An anonymous, yet alert Life in the Corn reader asked of me:
There is a blue monkey that hangs across from my toilet on a towel rack with beady eyes... my mother put it there because it matched the tile floor colors and bathtub. What is the history of your monkey???
Well, Alert Anonymous Reader, feast!
While I was whitewater rafting down the Zambezi River last summer, swollen as it was by unexpectedly torrential equatorial rains, I noticed a small, damp creature clinging to life on a rock near a particularly treacherous whirlpool. Using all of the hundreds of hours of whitewater rafting training that I have, I deftly maneuvered to the creature, which, out of gratitude, chose to not savage me with its lengthy incisors. As it gasped pitifully on the floor of my raft, I noticed that it was a black-and-white colobus monkey and I gave it some of my home-dried mango hunks. Throughout the rest of the trip "Jimmy" and I became fast friends; his beady eyes enchanted me, and he flung his feces at potential danger. I let him fling his feces, because damn: that shit's funny. However, when I tried to take him home with me, the brutal military junta that was controlling that part of Africa wouldn't let me take Jimmy home with me, so I smuggled him aboard with my luggage. Once in Maine, Jimmy promptly perished from exposure. As I dug his shallow grave lined with lime (we can't be having a hantavirus in Maine, y'hear?) I thought about how selfish I'd been to have taken him from his beloved home. For penance I swore to never be so selfish ever again, and sealing that pact were all twenty of my finger-and-toenails, torn off with a pair of needlenose pliers. Rest in peace, my lice-ridden buddy, rest in peace.
This summer while I was home in Maine, my sister went out for the day, and since I couldn't go I begged her like a four-year-old to buy me a present while she was out. She did. It's a rubbery, Chinese-made monkey with four suction-cups on his four limbs. The moment I saw it I knew that the spirit of my deceased monkey lay within it, and thus I quickly found a proper place for him to dwell: in my shower. So now, every morning as I bathe my rancid carcass, Jimmy and I reminisce about Africa, about feces, and about him freezing to death. It is he who guards my bathroom; woe betide those who tread therein without my consent!
That's the history of my monkey. Had monkey in Africa. Monkey died. Sister got suction-cup rubbery monkey with sinister beady eyes that contains the soul of my dead pet. Now he lives in my shower.
I remain, as ever,
Domonic
2 comments:
My bathroom monkey is like Robo-Cop, however his mechanical technology alows him to spring from towel rack to shower rod in a matter of seconds... and yet still, his brain barely functions with vague memories of what it once felt like to love, just like Robo-Cob vaguely remembered his family at first... what little hope of my bathroom monkey to once learn to love like a bannana eating beast in the jungle was the ability to make kissing sounds... which sadly took a turn for the worst when it landed him on a Giant grocery store shelf to be sold as a Valentine treasure for human amusement... Still that all ended when I droped Robo-Monkey on his head, now he doesn't make any sound at all, he just hangs there with his beady eyes.
This story is so touching...... I will need a few days before I recover from my sadness.
The antics with your poo flinging buddy will remain SPECIAL to you the rest of your life.
I only have one question, did your real life monkey have suction cup feet also?
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