"So there I was," Alastair began, "in the lab of Clan Platypus, staring blankly at a sack of nuts. Good lord I love nuts." After that, he sort of trailed off for awhile. I can't say I blame him. This conversation seemed like it took over a month to complete. Which is odd, because I know it all happened in one night. Time can do funny things.
He snapped back to life, "Wait, what was I saying?"
"You love nuts," I replied.
"Yeah, right, I love nuts." He trailed off again with this weird, far away look on his face. So, I got up to pee. When I got to the bathroom, I started to pee. When I got about halfway done, I tried pushing out a little fart, but it turned out not to be a fart. So, since it had already gone past the point of no return, I had to sit down and drop a load. I was in there for awhile, because I'd been eating a lot more fiber lately. Also, I've got this crossword book in the bathroom, and I was doin real well on a puzzle, so I didn't want to get up. Then my legs fell asleep, and I figured it was time to go. By the time I got out of there, 45 minutes had gone by. I came back to the porch to sit with Alastair and he was still starin off into space.
"You was also sayin somethin about you bein in a lab," I tried.
"Wha? Huh?" he blinked slowly and came back to recognition. "Oh, right, yeah, there I was in the lab. That's really my first memory. I was sitting on a steel table, ninjas all around me. Usually, if you're surrounded by ninjas, you don't know it until it's too late, but it's pretty different in a medical lab. If you've never been in one, all the walls are white, the ceiling's white, the floor's white, and the ninjas are all standing around in black. It's really awful camouflage. They tried to do something about that for a time, requiring all ninjas in the lab to wear white, but then they kept bumping in to each other, slicing each other open with scalpels and poking each other with needles. They lost over half of their scientists to that. After the Great Medical Tray Fight of 1992, they decided to just let the ninjas wear black. Everyone was happy with this compromise, even though working or living in the lab was like living in the TV in the 1950s.
"Anyway, there I was in the black and white lab, just staring. And I felt a tugging at my back. I turned around to look and saw a ninja strapping little bags to my back. I didn't have a mirror or anything, but I'm pretty certain that looked darned cute. Think about it, a tiny flying squirrel with little saddle bags. I was downright adorable.
"After the bags were attached, the ninjas showed me a map and then took me to the training ground. They were testing my retention ability, to make sure I would be able to get to my destination safely and quickly. I ran the course a couple of times, never once making a mistake. As I ran, though, there was something happening in me. I couldn't describe it at the time, mostly because I'd had no experience of language. You would be amazed how difficult it can be to describe something when you don't know any words. I've learned that most linguistic beings acquire language from their parents or creators. It's difficult to do that when your creators focus on being as quiet as possible all the time. They never speak, and they almost never make sounds while they're moving. Even in the Great Medical Tray Fight of 1992, only once did the sound exceed .00005 decibels. I know now, though, that my intelligence was slowly growing with every new task I completed and every new obstacle I overcame. The ninjas were thrilled because I found new ways to completed the maze quicker. This, they thought, would be a great asset should the buyer change his defenses around to get his meth for free.
"Finally, the day for my first mission came. They strapped the meth to me, showed me the map, and set me on my way. I ran day and night for a week until I reached Wyoming. In that time, I learned how to read road signs, how to avoid trucks, how to trade a little bit of meth for a ride from a guy driving a '76 Volvo and how to flirt with truck stop waitresses. I've got to admit, when that waitress and I made eyes at each other, I don't know who was more desperate. I'd intended just to go in and get myself a pecan waffle and pick up some beef jerky for Ron, who was gassing up the Volvo. But I hadn't slept in a couple of days and Flo and I got to talking about life, love, meth, ninjas..you know, things we were familiar with. By the time we were making out in a bathroom stall, I had grown enough in intelligence to understand I was making a highly questionable choice. I broke away from her with some excuse about being gay and a squirrel and only about a week old and got the heck out of there. When I got back to the Volvo, Ron was pissed. He started yelling at me about how he was doing me a favor by taking me to Casper and how I was rude to let him stand there waiting for me while I was nailing the 80 year old waitress. But I gave him some more meth and he let it go. Not to say he calmed down, but he focused on other things, like the worms crawling under his skin.
"When I finally made it to the buyer's fortified compound, I had difficulty understanding why I was there. I had grown vastly in intelligence and had actually gained a conscience. I had seen, through the truck stops and rest stops all along the highway the ravages of meth. I thought through all of these things as I negotiated the mine fields, carefully picking my way through. I noticed that the buyer had misstated the position of his mines, so I had to change from the route I'd been given. I may have only been born a week before, but I wasn't about to step on a mine.
"After the mine field, I had to navigate the alligator pit. I have learned, in my short time here on earth, that alligators really love squirrel meat. I mean, they go after it like nobody's business. If there is a squirrel around, they will drop whatever else they are doing and go after that squirrel. They could be sitting next to their poor, dying, saint of a mother who is dying of cancer, listening to final words of wisdom and saying their goodbyes, but when a squirrel comes by, they and their mother will wrestle one another to see who gets to chase the squirrel. I've never seen any creature like another's flesh so much. Despite that, alligators aren't too bright, and they're especially bad at catching squirrels who have been trained in speed and fighting by ninjas. Don't get me wrong, alligators are ferocious and strong, but they're no match for ninja training. Long story short, 800 dead alligators, 40 guardsmen, a black hole, 1000 Siberian tigers, a robot army, 150 lost souls and one very belligerent turtle later, I was standing at the threshold of the mansion. All that was left now was to make the delivery.
