DAILY MONSTER 25
Good morning. Today’s special welcome shout-out goes to our friends from newstoday.com. Come on in. Take a look around. I hope you have fun. Great thanks to all the kind souls who have linked to our little experimental story hour poetry jam. Thanks to you the Monster videos have racked up a total of 61,416 views as of 2.45am PST today. The mind reels! THANK YOU!
Let me start once again with some words about yesterday’s comments. You are poets all. From Simon’s sad tale of a good girl gone quite shockingly bad, to the heavily accented tale of paramour par excelance Hernán Luís Salamenejandro, to Rose’s defiant solo prom dancer, to Amy’s cheerleader for women’s soccer (a fine job if ever there was one)—one story is better than the next and all together it’s a multifaceted gem.
Back in the day, one mirror universe was enough. Put a goatee on Spock and you’re done. But this is cubist storytelling. And as far as I’m concerned yesterday’s shiniest reality comes courtesy of our man Mogabog, who gave us Caroline, the girl who wanted a pony instead of a turtle and ended up getting both. For some reason that one made me smile the most. I just didn’t see it coming. (Not that I was expecting Lassi Laski’s career turn as the Toni Basil of the Third Reich, Simon. Ach Du lieber Himmel!)
Playing in the background of it all is “Mr. Lucky” by Vince Guaraldi, as DJed by Laura. Excellent choice!
As for poet Sam / Zula came to life for him / through haiku power. Brilliant!
On to Number 25. It’s a big one today. Could hardly fit this one into the frame, in fact. It’s got a spiffy sweater and eerie powers of persuasion, as you’ll see. Ladies and gentlemen, I have but one question: What’s the story? I can’t wait to find out. Have a great day and try not to be too distracted by the fact that 344 LOVES YOU
this is the whale that had swallowed pinocchio. after he had tasted the combination of wood and red overalls, he just couldn’t go back to his regular diet. so every morning, at 2:45am, he steps out at a random seaside village, pulls on his sweater (a hard lesson learned after getting detained for walking around naked), and goes searching for his wooden boy. and the eyes…well…just for the hell of it, i give him x-ray vision. woohoo~
(ps – love the new intro sign!)
love this! i see the link in http://www.treta.com.br.
Alistair Spittoon had grown up pretty much like any kid. He rode a bike, he scratched up his knees a lot and he dreamt of being a train driver. You could say the only thing that was unusual about him was the fact there was nothing unusual about. This of course would’ve been fine, were it not for the fact he was a monster. At school no one talked to him. In fact he was 17 before someone spoke directly to him and that was only because the old lady had broken her ankle and needed help.
At 19 his dream of being a train driver was crushed when he was slipped a note while enrolling on a train-driving course which told him to leave now, as the college didn’t want his sort around the place.
Now, at the age of 78 Alistair Spittoon still hasn’t heard anyone say his name out loud, but he no longer cares as he has the biggest model railway set in Eccelsovia and he no one else could play with it
Have you noticed that the timestamp of this post has an eerie 344 smell? Coincidence, I doubt that!
All his life, Zeebles the parrot always wondered why he was never picked up from the pet store. Sure, his owners were nice enough and all, heck! They even gave him a little sweater from Old Navy, and a bagged lunch of chili-cheese sandwhiches, before assuring him that they would be back from the land of pointy objects soon.
But one day passed… A week… A month… And still, no sign of ’em.
They must’ve forgotten. Thought Zeebles to himself. That’s the only logical explanation. And so he still waits until this very day.
… With eye cancer. Sure.
Every time Cecil Fergmeier went to the barber he swore he would try something new. Once he convinced himself to get frosted tips so he would be cool like everyone else. But sure enough, as soon as he was planted in the chair, he told the barber give him the usual. Short on top, maybe half an inch, and a number one clipper-guard on the sides. Nothing ever changed. Until December, that is. He wanted something new and outrageous. As new and outrageous as you can get with an inch and a half of hair. So he told Joe, his barber, to throw caution to the wind. Unfortunately, Joe had always been a little hard of hearing. He mistakenly thought Cecil wanted the usual, so he clipped the sides and made it an inch and a half on top. Cecil, upon seeing the results in the mirror, became furious. He finally wanted to change, and his efforts had been thwarted. So he picked up Joe and tossed him in the air. With his neck craned back, he opened his bristly mouth as far as it would go and swallowed him up whole. Fortunately for Joe, he was wearing his favorite sweater that day instead of the barber smock he normally donned. It was too scratchy for Cecil’s delicate throat and he was forced to spit Joe out. In exchange for his life, he gave Cecil the sweater. Now the two are best pals again.
