Morensters

A few more Monster Stories from the previous Daily Monster Cycle (Stefan Bucher took a break but has started up again for the month of April). These are sort of more specific to the illustrations, so they get dumped in a big post, to make it easier to ignore them. I will even back-date them a little so you don't have to look at it. YOU'RE WELCOME. Unless you are reading this in an RSS reader, in which case it shows up as new. IF THAT'S THE CASE, I AM SORRY.


THAT SAID:
The book arrived and looks nice. We should encourage stuff like this? I think?


Sonnet
or
Monster 167 & 168
The TV show “Avengers” had its charms,
Especially those clothes of Emma Peel’s.
And, hence, One-Sixty-Eight throws back her arms
And smiles in thigh-length boots with eight-inch heels.
Her friend One-Sixty-Seven’s like an onion:
She says, “What doesn’t kill us, makes us tougher,”
And dons her cloggy shoes, despite the bunion,
The corns and hammertoes from which she suffers.
The law says, “No white shoes post-Labor Day.”
That would not seem a problem with these two,
Yet: one of them has filched the letter “A”
From Bucher’s hand, and it is not clear who.
Suspicious, then, we’ll click ‘replay’, until
We get to see more monster clips in “PRIL”.
RedHot
or
Monster 166
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."
Qualifications: Fez
or
Monster 164
164 launches the ‘résumé wizard’ in Microsoft Word and starts filling in fields. He has no objectives; no education; has received no awards; speaks no languages; his hobbies are unsavory; his volunteer experiences non-existent; his references suspect. But he types in what he can, and the document is created. At the top, in Arial Black, it says “MONSTER 164”; under “Qualifications” it says “fez” (there is nowhere else to put this that makes sense), and under “Skills” he has typed “second-stage periodontitis -- receding gums meens a bigger smile??” (This is so 164: getting “periodontitis” right, only to blow it on “means”.) It’s worth a shot. He logs onto monster.com (obvious, in retrospect) and uploads it. Now there’s nothing left to do but stare at the phone and wait for it to ring.
Do not judge him too harshly, Potential Employers. He hasn’t had an overabundance of breaks in his life, and he’s a little misguided. And although he’s prone to indulge in self-pity, he tries to do the right thing a lot of the time. We’re not saying, you know, hang out with him all the time, and we’re not saying he’s not going to take *some* office supplies, and we’re not saying you’ll be able to leave something in the break room for more than a few minutes and expect him not to eat it; just: if you can think of a way to show him some generosity, he would probably appreciate it. And he has a big smile. Why not give him a call?
Seriously, Jack Kirby
or
Monster 163
Had Jack “The King” Kirby’s “Devil Dinosaur” comic lasted longer than nine short issues in 1978, and actually made the 120-million-year run that Kirby intended, the fanboys might have gotten to see the “Devil Bird” into which Kirby planned for “Devil Dinosaur” to evolve; as it went down, though, Marvel’s usual treatment of its employees meant Kirby’s leaving the company for a final time, and all that remains of his vision is this sketch of a small waterfowl with Kirby Dots surrounding its eyes, a souvenir of what could have been.
Special Pee Story for Jessi Guilford
or
Monster 162
Monster 162 checks his email and sees something from Amazon.com. “Oh good,” he thinks, but we say “Not oh good”, because: “Hello from Amazon.com,” it says...
======
We're writing about the order you placed on December 18 2007. Unfortunately, the release date for the item(s) listed below has changed, and we need to provide you with a new delivery estimate based on the new release date:
Stefan Bucher (Author) "100 Days Of Monsters" [Hardcover]
Estimated arrival date: 03/10/2008 - 03/12/2008