"I stood staring at that door for well over an hour, thinking about my life. Did I want to serve as a courier for Clan Platypus? Did I want to spread this drug that would let an 80 year old woman make out with a week old squirrel? Did I want more people feeling they had works under their skin? The answer to all was no. So I turned to leave. As I did, I heard the door of the mansion open and a voice behind me say, 'You have passed the final test'...."
Saturday, October 18, 2008
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
Sunday, September 21, 2008
The Perfect Squimonk
"That's where the story gets interesting?" I clarified. "That's great, because I've been bored out of my skull for what seems like weeks now. Time really slows down when you're bored, doesn't it?"
"Time doesn't really exist," replied Alastair, "at least not as you experience it."
"You wanna explain that to me?" I asked.
"I could," he said smarmily, "but you have to be super intelligent to understand it. The story of how we Squimonk began fighting the Meth Ninjas of Clan Platypus is more your speed."
I was a bit taken aback, but I'd had a couple of jars of my moonshine and I was feeling mighty friendly, so I let him get away with it. If I''d had one jar less, or even one jar more, I likely would have challenged him to some fisticuffs. Instead, I told him, "Well, get on with the story then."
And he did. Clan Platypus carefully designed their perfect couriers. They were made to look like squirrels, but have abilities and intelligence beyond the average rodent. They were given the ability to glide long distances, see in the dark, and be able to find their way to anywhere from anywhere without having to stop and ask for directions, even in those confusing neighborhoods where the street names only differ in label and not in name. You know, one place there's a Roosevelt St. and three blocks over there's a Roosevelt Dr. and that crosses Roosevelt Pl. Even in those kinds of neighborhoods, the Squimonk could find their way with perfect accuracy. This was an essential skill because, if you have a customer wanting Meth at 2142 Roosevelt Pl. and a squirrel shows up with a bag of white powder at 2142 Roosevelt Dr. there will be an enormous amount of explaining to do. The really funny thing is that, even though Meth is a stimulant, addicts are much more relaxed about a squirrel showing up at their door with a bag full of drugs than the average person who, more likely than not, will freak out. To prevent this, the Squimonk needed to show up at the right door every time. In addition, they needed to recognize and be able to count money. A lot of drug addicts will try to rip off a courier squirrel, but if they're confronted with a squirrel that can count, as well as chew their leg off from the knee down in three seconds, they will likely be more honest in their financial dealings.
With their new abilities, the Squimonk were sent into the world to be couriers for the Meth and thereby part of Clan Platypus' nefarious plan for world domination. Because of shifting circumstances and different delivery requirements, several versions of Squimonk were created, each suited to a different task or different environment. However, five years ago, something remarkable happened.
Clan Platypus had struck a deal with a very paranoid, very rich Meth dealer who lived in the deserts of Utah. He had created a fortress of sorts in the middle of nowhere, defended with drone aircraft, landmines and robot tigers. He was willing to share his defense schematics with the Clan so that they could send a courier directly to his house, where the transaction would take place in a sensory deprivation chamber. The Clan needed to design a new Squimonk with the capability of maneuvering through the mine field, avoiding or defeating the tigers, disguising itself from the drone aircraft, entering the house and finally being able to make correct change in a sensory deprived environment. In addition, because of the size of this order, the Squimonk would have to be able to carry 40 pounds. It was quite the task.
"The Clan's scientists worked night and day on the new Squimonk. The result was the apex of their engineering program, or so they thought. That Squimonk was me."
I looked at him for a moment. Then I said, "So you're the apex of the breeding program? All this work by these ninjas to create a perfect meth delivery system, and it's you?"
"Why do you seem so surprised?" he asked. "I have assembled an army of Squimonk to fix your truck overnight and also fight against our creators and former masters. I was smart enough to try to recruit you as our face to the humans. I was also smart enough to let you publish our conversation to the world so they would all know the danger. Why shouldn't I be the apex of the breeding program?"
"Well," I said, "I guess you got me there."
"I sure do. Now, do you want to hear about how I broke free?" he offered.
"I would love to," I replied.
"Time doesn't really exist," replied Alastair, "at least not as you experience it."
"You wanna explain that to me?" I asked.
"I could," he said smarmily, "but you have to be super intelligent to understand it. The story of how we Squimonk began fighting the Meth Ninjas of Clan Platypus is more your speed."
I was a bit taken aback, but I'd had a couple of jars of my moonshine and I was feeling mighty friendly, so I let him get away with it. If I''d had one jar less, or even one jar more, I likely would have challenged him to some fisticuffs. Instead, I told him, "Well, get on with the story then."
And he did. Clan Platypus carefully designed their perfect couriers. They were made to look like squirrels, but have abilities and intelligence beyond the average rodent. They were given the ability to glide long distances, see in the dark, and be able to find their way to anywhere from anywhere without having to stop and ask for directions, even in those confusing neighborhoods where the street names only differ in label and not in name. You know, one place there's a Roosevelt St. and three blocks over there's a Roosevelt Dr. and that crosses Roosevelt Pl. Even in those kinds of neighborhoods, the Squimonk could find their way with perfect accuracy. This was an essential skill because, if you have a customer wanting Meth at 2142 Roosevelt Pl. and a squirrel shows up with a bag of white powder at 2142 Roosevelt Dr. there will be an enormous amount of explaining to do. The really funny thing is that, even though Meth is a stimulant, addicts are much more relaxed about a squirrel showing up at their door with a bag full of drugs than the average person who, more likely than not, will freak out. To prevent this, the Squimonk needed to show up at the right door every time. In addition, they needed to recognize and be able to count money. A lot of drug addicts will try to rip off a courier squirrel, but if they're confronted with a squirrel that can count, as well as chew their leg off from the knee down in three seconds, they will likely be more honest in their financial dealings.