Monster #25 is looking a little grumpy this morning.
The only think that can get him out of this funk is..this charming man by death cab for cutie!
Who goes to visit Iceland in December? Someone who knows that your layover back from Amsterdam on IcelandAir can be extended up to seven days.
But really, what do you do in Iceland for seven days? Take pictures, sure. A beer at a bar will cost you $10 and a slice of pizza $5, so nightlife is out. Renting a car to drive around is a bad idea – the flash blizzards in the north might get you. So what do you do? Stick with the camera and find a quiet town to sit in.
Franz was passing off this Amsterdam/Iceland trip as an excuse to “finish up his coffee table book” but the fact was, he wanted to get high for a few days and then go somewhere nobody could bother him. He ended up taking the ferry to Longyearbyen and spent his days taking short walks and sitting on rocks. This was a great time to decompress.
One thing that was bothering him was he had yet to see the Northern Lights. The daylight passed in a blink, so there was plenty of night for the sky to dance for him. He was taking pictures, most of them crap. He had a couple long-exposure shots here and there that could make it in the book, but nothing truly compelling.
Franz was giving up. He decided he was going to bring his camera, a thermos full of tea, lots of warm clothes and he was going to sit on a rock by the ocean all day. One hour passed and so did some ducks. Three hours passed and so did the sun. Six hours in the tea had passed. He wanted something to happen – something he could photograph.
Barking. And then a sudden splash, and another all around him. Walruses, six of them, crowding the rocks around him. One slid in 12 inches from him, sighed and settled in. Franz was too startled to move with the splashing, and now he was too afraid to move. He rolled his eyes, wondering what fate befell him and he caught a glimpse of dancing green in the sky. He realized he would be fine with these walruses here. So he slowly grabbed his camera, and took the shot that would go on his book cover. A walrus, twelve inches from him.
Dendrobates Hypnoticus, more commonly know as “spiked hypno-frog” (close cousin of Simpson’s hypno-toad) is an extremely rare species found in central Australia, and the only known amphibian to live in a desertic area. Amazingly, it can survive solely on moisture from its natural prey; Hymenoptera Australis, or “feathered wasp”. The hunting method is one that is very rarely seen in animals, combining hypnosis and suction from its specifically adapted, triangular mouth. This particular individual is currently in captivity at Hempton Zoo in northern England and waiting for his heated enclosure to be built. The zoo-keepers have named him Gerald and have grown very fond of him – He has quite a personality!
Argus Basilicua was born of greatness. His brother helped facilitate the progress of the hybrid vehicle. His father invented the Internet. His great-aunt witnessed the signing of the No Child Left Behind Act. He was surrounded by potential.
However, Argus had no drive. He had no motivation.
He tried school for a number of years, but was left behind in a few subjects and he never made up the credit. He tried computer programming because he wrote codes for World of Warcraft, but gave up when his Internet went down. He tried working as a gas station attendant, but hybid cars reduced his position to twice a week.
Argus eventually found himself in his parents’ basement, watching reruns of “Kate and Allie,” and eating hiself into a stupor. He gained around 4 bills, and, when he could no longer get up to relieve himself, his family interjected.
His mother and father pryed him from his Lay-Z-Monster and forced him out. He faultered for a few months, traveling from house to house, mootching from this friend or that, until finally, with the last of his available funds, he invested, on a whim, in 344 Design, llc, and he was instantly rich. Stocks rose, design was back, and Argus never had to worry about anything ever again.
Simon, you’re on to me. You have a fine eye for detail. :^)
You are a friken genius. And you are making me late to work.
I think ill have to put you on the miserykids.com favorite links page.
thank you <3
Thank you for the kind words, Teneisha. I’m glad you’re enjoying the Monsters. I just went to your site and it’s very cool! I like the Misery Kids a lot! I hope they’ll bring you good fortune.
Ich stecke also bin ich…
Eine existenzielle Frage, zu der nach langem Philosophieren auch Decartes, allerdings mit einem etwas anderen Wortlaut, schon gekommen ist.
“Ich denke also bin ich!”
Er, im Unterschied zu unserem zur Wollpullover-Werbung abkommandierten Fischgetier steckte höchstens in seinen Gedanken fest, was bekanntlich nicht zum Erstickungstod führen kann.
Pangasius das Fischmoster denkt: “Ich stecke also bin ich”…(bald tot?)
In seinem von der Enge aufgedunsenen Schädel pocht das Blut schon in den Augen. Höchste Zeit also ihn in ein grösseres Modell zu stecken. Dies wird ihn zur Erkenntnis führen:
“Ich denke (ich fühle mich wohl) also bin ich” (noch nicht in den heiligen Wassern)