We apologize for the inconvenience caused by this delay.
WHY WAS THE DELIVERY ESTIMATE CHANGED?
You know how when you need to pee, and you can’t, but then you finally do, and it feels, like, really really good to pee? Like the sense of relief is almost preternatural? We’re basically trying to make you feel that way.
WHAT IF I WANT TO CHANGE OR CANCEL MY ORDER?
Before you ask that, let us first say that sometimes we tell people that their item is in transit, and then we send a follow-up email saying it’s not. Like this guy, Joerg? We totally did that to him. Tomorrow, he’ll get an email that says, OK, it was shipped, but it’s only readable on a Kindle. Then we’ll tell him the item exploded. Then when he actually gets the item without warning, he’ll feel like he is peeing preternaturally. So before you change or cancel anything, just know that we might be doing this to you.
WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS?
We’re bored. We blew £1.95 million on that Tales of Beedle the Bard thing, and it didn’t really do it for us..? It was good, don’t get us wrong, but more like “really big sneeze good”. We were hoping for something else. See above discussion on pee.
WHY DO YOU KEEP TALKING ABOUT PEE?
The name of our company is “Amazon” and we’re obsessed with a fish called a candiru that lives in the Amazon and can swim up your never mind. Never mind, let’s get back to your problem.
======
...aaand it goes on from there. It’s unclear at what point in the reading of this email, Monster 162 sort of gives up a little inside, but he does. It hasn’t been a good day at work, and this was pretty much the only thing he's been looking forward to since December. But on the other hand, the book is probably still coming, right..? And maybe it will all work out..? Amazon hasn’t let him down before, and maybe they know what they’re doing..?
We say, Monster 162: “hope is a thing with feathers”, and so are you mostly; and “gratitude is merely the secret hope of further favors”, which we’re not sure if that applies; and “hope is the shin splint of endeavor”, which we just made up, but still, there is hope, there is hope, Monster 162, there is hope.
It's Possible that I want to Make Out with the Chick on the Flag of Sicily
or
Monster 161
The first tongue of 161
Looks just like a hamburger bun.
Attached to the skull, it
Distracts from the mullet
And makes sure his steak is well-done.

The second’s for licking Blue Penny
And sometimes an Inverted Jenny.
(We refer to philatelists’
Dampening catalysts
But grant that the meanings are many.)

Tongue number three turns vermillion,
Jutting out like a thirsty vaudevillian.
And, when tailoring’s needed,
Pants twice unimpeded,
Making one “pair of pants” à Triskelion.


Swedish Waffle
or
Monster 158
[The neutrality of this monster story is disputed.]
[This monster story needs additional citations for verification.]

Having long established its neutrality on pretty much all matters international [citation needed], Sweden is an ideal font of Olympic judges for the 1936 games [POV], which Yay Sweden! Accordingly, Monster #158 gets a job. He says the oath: “I promise that we shall officiate in these Olympic Games with complete impartiality, respecting and abiding by the rules which govern them in the true spirit of sportsmanship,” and presumably..? These “rules” include not ranking anyone higher than ten..?

And yet! Time and again, with the completion of each event, #158 unfurls his wings to display his score: 77. 77; 77: everyone gets ranked 77. [citation needed] And each time, #158 cocks his head and listens. For (it turns out): the complex and subtle diphthongs required in the pronunciation of the word “seventy-seven” in Swedish (“shütioohshü”) makes it the ideal word to determine the True Origin of each athlete. [citation needed] By listening to each person’s perplexed reaction (“77?!”) #158 knows instantly if they’re German, Norwegian, Swedish, or what. The idea being: this will come in, like, handy..? Along the Norwegian border..? If, you know, a war breaks out..? At some point..?

And, in fact: Even for events that aren’t ranked by judges (like the long jump), #158 shows up to rank them anyway. Naoto Tajima (eventual bronze winner) jumps, sees #158’s score and says, “Shichijushichi?” [citation needed] Luz Long (silver) says, “Siebenundsiebzig?” [citation needed] The point was to hear them try to say it in Swedish, and that’s not exactly how it goes down, but still, important data is collected and used later for Sweden’s problematic role in the Second World War. [citation needed] [POV]

Just a word about that “Siebenundsiebzig”: in prelims, Jesse Owens has two fouls, and a third will disqualify him from the finals. Knowing that Owens can clear the minimum distance even if he begins his jump from several inches behind the line, Luz Long tells him to play it safe so he can advance. Owens takes the advice, advances to Finals, and eventually takes the gold (“Seventy-seven?” he says, perplexed; #158 writes this down). [citation needed]

After Long dies, he is awarded the Pierre de Coubertin medal for sportsmanship. Monster #158 has never been awarded that medal. Nor, actually, has anyone from Sweden. But we are not judging! [citation needed] Sweden, “Mitt liv som hund” is totally our favorite movie! [POV] Strindberg..? Big fans! [POV] And when we’re at IHOP..? Lingonberry pancakes, please. [POV] We’re just saying, we just read all shütioohshü pages of “Sweden_during_World_War_II” on Wikipedia [citation needed], and now we don’t know what to think..?
Except to say, Monster #158..? Booo.
Work harder at being a better monster. [POV]