With their new abilities, the Squimonk were sent into the world to be couriers for the Meth and thereby part of Clan Platypus' nefarious plan for world domination. Because of shifting circumstances and different delivery requirements, several versions of Squimonk were created, each suited to a different task or different environment. However, five years ago, something remarkable happened.
Clan Platypus had struck a deal with a very paranoid, very rich Meth dealer who lived in the deserts of Utah. He had created a fortress of sorts in the middle of nowhere, defended with drone aircraft, landmines and robot tigers. He was willing to share his defense schematics with the Clan so that they could send a courier directly to his house, where the transaction would take place in a sensory deprivation chamber. The Clan needed to design a new Squimonk with the capability of maneuvering through the mine field, avoiding or defeating the tigers, disguising itself from the drone aircraft, entering the house and finally being able to make correct change in a sensory deprived environment. In addition, because of the size of this order, the Squimonk would have to be able to carry 40 pounds. It was quite the task.
"The Clan's scientists worked night and day on the new Squimonk. The result was the apex of their engineering program, or so they thought. That Squimonk was me."
I looked at him for a moment. Then I said, "So you're the apex of the breeding program? All this work by these ninjas to create a perfect meth delivery system, and it's you?"
"Why do you seem so surprised?" he asked. "I have assembled an army of Squimonk to fix your truck overnight and also fight against our creators and former masters. I was smart enough to try to recruit you as our face to the humans. I was also smart enough to let you publish our conversation to the world so they would all know the danger. Why shouldn't I be the apex of the breeding program?"
"Well," I said, "I guess you got me there."
"I sure do. Now, do you want to hear about how I broke free?" he offered.
"I would love to," I replied.
Sunday, September 14, 2008
Creation of the Sqimonk
"Here's that drink," I said as I put the moonshine in front of Alastair.
"Woah," he said, "what took you so long? Did you have to grow, harvest and distill the grain?"
"As a matter of fact," I told him, "yes, I grew, harvested and distilled the grain you are now drinking. And for your information, it is all organic."
"Great," he responded, "I hate that non-carbon-based liquor. It tastes like metal."
I never knew that super-intelligent animal hybrids could be such jerks when they were drunk. I told him, "All right, smartass, just continue your story." And he did.
With their distribution network in place, Clan Platypus began to experiment with different mind-altering drugs. Their goal was to have a drug that turned people into mindless zombies who would do anything for the drug without turning them into lazy, lethargic opium addicts. In the modern world, they tried several things and discarded them. In the '60s, they tried to distribute hallucinogens to the masses. They became pretty popular and Clan Platypus thought they'd have the solution, but then all of the people taking the drugs moved to communes or to India to seek spiritual enlightenment and, when both of those failed, returned to normal society with a greater fervor than had been seen before. They became obsessed with success and money and were really some of the greediest people the Clan had seen since the Heike.
After that, they journeyed to South America and found the coca plant. They saw that the natives chewed the leaves of this plant and were able to work all day without complaint. They did some work refining this and helped spread cocaine to people in the '80s. Sadly, though, they found cocaine did not make people subservient. In fact, it really just turned them into a bunch of violent douche bags. One group continued to try to refine this method and they came up with Crack cocaine, which was more addictive but made people into even more violent douche bags.
Finally, they thought it was time to start again from scratch. They assembled everything they had learned from previous experiments and attempted to make a drug that would have the hallucinogenic properties of LSD without the unfortunate "commune effect", the addictiveness of opium without the laziness and the energy of cocaine and crack without the douche baggery.
They worked for years on their new super drug and eventually discovered Crystal Meth. They first began to spread it in the rural areas so they could capture people and test the drug's effects. After some experimenting, they found that the drug turned people into mindless zombies who worked hard and didn't get into fights if another zombie stumbled into them. Finally, they had found the drug to implement their evil plan.
Clan Platypus began spreading meth as much as they could. They had a problem fostered by their early experiments, though. Because they had been careful to keep meth in the rural areas for its early trials, it had gained a reputation as an unsophisticated drug, suitable only for farmers and bumpkins. This was not a serious problem for their world domination plan because most people in the world were farmers and bumpkins and the sophisticated city people could be eliminated easily with a super-army of farmer meth zombies. The reputation as a rural drug was only a problem for their distribution network. In the cities, they could spread their drugs quickly and easily through people standing on street corners and at nice parties. In short, the density of the population was perfectly suited to their goal. However, in the country, people live really, really, REALLY far away from each other. They still have interactions and the idea of the drug can spread, but the distribution of the actual drug became the problem. Clan Platypus didn't want to be running all over all the time trying to sell meth to people in the middle of Iowa or Nebraska. After all, they had begun this plan so long ago so they could STOP working, not so they could work harder.
So they did some experimenting in distribution. They first tried to get the meth zombies to do it for them, but they had made a drug so addictive that the zombies were unable to deliver the packages without taking some of the drugs for themselves. They really lost a lot of zombies that way. They would find them on the side of the road, covered in white powder and, more often than not, dead of an exploded heart. Then they had to clean the zombie up, give him a fake heart, apologize to the customer and give him a little bonus in his new package. It was a managerial nightmare. They tried to make the packaging harder to open, but zombies hopped up on meth can be surprisingly strong. So, they began to work with animals. They came up with the idea of using squirrels pretty early on because squirrels are ubiquitous. There are squirrels in every state and no one would really comment on them. The first trial, though, most of the meth got hidden away in oak trees. They tried training the squirrels for awhile, but it's nearly impossible to train a squirrel, they're pretty dumb. Finally, they began manipulation of the squirrels' genetic code and they created us, the Squimonk.
