Meeting The Flying Squirrel Monkeys

One mystery solved, but a whole lot more just opened up. As I planned, I stayed up last night to wait for the car decorating flying squirrels to show up and explain to me what the heck was going on. I took a long nap in the afternoon and then drank about 4 pots of strong coffee to help me keep awake and to try and stave off the fainting. It happened like it did the night before and the night before that. One of them flying squirrels clambered on top of my truck and looked around for fifteen minutes or so. I don't really know how long it was, partly because my watch stopped running and I just haven't thought about repairing it in the last couple of days, and partly because I had to take a whiz while it was still standing there, what with the four pots of coffee I drank. When I came back, there was a whole army of them squirrels standing on my truck, just starin at the house. It was pretty creepy, I'll have to admit; four or five rows of flying squirrelly things standin stock still on their back legs, their eyes glowing yellow in the moonlight. At first I was scared that their little claws were gonna ruin my new paint job, but then I figured that if they had painted it once, they could do it again. But then I began to wonder where they got the paint from. I don't feel too comfortable having my truck painted with stolen paint, but I can't imagine how a bunch of squirrels got money in the first place unless they worked for the circus or something like that. But then I wondered, even if they had money, how would they be able to buy paint? Old George down at the Ace Hardware sure as shootin ain't gonna sell paint to a bunch of flying squirrels. Not that he's a racist or anything, but, really, who's gonna sell to squirrels?

While all of this was running through my head, the main squirrel gets tired of waiting and comes up to ring the doorbell. I go to the screen door, still confused as all get out, and he stands there with his little squirrel arms crossed. Well, I finally get my first good look at this thing, and I'm not so sure it's a squirrel any more. It's about 6 inches high with a piece of skin stretched between its arms and legs. I guess it couldn't weigh more than 10 pounds or so, and that's a pretty heavy estimate. On lookin at just the body, it could be easily mistaken for a squirrel. But, when you look at the face good, it looks almost human. It's got these big saucer eyes that glow yellow in the dark, but I can't tell if it's a reflection, like when you take a picture of a dog, or if it's glowing from the inside. It's got a stubby nose from which its upper lips split off, just like on a monkey. Well, we stand there gettin a good look at one another and I figure one of us has to break the silence so I say, "All right, first things first, are you a squirrel or a monkey? Cause when you bit me, I thought you was a monkey, but then Douggy tells me you're a squirrel, and he was pretty convincing, I tell ya. But now, I'm lookin at you, and I don't know what you are, so which one is it? Are you a squirrel or a monkey?" When I ask this, he furrows his brow and looks over his shoulder at the lines of creatures on my truck. They all look at one another, pretty perplexed, and then one turns back to the one at the door, who I think is the leader, and shrugs. I tell ya, you have not lived until you've seen a flying squirrel monkey thing shrug. It's little skin goes up and down with its shoulders and its knees lift up just a little, like the whole body is involved in the shrug. Well, the leader gives me this long look, and then sighs.

He pulls out a little notepad and pencil and starts writing. When he's done, he holds the paper up to me and it says, "Is that really your first question?"

"Damn straight, that's my first question," I reply, "I ain't doin nothin until I know what it is I'm dealing with."

Well, he starts writing furiously and shows me the paper again, which says, "You're sure you don't want to ask anything about why we can write or why we painted your truck or anything like that? You just want to know if we're squirrels or monkeys? Are you sure?"

"I'm sure," I say. I hate to admit it, but all of those questions were much better than mine, but I didn't think of them, and I didn't want to be shown up by no squirrel monkey.

"Fine," he writes. Then he starts scribbling and giving me sheets one by one. "We are neither squirrels nor monkeys. We are genetically engineered hybrid creatures. We were created to be scouts in war zones. Those who created us combined the DNA of several creatures, including Rhesus monkeys and flying squirrels as well as badger, salmon, eagle and a little giraffe for some reason, and then placed super computers into our brains. We are conglomerate creatures the likes of which the world has never seen. After being subject to experiments for several years, we learned of the world outside the laboratory, a world where people did not stick lipstick into our eyes or ginger in our butts just to see what would happen (we get pissed off about it and our farts smell like ginger ale for a week). We learned that there was a world in which we could do good works. And so we escaped. There were 200 of us at the time, but now there are only 50. We have suffered a great loss and we need your help."

"Well," I said, "that's quite a story. What do you need my help for, though? I don't think I got anything to offer a group of cyber squirrel monkeys."

"We need you to be our human face. Run errands for us. Have you ever tried buying paint when you're a 'cyber squirrel monkey'? Old George down at the Ace Hardware was more than reluctant to sell to us."

"So how'd you get the paint?" I asked.

The leader looked back at the group again, who all shook their heads. I think some were cradling their heads in their hands, but I can't be sure. The leader looked at me long and hard, then cocked an eyebrow and shook his head.

"We snuck in after dark, took the paint and left the money. Do you have any more inane questions?"

Well, I was kinda hurt by that. I mean, I think anyone would want to know about the paint. Maybe it was just the wrong time or something.

"We will offer you a deal. You be our human face. You run errands for us. In exchange, you open a car detailing and repair business and we'll do all the work. You'll make money and we'll be able to do what we need to do."

"And what's that," I ask.

"You'll know when the time comes," he writes, "Do we have a deal?"

"Well, I dunno about this. Can you give me some time to think about it?" I ask.

They gave me 48 hours. I'm really not sure what to do. I mean, it would be a nice income. But on the other hand, I'd have to deal with those uppity squirrel monkeys. But then again, what else am I doing?