Halloween Party
or
Monster 156

It’s 1999, so there are a few Harry Potters and at least four Austin Powerses. But my division always goes for the conceptual. Last year, I went as “Various Stages in the Life of Rockin’ Rollen Stewart” (rainbow wig, John 3:16 sign, world’s longest moustache, restraining order), so this year I’m trying to beat that. This is the high point of the year at our office, so if you can pull off a good costume and not accidentally hook up with anyone, you’re sort of golden until at least June. I’ve chosen to go as “Lines from the Album ‘My Aim is True’ by Elvis Costello”: I bug my eyes out like I’m looking at someone with a face like a magnet (Watching the Detectives); I conceal one of my arms in some wedding cake (Alison) and stick the other out the back of the costume so it looks like a juggler running out of hands (Welcome To The Working Week); put on a black patent leather glove (Miracle Man), big red shoes (The Angels Wanna Wear My R~ S~) and loose fitting white pants (Wave A White Flag); refuse to dance (No Dancing); reshape my head like a rifle (almost sure there’s a rifle or gun or something in Less Than Zero); put on an old Edwardian looking corset that’s completely falling apart (Poison Moon: “And these bones, they don’t look so good to me”; accentuate my mouth (“lip service” lines from Cheap Reward); OK YES IT IS A STRETCH DO YOU THINK I DON’T KNOW THAT. But I couldn’t get anything else together and I know at least this: no one else will have the same costume as me (a minor scandal: two of my officemates are both going as “Y2K” this year, although they took different approaches). There is a lot riding on this, for me, personally. I AM UNDER A LITTLE STRESS DUE TO THINGS AT WORK I WON’T GO INTO THEM NOW.

And so, when people start coming up to me and saying, “Weren’t you just in the copy room?” and I say no and they say, “Someone else is here with the same costume I guess,” I can’t believe it. I make my way to the copy room, past “Standard Ghost” (sheet, two holes); “Dog Dressed Up For Halloween” (bee costume, dog mask); “Molly Ringworm” (don’t... just... just let it go); “Sexy Girl Scout”; “Sexy Nurse”; “Sexy Cat”; “Sexy Ralph Nader”. And then I see it: someone else dressed up as “Lines from the Album ‘My Aim is True’ by Elvis Costello”. Is it the guy from Accounting? With the forehead? I can’t tell. As I approach, though, someone asks him/her, “What are you supposed to be?”

“Monster 156,” the person says. I duck back over by the punch bowl.

My costume is still unique.
It’s possible no one remembers I hooked up with Jenni from HR at the last “Labor Daze” party.
It’s possible my job is saved.


Kubelik Con
or
Monster 154

154 always wears a power tie, although the office went business casual months ago. He smells like some chem plant in New Jersey’s idea of “the woods”, and today when he stops by my desk to flirt with me (he’s married, n.b.), he’s wearing a hairpiece. “What do you think?” he says. I tell him nice tie, but I have to admit, the hairpiece is working for him.

“Big day today,” he says, and it is. The sales team is expanding the “AIDA” method (“Attention”, “Interest”, “Desire”, “Action”) to “AIDAS” (adding “Satisfaction”), which means a four-hour kickoff meeting, which means they’ll order in pizza, which means I don’t have to pay for lunch today, and ordered-in-pizza is the closest thing I’ve had to “dining out” in a while. He catches me staring at his hair and does a thing romance novels always describe as a shaking of “golden tresses”, except his are not golden, and I see now that they also have eyes and teeth. Then the hairpiece asks me out for dinner. “Are you asking me, or is your hair asking me?” I ask him. 154 and his hair just smile at me, polycephalicly.

Then I see what he’s doing: A: Attention; he has my attention, because his hair looks nice. I: Interest; I am interested because his hair has eyes and teeth; D: Desire; I desire to eat at a restaurant instead of having ramen again; A: Action; he’s asking me out.

Am I Fran Kubelik to his Mr. Sheldrake? I do not know how to play gin rummy, but I do feel like a misfit. Before you judge me, let me stress there are no C.C. Baxters left in all of Manhattan. Fine, I say, yes. But pay attention at the kickoff meeting, I tell him. If I don't see any “S” tonight, there will be hell toupee.


Midas Rex
or
Yes, I know these are different myths; thanks.
or
Monster 152

A monster, whom we shall call K--,
Was Thebes-bound, and heard a sphinx say,
“Can you name the guy
Who’s a quadruped, bi-
ped, and tri-ped, and all in one day?”

K-- said that the answer is “Man”,
For he crawls on four legs; then he stands,
And then when he’s older
He is a cane-holder.
(The ‘day’ thing’s a figurative span.)

