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Dreams Of A Better World by Ray Printer Friendly

In case you were wondering what I just got through doing, I just got through reading all about kangaroos. Not so much because I wanted to, but because I had to enlighten others.

Do you know about Kangaroos? You should—they’re fascinating. They aren’t koala bears. And koala bears aren’t panda bears. And panda bears aren’t worth saving.

Of course none of that makes sense. Maybe if you were there, it would’ve, but I promise nothing.

“It’s nice you have a new dream,” She said.

“No…I’m sticking with that thing with the monkeys.”

“Well…it’s nice you have an old dream to fall back on.”

Monkeys never let me down.

A friend of mine just got back from all over. Korea, India, Nepal, Japan. Places, man. He saw lots of monkeys. He didn’t bring me back one.

“They’re mean,” He said. “They’re mean and crazy. And territorial. You go to sit down at a table, they don’t back down. They hiss at you, or attack you.”

“That makes me want one even more. You’re a terrible friend for not bringing me back at least one. You should have brought me a bunch.”

“They wouldn’t do what you wanted—they’d just attack you.”

“I don’t care.”

I’ll be honest—I’ve always dreamed of my own monkey army. Most kids, when they watch Wizard of Oz, they get freaked out by the evil flying monkeys. I was no different—those monkeys scared me so bad I almost pissed myself. But later, I realized what a commodity flying monkeys are. Any monkeys, for that matter.

Flying’s a bonus.

“They wouldn’t do what you wanted—they’d just attack you.” That’s what my friend told me.

“I don’t care,” I told him, and it was the truth. You make plans, you give yourself goals, right? You want a better life for yourself. The key is adaptation.

If I don’t get to command my own monkey army, well, it’s not the end of the world. I adapt, I change my plans.

“I want to dress them up,” I said into the phone this evening.

“I don’t want to hear this,” She said.

“As ninjas,” I told her. “Monkeys are mean as fuck, apparently. So think about this: I want to dress them up like ninjas, maybe give them swords, and just let them go.”

“I want no part of this.”

“I’m not asking you to be a part of it. This is something I have to do, whether you’re in it with me or not.”

“I mean the world. I can’t be a part of the world if you do this. You’re unleashing hell.”

One man’s hell is another man’s heaven, I guess.

Because how exciting would it be? Monkeys with swords, maybe they’re just around the corner, maybe they aren’t. You go to get milk…maybe it’s an uneventful trip around the block, or maybe a ninja monkey jumps down, cuts your arm and then throws a handful of feces at you.

No begging, no reasoning. Just a game of odds, or of cunning. Fight that monkey! Attack him as soon as he drops down, take his sword and rub his hand full of ejaculate into his own face.

“Fuck you, monkey, the day is mine!”

You hang the ninja sword above your doorway, and it means something.

“Bob, that’s a nice sword.”

“Got that from an original generation. Smart bastard, had some years on ‘im, but still quick as lightening. This scar on my cheek? That’s where he bit me. I jabbed the arm of my sunglasses into his scrotum before he could cut me too bad. Did you even know monkeys had scrotums? I didn’t. Maybe it wasn’t a scrotum—whatever it was, it fucked with ‘im something terrible. Dropped his sword, jumped away screeching.”

“Impressive work.”

“Yeah. I still have nightmares about it, sometimes. Like, the stab to the nuts doesn’t hurt ‘im, and he just tears my throat out with his teeth while he cuts my balls off with his sword. In my dream, my nuts are hanging over his doorway.”

It’s a world where we don’t care about which celebrity is fucking which celebrity. We don’t read magazines like Cosmopolitan or Entertainment Weekly. We read magazines like Survive and Kick Ass. It’s not a nightmare, it’s a dream without all the bullshit. Live life, appreciate the gift you’re given. Ignore the nonsense.

With a sword-wielding monkey sitting on your chest, credit scores don’t seem nearly as important.

Your boyfriend broke up with you? Your heart is broken all the fuck up about it? That ninja monkey wants to bite you in the face and steal your grocery bag. A broken heart is nothing compared to getting stabbed in the guts and getting slapped in the face with a palm of monkey jizz.

Trust me.

“Koala bears, though, I don’t want to dress them up like ninjas,” I tell her.

“That’s surprising.”

“I want to dress them up like old-fashioned doctors. You know, like in the old days, with that giant shiny disk on their forehead?”

“Why?”

“Because it would be hilarious. With their little doctor bags, and their white doctor jackets.”

“Wait—what color are they?”

“I don’t know. Like…gray or brown or whatever. You’re thinking of panda bears.”

“I was! I was thinking of panda bears.”

“Fuck panda bears, though,” I told her. “Do you know what it takes to get panda bears to reproduce?”

“No, but I have the sickening feeling I’m about to.”

“No! I won’t waste my time. Fuck panda bears.”

“Koala bears, they have a pouch?”

“Yeah. Filled with mucus, though.”

“What?”

“Mucus. I think.”

“A pouch, like kangaroos?”

“Kangaroo pouch is mucus-lined, too, I think.”

I went on to explain that all my information was from a Ranger Rick magazine, circa 1986.

We got curious, so I looked up information about kangaroos.

“It’s like this,” I told her at the end of our conversation. “They would make a great food source, but if we started raising them in bulk, they’d take over the world.”

“I think they’re going to, anyway.”

“I think they’re next in line for the planet, for sure. Kangaroos get it after we’ve ruined everything and killed ourselves. At least they’re cute.”

“Are they?”

“They look kind of confused.”

“Maybe about that mucus,” She said. “I bet you couldn’t get a kangaroo to stand still long enough to dress it up like a ninja,” She said.

“I wouldn’t want to,” I said. “They’re like nature’s ninjas,” I said.

I don’t remember what I said next. Every time I try to think about it, I envision a ninja monkey riding around in a kangaroo pouch, I have no idea why. I think whatever it was I was thinking, it had something to do with kangaroos in headbands. Maybe not.

I know this: She goes, “It’s nice you have a new dream.”

“No…I’m sticking with that thing with the monkeys.”

“Well…it’s nice you have an old dream to fall back on.”

Monkeys never let me down.


posted 7/23/08


Comments:
Entered By Anonymous From Olden Times
2008-07-24 12:13:46

Ray, behold: http://www.awesomenessonline.com/Portals/0/monkey_sword_fight.jpg


Entered By Leslie From Texas
2008-07-24 19:05:36

I don't know, Ray. Not too impressed with the monkeys. All I can think of is that co-worker of Mom's who had that little monkey. The guy took it to work in a cage, but anytime the monkey smelled perfume on a female he'd start jacking off. Do you really want an army that can be brought down with a few liters of Chanel No. 5? That little guy was vicious, though. His owner lived across the street from the nursing home, and I heard anytime that monkey escaped he'd head over there and start attacking people coming in and out of the building. Like visiting (or living) in the nursing home isn't bad enough -- you finally get out and you get attacked by a monkey who pulls your hair and tears out your earrings. Those monkeys are crazy.


Entered By Ray From Austin
2008-07-24 19:52:12

Les--The jacking off is part of their strength. Christopher was that monkey's name, by the way. To this day, he is one of my favorite heroes.


Entered By Lauren From NH
2008-07-24 23:58:54

OMG that motivation poster is awesome. Monkeys kickin' ass! Yee Ha!



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