"Squimonk?" I asked. "That's really a terrible name."
"I know," he replied, "Clan Platypus is terrible at naming things. Take, for example, their base. Most ninja clans have a base called 'Temple of Pain' or 'Decapitation Mountain' or something equally frightening. But Clan Platypus calls their base 'Clan Platypus' Base In Which Evil Plots Are Hatched And Every Tuesday Night Is Karaoke Night'. They're really bad with that sort of stuff."
"I can see that," I said, "if you were created by them, why are you fighting against them now?"
"That," he replied, "is where the story gets interesting..."
"Woah," he said, "what took you so long? Did you have to grow, harvest and distill the grain?"
"As a matter of fact," I told him, "yes, I grew, harvested and distilled the grain you are now drinking. And for your information, it is all organic."
"Great," he responded, "I hate that non-carbon-based liquor. It tastes like metal."
I never knew that super-intelligent animal hybrids could be such jerks when they were drunk. I told him, "All right, smartass, just continue your story." And he did.
With their distribution network in place, Clan Platypus began to experiment with different mind-altering drugs. Their goal was to have a drug that turned people into mindless zombies who would do anything for the drug without turning them into lazy, lethargic opium addicts. In the modern world, they tried several things and discarded them. In the '60s, they tried to distribute hallucinogens to the masses. They became pretty popular and Clan Platypus thought they'd have the solution, but then all of the people taking the drugs moved to communes or to India to seek spiritual enlightenment and, when both of those failed, returned to normal society with a greater fervor than had been seen before. They became obsessed with success and money and were really some of the greediest people the Clan had seen since the Heike.
After that, they journeyed to South America and found the coca plant. They saw that the natives chewed the leaves of this plant and were able to work all day without complaint. They did some work refining this and helped spread cocaine to people in the '80s. Sadly, though, they found cocaine did not make people subservient. In fact, it really just turned them into a bunch of violent douche bags. One group continued to try to refine this method and they came up with Crack cocaine, which was more addictive but made people into even more violent douche bags.
Finally, they thought it was time to start again from scratch. They assembled everything they had learned from previous experiments and attempted to make a drug that would have the hallucinogenic properties of LSD without the unfortunate "commune effect", the addictiveness of opium without the laziness and the energy of cocaine and crack without the douche baggery.
They worked for years on their new super drug and eventually discovered Crystal Meth. They first began to spread it in the rural areas so they could capture people and test the drug's effects. After some experimenting, they found that the drug turned people into mindless zombies who worked hard and didn't get into fights if another zombie stumbled into them. Finally, they had found the drug to implement their evil plan.
Clan Platypus began spreading meth as much as they could. They had a problem fostered by their early experiments, though. Because they had been careful to keep meth in the rural areas for its early trials, it had gained a reputation as an unsophisticated drug, suitable only for farmers and bumpkins. This was not a serious problem for their world domination plan because most people in the world were farmers and bumpkins and the sophisticated city people could be eliminated easily with a super-army of farmer meth zombies. The reputation as a rural drug was only a problem for their distribution network. In the cities, they could spread their drugs quickly and easily through people standing on street corners and at nice parties. In short, the density of the population was perfectly suited to their goal. However, in the country, people live really, really, REALLY far away from each other. They still have interactions and the idea of the drug can spread, but the distribution of the actual drug became the problem. Clan Platypus didn't want to be running all over all the time trying to sell meth to people in the middle of Iowa or Nebraska. After all, they had begun this plan so long ago so they could STOP working, not so they could work harder.
So they did some experimenting in distribution. They first tried to get the meth zombies to do it for them, but they had made a drug so addictive that the zombies were unable to deliver the packages without taking some of the drugs for themselves. They really lost a lot of zombies that way. They would find them on the side of the road, covered in white powder and, more often than not, dead of an exploded heart. Then they had to clean the zombie up, give him a fake heart, apologize to the customer and give him a little bonus in his new package. It was a managerial nightmare. They tried to make the packaging harder to open, but zombies hopped up on meth can be surprisingly strong. So, they began to work with animals. They came up with the idea of using squirrels pretty early on because squirrels are ubiquitous. There are squirrels in every state and no one would really comment on them. The first trial, though, most of the meth got hidden away in oak trees. They tried training the squirrels for awhile, but it's nearly impossible to train a squirrel, they're pretty dumb. Finally, they began manipulation of the squirrels' genetic code and they created us, the Squimonk.
"Squimonk?" I asked. "That's really a terrible name."
"I know," he replied, "Clan Platypus is terrible at naming things. Take, for example, their base. Most ninja clans have a base called 'Temple of Pain' or 'Decapitation Mountain' or something equally frightening. But Clan Platypus calls their base 'Clan Platypus' Base In Which Evil Plots Are Hatched And Every Tuesday Night Is Karaoke Night'. They're really bad with that sort of stuff."
"I can see that," I said, "if you were created by them, why are you fighting against them now?"
"That," he replied, "is where the story gets interesting..."
Saturday, September 6, 2008
Rise of the Meth Ninjas
"What does all of this have to do with us?" Alastair asked me.
"Yeah," I told him, "that's what I asked...Say, did that seem like an unusually long pause to you. For some reason, that second felt like a week."
"I thought so, too," he said, "it's weird how that can happen sometimes. You ask a question and then it seems like it takes forever to get it answered."
"I know," I says to him, "maybe time is just an illusion."
"What makes you say that?" he asks.