The sphinx told him that this was right; it
Said, “I’ll grant your wish, then. Please cite it.”
“Transmute stuff to bullion,”
K-- said, “But one rule: on
Condition,” he said, “That I bite it.”

The first thing K-- changed to gold hues
Was his footwear, which one can excuse
As an homage and thanks
To director Les Blank’s
Movie, “Werner Herzog Eats His Shoes”.

But late that night, post-counting sheep,
As into all parables creep
Comeuppance, desserts,
Retribution asserts
Itself: K-- bit his tongue in his sleep.

The golden tongue’s weight on his beak
Soon rendered his posture oblique.
He was forced to maintain
Himself up with a cane,
And his mandible gave in a week.

The moral, Monster 1-5-2
(Also known as “K--”) might construe,
Is this: “Chrysopoeia:
I don’t want to be ya.”
And: “All that glitter’s not AU.”

There There Be Monsters

Herewith are the other monster stories I did for Stefan Bucher's Daily Monster project. I suspect none of them make sense without watching the videos, but anyway. (Please click the links to the videos; they're all perfect.)
I want writing these to be my job; how do I do that?

The flip side of this particular coin is: since this is the only thing I've written in months with anything approaching "enthusiasm", I think I need either pseudocollaboration or deadlines to jolt my brain into activity. Too bad; I could have been a contender. If anyone wants to co-author a screenplay about bat-bomb inventor Lytle Adams (#96), it looks like my slate is pretty much clean for a bit. (Your job would be to read what I've written.) (Or, wait, is that what a blog is for?)

Monster 96: (or, Three Stanza Limerick About the Offspring of a Bat and a Squid)

In the ’40s, a dentist named Lytle
Tied some bombs to some bats with a bridle.
(It was his master plan
That they’d fly to Japan
And the Second World War would go idle.)

My dad was among those recruited
(And combustible-uniform suited).
He met a squid (mother);
One thing led to another
(Her ink sac leaves details disputed).

The echolocation’s incessant
Plus, too, I’m bio-luminescent.
But from this phylogeny
I stand here: their progeny!
Ninety-six, or: “Le Monstre Quiescent”.



Monster 97: (or, You Fall Down on your Left)

The words of the casting director ringing in his ear like uncharitable tinnitus (“Need I say, with overmuch emphasis, that it is in the leg division that you are deficient?”), 97 hops to the door.

He’ll come over to your place tonight to let you know that he botched another audition.
It is true that the two of you had to bow out of participating in the three legged race at your company picnic, and you have to constantly remind him that flamingos are not making fun of him when they go unidexter at the zoo. It is true: he is no Johnny Weissmuller, but let’s be frank, you are no Maureen O’Sullivan.

And tonight you will have a dream. You are walking outside Grauman’s Chinese Theater with Monster 97, past Maureen O’Sullivan’s square, past Johnny Weissmuller’s, past the square of Dudley Moore, who, you note (as you are a fan of synergy), was in a film with Bo Derek, who was, after all, in a Tarzan movie. And you look down at your own square and then turn to 97 and ask why there is only one footprint.

“That,” 97 says, “is when I carried you.”

Maureen O’Sullivan was Ireland’s first film star. Were you? She was Woody Allen’s mother in law (kind of). Were you? No. You will wake up and look at him lying there and realize that despite everything you are in this for the long haul. “Sleep tight, 97,” you’ll say.

Tomorrow, you’ll call in sick and help him practice his audition monologue (the clergyman speech from Princess Bride), but for now you just say, “Sleep tight.”


Monster 98: (or, The Seven Year Ditch)

Elsewhere known as Rose Loomis, Lois Laurel, Lorelei Lee... in this case, she was just “The Girl,” but that didn’t make the words sting any less:

“So he lured me down to his apartment,” The Girl said. “He made me sit on his piano bench. Then he made me play Chopsticks. Then, suddenly, he turned at me, his eyes bulging. He was frothing at the mouth... Just like The Creature from the Black Lagoon.” The sting faded to a burn, the burn to an itch, and then the itch just hung out while the next seven years lurched by.

They say Time is the Ultimate Antihistamine, #98 thinks, but after seven years of itching, maybe it’s time to just do something about it. Tilting his head back, 98’s eyelids roll down like the weighted eyelids on a doll and he thinks, that’s what The Girl was: a doll with weighted eyelids, but he knows in his heart this is an oversimplification, just like her calling him The Creature from the Black Lagoon had been (98 had actually gone to high school with The Creature, though they ran in different crowds; didn’t he end up with Julie Adams? She’s on Lost now!!).

