches are really, really thin.
    All in all, he’s having a bad feet day.

  • Katie J.
    4 March 2008 9:17 am

    Pens. Yummy, delicious pens. You know how your favorite pens always come up missing? It’s not that you’re forgetful or distracted. It’s the pen-eating alien named Sint. He loves to eat pens. The better they write, the better they taste. He’s started venturing out of the box, however. The same old thing was getting boring, so he decided to see just how the toothbrush handle tastes. Mmmm, that’s good!

  • 4 March 2008 9:55 am

    Eric the Monster looked a bit nerdy, what with the stuck-out teeth and the long eyestalks, but he could run like the wind – he represented his planet in the Galactic Games.
    Although his eyestalks usually faced forwards, they could be pointed up, down, backwards, or sideways – the latter position was useful just before a race, when Eric would stand on the starting grid, and give his rivals a long, hard stare.
    They’d been known to faint on the spot as a direct consequence. I’m pretty sure I would have done.
    There was one memorable incident where they’d *all* fainted before the gun was fired, just from the force of Eric’s stare, and left him to win by default… The athletic organisation’s committee had tried to argue that Eric was cheating, but then he’d stared at them as well (as you do, when someone unjustly accuses you of something), and they’d willingly sent him off with the trophy a few moments later.

  • 4 March 2008 10:49 am

    After Jason lost his lower jaw, a man appeared to him offering him a new life. Jason eagerly accepted taking any chance he could to be free from his burden. He lay in the hospital bed wondering if the man was being truthful when he felt a pain ripping him apart. The pain was excruciating, he collapsed into unconciousness only to be awakened by a terrified scream. The nurse, crying for someone to get rid of it and that she may live. He ran into the hallway trying to get away from whatever was behind him the screams however, followed him through the hospital and into the allyway.

  • James Hardaker
    4 March 2008 11:18 am

    Wow, look at this guy! Isn’t he ace.
    So, here’s the deal. This monster lives in a world full of predators, and in order to avoid being eaten or getting sold dodgy life insurance, his species has developed eyes on stalks, which move around in all directions so nothing can ever creep up behind them. Or to the sides, front or top, for that matter!
    The large shoes are to disguise a very, very ancient secret about his species’ feet. A secret which is never spoken of, ever….

  • jak
    4 March 2008 11:41 am

    Gwendolyn never quite made it out of the ‘80s. She still teased her bangs up to the heavens and had a long mullet cascading down her back. Over drinks at the Knight Rider Bar & Grill, her favorite topic of conversation was about auditioning for ZZ Top’s “She’s Got Legs” video.
    Gwen was sure she would make the final cut. After all, she’d overheard one of the makeup artists tell the hairstylist, “Imagine what it would take to transform that buck-toothed, optical nightmare thing!” Surely they were, at that very moment, planning her overnight leap from unknown to glamorous starlet.
    But, regrettably, Gwendolyn didn’t make the cut. And the video was filmed with a much less interesting human type.
    “I’m sure she had an in with the producer.” Gwen would say, poking an elbow into the ribs of a captive listener. “If you know what I mean.” After a sufficiently long guffaw, she’d jut her legs out horizontally from the barstool. “And, see these? These were the very shoes and socks I wore. I never take them off. They’re my lucky footwear, you know.”
    Working her way down the bar, she’d bend the ear of anyone who’d pay her any mind (and always consumed much too much alcohol for her species.) Eventually, Rudy, the bartender, would call her a cab.
    The regulars snatched furtive glances, whereas the newbies outright stared as Gwendolyn tottered out the door and into the night.

  • Brooke N.
    4 March 2008 11:41 am

    Solid food is out. Try chewing with no jaw. He’s accepted this fact, so he experiments with smoothies. His favorite is shrimp and cilantro and pasta. Blended together, one’s palate must work harder to distinguish the flavors. He likes this fact. His palate is sophisticated because it can pick out hints of cardamom, notes of cedar and tinges of floral bouquets in the clutter of liquid food. His smoothies are an adolescent’s bedroom and his palate is a stay-at-home mom. He is a very talented eater.
    His talent precedes his person, as companies call and offer to hire him to distinguish secret ingredients in popular foods. He rejects every time, no matter the suggested financial compensation. His reasoning is never given, but one surmises that he doesn’t want to turn eating into a career.
    He lives a happy life and is content. He drinks his dinner and savors each mouthful. He sits alone in his apartment, at his tiny kitchen table, slowly sipping himself into tomorrow.

  • Graymalkin
    4 March 2008 1:25 pm

    Hammerhead shark- hummingbird crossbreed Gillian had neither inherited the ability to swim, nor to fly but both parent’s most remarkable facial features… damn genetics…

  • 4 March 2008 1:55 pm

    My eyes and my smile are what everyone notices.
    But do these shoes make my hands look fat?