"I dunno," I respond, "it was just something I read on the back of a bag of bagels a couple of days ago."
"You read that time is an illusion on the back of a bag of bagels? What kind of bagels were they?"
"Well, I started getting these 'philosophy bagels' cause they were on sale. I wasn't much interested in what they said on the back, I really just wanted the bagels. Of course, I may have just made that whole thing up, I've been drinking pretty heavily for the last couple of days. I'm not even that sure that any of this is real."
"How do you cope with that?" he asks me.
"Well, I just try and take it on faith, really. Right now, this is the only experience I have, so I don't really have anything to compare it to in order to determine whether it's real or not."
"Wow," he says, "that's really weird."
"I know," I tells him, "why do you think I drink?"
"I can't say I blame you. I may need a drink now, too."
So, I goes into the house and grab a couple of mason jars full of white lightning and we sit on the porch sipping it as he tells me all about the squirrel monkeys and their long-standing rivalry with the meth ninjas.
A while ago, a group of ninjas got real tired of working for other people all the time; killing when they were told to kill, sneaking around, breaking up all the best parties. They wanted to be the ones giving the orders. They wanted to be the ones throwing all the best parties and THEN breaking up the parties by killing the guest of honor. So they refused to take any more contracts and they withdrew to a set of caves to meditate deeply on their future. They decided the first thing they needed was a really cool and dangerous sounding clan name. They went through all the possibilities, but all the dangerous animals (dragons, hawks, tigers, bears to name a few) were already taken. It was really a problem until one day a member of the clan came back dragging a man whose leg was full of poison. They gathered around him and asked what animal could have possibly done this to him. Unfortunately, he was unable to tell them because he didn't know its name. After they ran through all the poisonous animals they could think of, snakes and spiders and whatnot, they had the man tell them where this had taken place.
They took a journey to the foot of the mountains and into a swamp. It took a week of searching, and they lost four ninjas to poisonous swamp bears. They would have then named themselves "Clan Poisonous Swamp Bear," but the embroiderer told them that an poisonous swamp bear embroidered onto a uniform looks almost identical to a grizzly bear embroidered on the uniform. This would have been very bad for them because Clan Grizzly had recently angered the demon Kal'Ah from the land of wind and ghosts by telling his wife she looked fat in a pair of coo lots, and the demon had vowed to wipe out the clan. This wouldn't have been a problem, but the demon Kal'Ah is incredibly near sighted, but he will never admit to it and so he refuses to ever go get glasses. So, the possibility was high that Clan Poisonous Swamp Bear would be wiped out by Kal'Ah before they ever got started, so they were forced to continue searching.
When they finally found the creature, they stood around and marveled at its beauty and excellence. It had sleek fur and poisonous spines. They asked the embroiderer if he could sew it on to their uniforms and he told them, "Yeah, I could probably work something up." Thus was born Clan Platypus.
"Wait, wait," I told Alistair, "Clan Platypus? Are you serious?"
"Absolutely," he responded, "The platypus is an aggressive, dangerous animal. In addition to being a fierce predator in the water, it defends itself on land with poison claws on the backs of its legs. If you saw a platypus, you'd be best advised to turn around and walk away."
"Well, guess you learn something new every day. Continue."
And he did. Once Clan Platypus had their symbol, they began to recruit other ninjas who were tired of the kill-a-day ninja lifestyle. They allowed those ninjas to recruit other ninjas and eventually, they had built the world's first ninja pyramid scheme. Once that was in place, they began their quest for world domination. They struck on the idea of using mind-dulling substances to make people into their slaves pretty early on, but since this was 1000 years ago, the most powerful thing they could get their hands on was opium. They plied that trade for a long time, spreading their distribution network worldwide, one addict at a time. The plan didn't really work out, however, because opium addicts are extremely lazy. And, really, what good is it to have a bunch of slaves that are lazy? You send them to fetch the head of your enemy and they come back a month later with a bag of potatoes and no shoes. So, they tried different things for awhile, occasionally resorting to being killers for hire, but they always kept in mind their larger plan.
"And that brings us to the modern day," Alastair says.
"Before you launch into that," I stop him, "can I freshen up that drink for you?"
"You bet," he tells me, "it's just like mom used to make."
So I got up and went into the house for drinks.
"Yeah," I told him, "that's what I asked...Say, did that seem like an unusually long pause to you. For some reason, that second felt like a week."
"I thought so, too," he said, "it's weird how that can happen sometimes. You ask a question and then it seems like it takes forever to get it answered."
"I know," I says to him, "maybe time is just an illusion."
"What makes you say that?" he asks.
"I dunno," I respond, "it was just something I read on the back of a bag of bagels a couple of days ago."
"You read that time is an illusion on the back of a bag of bagels? What kind of bagels were they?"
"Well, I started getting these 'philosophy bagels' cause they were on sale. I wasn't much interested in what they said on the back, I really just wanted the bagels. Of course, I may have just made that whole thing up, I've been drinking pretty heavily for the last couple of days. I'm not even that sure that any of this is real."
"How do you cope with that?" he asks me.
"Well, I just try and take it on faith, really. Right now, this is the only experience I have, so I don't really have anything to compare it to in order to determine whether it's real or not."
"Wow," he says, "that's really weird."
"I know," I tells him, "why do you think I drink?"
"I can't say I blame you. I may need a drink now, too."
So, I goes into the house and grab a couple of mason jars full of white lightning and we sit on the porch sipping it as he tells me all about the squirrel monkeys and their long-standing rivalry with the meth ninjas.