As he scratches his back, he hums to himself, not without a little regret:

One, two, three, steadily,
Let’s hear the melody,
This is the way that the "Chopsticks" go.

Be sure to give 'em
That regular rhythm.
Where have you gone, Ms. DiMaggio?



Monster 99: (or, Worst Twilight Zone Ever)

These days, relationships with neighbors can be quite complicated. You know, little things that get blown up out of all proportion? Such is CBS’s relationship with Serling as he touches up draft #99 on this thing Matheson turned in called “The Invaders”. He is tired now, and his head is pounding and he finds himself thinking often of the Mind Body Problem.

In “The Invaders” there is no dialogue until the last three minutes of the script. CBS thinks: not so much. They balked at the first draft: a the entirety of the text of a whole teleplay consisting of “Central Control! Come in Central Control! Incredible race of giants here! No counterattack! Stay away!” and then the camera pans down to reveal the lettering on the side of the saucer: “U.S. Air Force Space Probe No. 1”. It’s a total sockdolager of an ending: The invaders are us! (Or has he taken that trip to the well once too often?) Serling’s head is killing him.

So, he closes his eyes and tries to think of a new draft: Maybe the woman comes up through the trap door. Maybe the space ship separates, and tries to lift off, leaving the monster behind it, but maybe the woman has an axe and is bearing down on them. Maybe as she attacks, a distress call is heard from the tiny ship:

Head on: apply directly to the Moorehead.
Head on: apply directly to the Moorehead.
Head on: apply directly to the Moorehead.

Fifteen years or so later, in “The Tenant”, Roman Polanski will sum up the problem thusly: “Cut off my arm. I say, ‘Me and my arm.’ But cut off my head... would I say, ‘Me and my head’ or ‘Me and my body’?”

This is spookily close to what Serling is thinking right now, but he will never hear those words; he will have been dead a year before that movie comes out: stress, smoking, heart attacks. But in this way we can find an answer: the body will be gone, but the head will still fly around, usually in early ante meridiem but also sometimes as a marathon on the SciFi channel, especially when it’s a holiday weekend, especially then, the head is still flying around.



Monster 100: (or, Monotreme Enthusiasts and Professional Skeptics Meet at a Holiday Inn in Fresno)

The spiritual heirs of John Nevil Maskelyne would no doubt take issue with the adjective “spiritual”, but nevertheless, here they are: a group of magicians, experts, textperts, choking smokers and skeptics taking time off from their endless pursuit of rogue billet readers to meet in Conference Room A of a Holiday Inn in Fresno to puzzle out the existence of Monster 100.

The more taxonomically inclined ask, is Monster 100 a monotreme?

The case for: He has hair and he just laid an egg.
The case against: Teeth.

The prevailing opinion, then, is that perhaps the egg-laying is just some clever legerdemain (“legerdederriere”?) on 100’s part. He does bear a passing resemblance to Ricky Jay, or at least something Ricky Jay would be interested in (they say broadsheets begin to resemble their owners). Where is Ricky Jay, anyway? Shouldn’t he be here? They put the video on a loop and they determine: there is some funny business going on with that second sheet of paper. Perhaps that’s how it was done? But no one can pinpoint it exactly. Murmurs from the crowd: “Eggs are common enough magician props”; “Nothing up my sheaves”; “Regardless, man, you should have seen them kicking Edgar Allan Poe.”

And then someone says, “The great mentalist, The Amazing Dunninger, once said there is one primary rule in the fakery of spirit mediumship” (one assumes that this extends to Magical Egg Apparition); he continues: “And that is, to concentrate upon persons who have suffered a bereavement.” The speaker looks around the room: everyone there is suffering a bereavement, for 100 is the last of the Daily Monsters. The magicians look around at each other for a moment and then shuffle sadly out of the conference room. They’re in no state to crack this one, and anyway, Martin Gardner is going to do a Power Point about the time he had a fistfight with Uri Geller and they don’t want to miss it.

As they file out, the video is still on a loop, and that Logan Hasson viola piece comes up again as the last magician is turning off the light. Listening to it, he can almost put some words to it: “I am the Eggman. They are the eggmen. I am the walrus,” but then as immediately as it starts to make sense, he has lost it again, and so he snaps the lights off at last.

Goo goo g’joob g’goo goo g’joob.