  • 4 March 2008 6:33 pm

    Stacks of paper surround his overflowing dust bin.
    “One more try,” Ub thinks. “Almost there.”
    The odd looking forms appearing on the page are likely attributed to abundant drink and limited sleep.
    “Walt wanted a mouse, why do they keep looking like these abominations‽”
    Exhausted, he leaves the drawing board for the night, one last beast taped to the board, staring at him. Maybe tomorrow.

  • 4 March 2008 8:12 pm

    His audition for “the wolf” in what MGM is currently calling “Untitled Tex Avery Project” is in a couple of hours, and Monster 166 goes over the part in the script again: (1) eyes bulge from his head (check); (2) jaw drops (check); (3) lips curl in rictal whistle (check); (4) body goes stiff with instantaneous rigor (check); and in what he hopes will distinguish him from the other actors, he adlibs a bit, contorting his body into Tex Avery’s initials; and it is here that he hears a sharp click, a familiar enough sound (he has TMJ), though one not usually coming from his spine.
    Not good. His mother had always told him, “If you keep making that face, it will stick like that,” and now, quite possibly, this has come to pass. But his first thought is: Can I still audition? He tries a line: “Fly away with me to the Riviera / And it will be a beautiful thing / I will get you diamonds, pearls / Everything!” It comes out all wrong, and the obvious occurs to him: this is an animated cartoon, not a slide show (unless the Hays Code has its way); if the number of facial expressions Avery needs is > 1, then he’s sunk.
    But! Pierce Brosnan, George Clooney and Katie Holmes have all been affected by Bell’s palsy, and at least two of those people are great. But also: they won’t be born for another 10, 18 and 35 years, respectively. Also: they’re people (Holmes might not be, actually; investigate). He will go to the audition. But he will keep his expectations low. And when it’s all over and he’s back in his apartment, he will call home, and when she picks up the phone, he will say to her, even if he’s not sure, “Mom? I’m OK.”

  • GristleBean
    5 March 2008 7:03 pm

    Ilgo was just the right size for the lipcleaning job at the bar, and was hired along with his friend Blooky, the barback. They began work immediately on that simple summer Friday. The warm air skated through the open windows of the bowling alley, and the first bowlers were just showing up.
    Ilgo put on the sponge-shoes, jumped square into the knee-deep soap solution, then carefully up onto the rim of the pint glass. He held his balance there and shuffled sideways, soaping the edge of the glass to its fullest capacity. His eyes had turned horizontally out to his side as he got used to the shuffling motion.
    Blooky, he lifted stuff.
    At the end of the day, the two were dead tired. They staggered down the suburban street with diet rootbeer, and took in the summer silence with weary eyes.

  • Edward North
    8 March 2008 6:20 am

    Needles heard something. The sound was unmistakably a pair of thick woolen socks sliding across the smooth wooden floorboards just outside the bathroom door. It was the child-thing, undoubtedly.
    He panicked. Would he have enough time to skitter under the sink or behind the toilet tank before the child-thing opened the door and clapped on the light? No. He must make it back into the medicine chest. He must make it HOME before daybreak. If not, he would remain trapped in this horrible porcelain world FOREVER.
    He bounded from the floor to the toilet seat to the top of the sink in three successive leaps, then jumped again, arms straining to reach the door to the medicine chest. It was too late! The child thing was in the room now. Needles froze as he looked up into the child-thing’s yawning mouth, then watched in terror as its horrible chubby pink hand groped along bathroom wall closer and closer to the lightswitch! Needles shivered at the sight the thing as she (Yes, she. For he could tell now that it was, yes, a girl-thing.) gave up her half-hearted search for the switch and stumbled blindly toward the sink. She was on top of him! He let out a small “shqueek!” as the child-thing knocked him off of the edge of the sink and into the open toilet. Cold water splashed up around and over him, at which point the child-thing let out some unintelligible exclamation. He could not understand her, he didn’t think he could shqueek her language.
    Cold. Wet. Darkness. Then, suddenly everything around him was a blinding white. When Needles’ sight came back to him, he was staring up at the wavering image of the girl-thing looking down at him. He could not move, he simply looked up at her, pleadingly.
    “Shqueek?” He pleaded.
    “Eww,” replied the girl-thing.
    She reached out her arm for something, then Needles heard a deep, plunging whoosh as the child began to spin around the edge of the toilet bowl. NO! SHE wasn’t spinning! It was Needles himself who was spinning! He had time to utter a final “shqueek” before the world went black. THE END

  • Sue Bebie
    29 October 2008 10:13 am

    Egon ist unglücklich. Schon viel zu lange ist er im Rohrreinigungsbetrieb SAUG UND STÖPSEL angestellt. Saugen darf er, stöpseln auch aber auf den Einsatzbefehl für seine rotierende Bürste wartet er seit Jahren vergeblich, und das betrübt ihn.
    Egons Freunde konnten seinen Kummer über seine unterbeschäftigte Bürste nicht länger mitansehen und haben ihm einen neuen Job im städtischen zahnärztlichen Institut vermittelt. Egon wird demnächst als Oberassistent der
    Dentalhygienikerinnenvereinigung arbeiten und so mit seiner Bürste einer glücklichen Zukunft entgegenschauen.

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