A while ago, a group of ninjas got real tired of working for other people all the time; killing when they were told to kill, sneaking around, breaking up all the best parties. They wanted to be the ones giving the orders. They wanted to be the ones throwing all the best parties and THEN breaking up the parties by killing the guest of honor. So they refused to take any more contracts and they withdrew to a set of caves to meditate deeply on their future. They decided the first thing they needed was a really cool and dangerous sounding clan name. They went through all the possibilities, but all the dangerous animals (dragons, hawks, tigers, bears to name a few) were already taken. It was really a problem until one day a member of the clan came back dragging a man whose leg was full of poison. They gathered around him and asked what animal could have possibly done this to him. Unfortunately, he was unable to tell them because he didn't know its name. After they ran through all the poisonous animals they could think of, snakes and spiders and whatnot, they had the man tell them where this had taken place.
They took a journey to the foot of the mountains and into a swamp. It took a week of searching, and they lost four ninjas to poisonous swamp bears. They would have then named themselves "Clan Poisonous Swamp Bear," but the embroiderer told them that an poisonous swamp bear embroidered onto a uniform looks almost identical to a grizzly bear embroidered on the uniform. This would have been very bad for them because Clan Grizzly had recently angered the demon Kal'Ah from the land of wind and ghosts by telling his wife she looked fat in a pair of coo lots, and the demon had vowed to wipe out the clan. This wouldn't have been a problem, but the demon Kal'Ah is incredibly near sighted, but he will never admit to it and so he refuses to ever go get glasses. So, the possibility was high that Clan Poisonous Swamp Bear would be wiped out by Kal'Ah before they ever got started, so they were forced to continue searching.
When they finally found the creature, they stood around and marveled at its beauty and excellence. It had sleek fur and poisonous spines. They asked the embroiderer if he could sew it on to their uniforms and he told them, "Yeah, I could probably work something up." Thus was born Clan Platypus.
"Wait, wait," I told Alistair, "Clan Platypus? Are you serious?"
"Absolutely," he responded, "The platypus is an aggressive, dangerous animal. In addition to being a fierce predator in the water, it defends itself on land with poison claws on the backs of its legs. If you saw a platypus, you'd be best advised to turn around and walk away."
"Well, guess you learn something new every day. Continue."
And he did. Once Clan Platypus had their symbol, they began to recruit other ninjas who were tired of the kill-a-day ninja lifestyle. They allowed those ninjas to recruit other ninjas and eventually, they had built the world's first ninja pyramid scheme. Once that was in place, they began their quest for world domination. They struck on the idea of using mind-dulling substances to make people into their slaves pretty early on, but since this was 1000 years ago, the most powerful thing they could get their hands on was opium. They plied that trade for a long time, spreading their distribution network worldwide, one addict at a time. The plan didn't really work out, however, because opium addicts are extremely lazy. And, really, what good is it to have a bunch of slaves that are lazy? You send them to fetch the head of your enemy and they come back a month later with a bag of potatoes and no shoes. So, they tried different things for awhile, occasionally resorting to being killers for hire, but they always kept in mind their larger plan.
"And that brings us to the modern day," Alastair says.
"Before you launch into that," I stop him, "can I freshen up that drink for you?"
"You bet," he tells me, "it's just like mom used to make."
So I got up and went into the house for drinks.
Saturday, August 30, 2008
Finally
Well, a month came and went and I heard nothin from them squirrel monkeys. I thought I'd seen them a couple times, but then it turned out that was just white lightnin in my eye. For a week or so I thought I'd been goin crazy and then recovered. I mean, hyper-intelligent squirrel monkeys? I was in for it bad, I thought. I tried talking to Douggy about it, but he kept tellin me that he'd seen a lot weirder stuff on the internet. He said that there'd been a couple of guys a little bit ago that found themselves a Bigfoot and put it in a freezer, then, when they thawed it out, it was really a rubber gorilla suit. What Douggy wanted to know, though, was how the Bigfoot got itself thawed out and then how'd it slip the rubber gorilla suit into the freezer before wandering off. After that, I figured I might not get no answers from Douggy.
Every time I started to think I was crazy, though, I''d go out and look at my truck. It sat there moldering away with a burnt up couch through the bed, scorched leather and paint job serving as a testament to my sanity. So I sat. I sat on my porch and waited for them dang squirrel monkeys to show back up. I was gettin ready to give up. But then, they come last night. They gathered around my truck and sat there lookin at me with their crazy glowin eyes and it looked like somethin was amiss.
The leader, he comes up to me and says, "So, it turns out you need our help after all."
And I says back to him, "I guess so. When did you learn how to talk?"
He replied, "We grow more intelligent all the time. We have just recently reached a plateau in which we are able to modify our own bodies for new purposes. We installed voice boxes into ourselves so that it would be easier to communicate with the humans. Also, we can now yell at dogs, and this confuses them long enough for us to get away. If that doesn't work, we have also installed laser eye beams and so we can fry them."
"Well, that sounds downright convenient," I tell them, "Is that where you've been all this time?"
"That, and watching the Olympics." he says.
"Yeah," I concede, "they was pretty exciting this year. Phelps got himself all them medals. What do you think about the gymnastics?"
"Look," he says to me, "I may just be a super-intelligent, genetically engineered cross of at least 104 different animals who just happens to look like a cross between a squirrel and a monkey, and I may have only been on this earth for a couple of years, but even I know that Chinese girl couldn't have been more than 13. I mean, Fred over there is taller than her." He pointed to a shadow lurking near the woods, and I jumped a little at seeing a 4 foot tall squirrel monkey.
"Holy mother of Jehoshaphat!" I yelled, "He's a big'n!"
"Part whale," the leader explained. "He's got an enormous tongue, too."
"I guess that would make sense," I concede.
"Yeah," I say.
"Yeah," he says.
Then we stood and looked at each other awkwardly for a moment. You know, those silent moments can really stretch out. I didn't want to be a jerk and ask him to fix the truck right away, but I didn't think we really shared enough common interests to have an extended conversation. I mean, if it was Douggy, or even a human, that might be one thing, but when you're talking to a genetic experiment, you're really on shaky ground. I don't know if they even have hobbies beyond the physical alteration and stuff.
After a little while, the leader cleared his throat and said, "By the way, I'm Alistair."
"Is that catching?" I ask.
"No, that's my name," he says, a little too uppity.
"Oh," I tell him, "what kind of name is that?"
"It's English," he says and I'm starting to feel kind of stupid.
"Are you from England, then?"
"No, I just found it in a British newspaper and I liked the way it sounds."
"Huh." I grunted and sort of looked off in the distance.
"So," he started, "you hung the lantern?"
The ice had been broken, I could go ahead and ask him about the truck. Finally. I explained to him about the flaming couch and asked him if he could fix it. He looked concerned for awhile, then went back and consulted with his friends. I don't think they was speaking any kind of language I'd ever heard before. When he came back, he told me,
"I'm sorry this has happened to you. We never meant to get you in this deep. We only needed a front to fund our operations. Now, however, it appears that we must tell you the whole story. We were not created by any government. We were created by a crime syndicate that is attempting to destroy everything held precious in this world. They are attempting to stop people from sleeping so that they can be turned into automatons and live only to serve the crime syndicate. They can then take over the world and live a life of luxury while the rest of the human race becomes their slaves."
"Wow, that sounds pretty bad," I say.
"I know," he concurs, "but it gets worse."
"Worse than all of mankind being their slaves?"
"Yeah," he says.
"Ok, are you going to tell me how?"
"Yeah," he says.
Then we just look at each other for a bit.
"Soon?" I ask.
"What?" he says, shaking himself back to reality, "Oh, sorry, he says, I was just thinking about that gymnast again. Seriously, how can they expect anyone to believe that girl is 16? Anyway, yeah, it gets worse, they're Ninjas!"
"Ninjas?"
"That's right! Ninjas!"
Then one of the squirrels pulled out a little systhesiser and played a very dramatic chord. I thought it was a little over the top, myself, but I didn't want to say anything and risk my truck not being fixed.
"So, Ninjas attacked my truck with a flaming couch? Is that what you're telling me?" I ask, not really believing any of this, but I'm just drunk enough to go along for the ride.
"Yes, that is what I'm telling you," he says. "But it gets even worse."
"Worse, huh?"
"Yeah..." he drifts off and comes back again, "You can just look at her and see that there's no way she's 16. And the Chinese expect us to believe that they wouldn't fake a passport so she could compete? Unbelievable! And you know what else is unbelievable? They're Meth Ninjas!"
"That is unbe..." I begin, "Wait, what's a Meth Ninja?"
"That's their group, the Meth Ninjas," he explains, "They're trying to spread the use of methampetemines around the world. That is the drug they're using to lure people into slavery."
"That's pretty harsh," I tell Alistair. "So, where do you come into all of this?"
Well, it looks like my coffee's done and I got some yard work to do, but I'll tell you the rest of the story tomorrow.
Every time I started to think I was crazy, though, I''d go out and look at my truck. It sat there moldering away with a burnt up couch through the bed, scorched leather and paint job serving as a testament to my sanity. So I sat. I sat on my porch and waited for them dang squirrel monkeys to show back up. I was gettin ready to give up. But then, they come last night. They gathered around my truck and sat there lookin at me with their crazy glowin eyes and it looked like somethin was amiss.
The leader, he comes up to me and says, "So, it turns out you need our help after all."
And I says back to him, "I guess so. When did you learn how to talk?"
He replied, "We grow more intelligent all the time. We have just recently reached a plateau in which we are able to modify our own bodies for new purposes. We installed voice boxes into ourselves so that it would be easier to communicate with the humans. Also, we can now yell at dogs, and this confuses them long enough for us to get away. If that doesn't work, we have also installed laser eye beams and so we can fry them."
"Well, that sounds downright convenient," I tell them, "Is that where you've been all this time?"
"That, and watching the Olympics." he says.
"Yeah," I concede, "they was pretty exciting this year. Phelps got himself all them medals. What do you think about the gymnastics?"
"Look," he says to me, "I may just be a super-intelligent, genetically engineered cross of at least 104 different animals who just happens to look like a cross between a squirrel and a monkey, and I may have only been on this earth for a couple of years, but even I know that Chinese girl couldn't have been more than 13. I mean, Fred over there is taller than her." He pointed to a shadow lurking near the woods, and I jumped a little at seeing a 4 foot tall squirrel monkey.
"Holy mother of Jehoshaphat!" I yelled, "He's a big'n!"
"Part whale," the leader explained. "He's got an enormous tongue, too."
"I guess that would make sense," I concede.
"Yeah," I say.
"Yeah," he says.
Then we stood and looked at each other awkwardly for a moment. You know, those silent moments can really stretch out. I didn't want to be a jerk and ask him to fix the truck right away, but I didn't think we really shared enough common interests to have an extended conversation. I mean, if it was Douggy, or even a human, that might be one thing, but when you're talking to a genetic experiment, you're really on shaky ground. I don't know if they even have hobbies beyond the physical alteration and stuff.
After a little while, the leader cleared his throat and said, "By the way, I'm Alistair."
"Is that catching?" I ask.
"No, that's my name," he says, a little too uppity.
"Oh," I tell him, "what kind of name is that?"
"It's English," he says and I'm starting to feel kind of stupid.
"Are you from England, then?"
"No, I just found it in a British newspaper and I liked the way it sounds."
"Huh." I grunted and sort of looked off in the distance.
"So," he started, "you hung the lantern?"
The ice had been broken, I could go ahead and ask him about the truck. Finally. I explained to him about the flaming couch and asked him if he could fix it. He looked concerned for awhile, then went back and consulted with his friends. I don't think they was speaking any kind of language I'd ever heard before. When he came back, he told me,
"I'm sorry this has happened to you. We never meant to get you in this deep. We only needed a front to fund our operations. Now, however, it appears that we must tell you the whole story. We were not created by any government. We were created by a crime syndicate that is attempting to destroy everything held precious in this world. They are attempting to stop people from sleeping so that they can be turned into automatons and live only to serve the crime syndicate. They can then take over the world and live a life of luxury while the rest of the human race becomes their slaves."
"Wow, that sounds pretty bad," I say.
"I know," he concurs, "but it gets worse."
"Worse than all of mankind being their slaves?"
"Yeah," he says.
"Ok, are you going to tell me how?"
"Yeah," he says.
Then we just look at each other for a bit.
"Soon?" I ask.
"What?" he says, shaking himself back to reality, "Oh, sorry, he says, I was just thinking about that gymnast again. Seriously, how can they expect anyone to believe that girl is 16? Anyway, yeah, it gets worse, they're Ninjas!"
"Ninjas?"
"That's right! Ninjas!"
Then one of the squirrels pulled out a little systhesiser and played a very dramatic chord. I thought it was a little over the top, myself, but I didn't want to say anything and risk my truck not being fixed.
"So, Ninjas attacked my truck with a flaming couch? Is that what you're telling me?" I ask, not really believing any of this, but I'm just drunk enough to go along for the ride.
"Yes, that is what I'm telling you," he says. "But it gets even worse."
"Worse, huh?"
"Yeah..." he drifts off and comes back again, "You can just look at her and see that there's no way she's 16. And the Chinese expect us to believe that they wouldn't fake a passport so she could compete? Unbelievable! And you know what else is unbelievable? They're Meth Ninjas!"
"That is unbe..." I begin, "Wait, what's a Meth Ninja?"
"That's their group, the Meth Ninjas," he explains, "They're trying to spread the use of methampetemines around the world. That is the drug they're using to lure people into slavery."
"That's pretty harsh," I tell Alistair. "So, where do you come into all of this?"
Well, it looks like my coffee's done and I got some yard work to do, but I'll tell you the rest of the story tomorrow.
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
It's gone! Gone!
Oh my dear sweet Betty Mable Lou! My truck is destroyed! My aqua-green, new leather, fender-complete truck is gone! And for once, I had nothing to do with it. It was hit by a flaming couch that fell from the sky. I dunno where that couch came from, but I know it ended up on end sticking through the bed of my beautiful truck. Sadly, I'd just finished waxing the truck just before the couch hit it. I have found, in my many years, that bacon grease makes a really fine truck wax. It's water-proof, readily available and it makes your car smell like bacon all the time. Sure, you occasionally have to shoo dogs and obese people away, and you've gotta eat a heck of a lot of bacon to have enough grease to wax a truck, but it's usually worth it. Fortunately, I pay attention to the nightly news. Every time you see someone on that there news that's a hundred and whatnot, they always say they eat a pack of bacon every day. So, I'm pretty sure that's the secret to long life. That and not dying for a long time, that is. Well, that bacon wax had helped me all my life. As it turns out, though, covering your car in pork fat isn't a good idea if your truck is going to be speared through by a flaming couch from out of a clear blue sky. In the very unlikely event that happens, the car almost instantly becomes engulfed in flames and your years of hard work and your proof that super-intelligent flying squirrel monkeys exist are both down the tubes. I guess I need my car repaired, so I'm gonna hang this lantern thingy out the window and see if the squirrels can come fix it.
I'm gonna pause here for a bit of philosophatin. Here's the thing I been thinking about: if those squirrels come and fix my truck, they're gonna be replacin the exterior and most of the cab. Well, I've had that truck a long time, I've replaced all the belts and hoses, the starter, rebuilt the carb and done other small repairs. About 10 years ago, I replaced the engine because the last one had a cracked block. I've pulled out the transmission and replaced the gear box, got myself a new exhaust system after I started feeling woozy driving around. In short, I have replaced every piece on that truck. So, is it still the same truck? I dunno. Douggy says yes because it's got the same VIN and the lady at the DMV said "Stop wasting my time, sir," when I asked her. I guess it's just between me and Albert now. Maybe I'll ask the squirrel monkeys when they come, they're pretty smart.
I'm gonna pause here for a bit of philosophatin. Here's the thing I been thinking about: if those squirrels come and fix my truck, they're gonna be replacin the exterior and most of the cab. Well, I've had that truck a long time, I've replaced all the belts and hoses, the starter, rebuilt the carb and done other small repairs. About 10 years ago, I replaced the engine because the last one had a cracked block. I've pulled out the transmission and replaced the gear box, got myself a new exhaust system after I started feeling woozy driving around. In short, I have replaced every piece on that truck. So, is it still the same truck? I dunno. Douggy says yes because it's got the same VIN and the lady at the DMV said "Stop wasting my time, sir," when I asked her. I guess it's just between me and Albert now. Maybe I'll ask the squirrel monkeys when they come, they're pretty smart.
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