DAILY MONSTER 56
Good morning! And HEY! Happy Friday! I hope that you have a cozy weekend ahead of you. Why not finish off the work week with some quality procrastination courtesy of the Monster Poets. They find neuron-twisting ways to surprise and delight me every day, and I bet you’ll feel the same way once you read what they came up with over the past 24 hours:
I’m very excited for you to meet Monster 56. I really like this little one. Seems like a very pleasant creature with a good outlook on life—very at ease, well tuned to his joie de vivre. But maybe I’ve got it all wrong? Maybe it’s a blood thirsty beast who’s just had a nice juicy meal? Or is there white collar crime involved? (Can one still be a white collar criminal if one’s species is anatomically ill equipped to wear a collar? Hm.) Or is there truly nothing sinister about 56? Is everything truly as it seems? So hard to tell. Please let me know what you think! Please…
Thank you for coming to visit the monsters!
Please join us again tomorrow and Sunday for the weekend monsters.
In the meantime, it’s a very, very good bet that 344 LOVES YOU
A collar? I don’t see one at all. This is indeed a strange variety of the common Ryunkin goldfish. Of course, it’s a monster, but nevertheless a fishy monster. This one swims through the ocean, making sure not to disturb 55 with his long trunk and house in the water. 56 lives in another water house that he made out of the rubble from asteroid Apophis. Fun, fun, fun!
yes, he lives in the water, but he isn’t just another fish. try as he might to fit in with the others under the sea, he could not, and thus, society has forced him to become what he has become. a monster among them all.
he works for the fishing pole and license renting store at the end of the pier in redondo. the store buys regular bait and food colors them pink. then they sell these pink baits to their customers, claiming it’s superior to all others. and as such superior things are, of course, it costs triple the price of other bait. so then, this is where 56 comes in. he waits under the sea, and when he sees someone throw in a line with pink bait, he starts frantically swimming around the pink bait, using all his long wispy hairs and tail ends to attract the attention of the other fish in the sea. and just as an unsuspecting fish chomps down to eat him, he quickly swims out of the way and the fish gets hooked on the line, therefore making one happy customer for the fishing store and increasing the notion that this pink bait really is superior…
moral of this story is…always be suspecting of pink things. there’s a reason why all the porn houses in l.a. are colored pink. 😉
and now a word from our sponsor:
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we return you now to your regularly scheduled stories, already in progress.
#56 was aquarium-raised, and due to the obsessive cleanliness of the home’s owner, swam headlong into the crystal-clear wall of her home at a tender and impressionable stage.
Unlike every other fish in the tank, little #56, AKA Fabulous Fantail, discovered that she LIKED the feeling of swimming headlong into the wall of the tank.
She likes the shock wave that resonates through her just after impact. She likes the shocked look on the face of any accidental onlooker. She even likes the little memory gaps her little abbreviated launches seem to provide.
So.
Here she is, in all her glory, looking for a wall she can almost not see, and fanning her tail in an obvious show of excitement.
Unbeknownst to her, there’s another fish in the tank who’s been watching her every move.
(Chaos on board)
–I cannot tell you the direction of my fate.
–Away with your ideologies! Away with your silly metaphors! (with angst)
–Enough with the distracting figurative language! (He bites his thumb)
–You are so romantic (gushing)
No one is steering the ship.
–Watch for the bobbing Whatnots!
–I know what I’m doing. (with adulterated confidence)
–Oh, you are such a God-Head!
–No, your mom is!
–Don’t you talk about my mom!
–Blow me!
No one is steering the ship.
–Your Pequod is Ahabbed!
–GodHead GodHead!! (childishly)
–Your Queequeg is Ishmaeled!
–GodHead GodHead!! (more childishly)
He throws his pipe overboard.
They are silent.
The pipe splashes but no one can hear it.
They are searching for the same thing.
Differently.
He nails the gold coin.
–I will be the first.
–I will be the first.
–I will be the first.
In the distance, we see a crooked jaw. No one moves. A Starbuck objects, but the Monster has his way. We are visitors here. And we know it too late.
The squadofins were lazily floating in their aquariums. Each one separated, of course. Squadofins are some of the most violent water-based creatures known to exist. Their wispy tails are unlike other species’ tail fins, lined with miniscule, serrated barbs, and no membrane between each spine. Their antennae serve as a form of whip, with a highly volatile neurotoxin that is force-injected into prey upon contact. The lower lip conceals the business end of a wall of boney blades. When ready to feed, a simple closing of the jaws will slice through victims effortlessly. Highly adaptable to any environment, this particular collection of the deadly, swimming nightmares adorned an entire wall in the back room of a very cold storage warehouse.
Patrick’s teeth were chattering uncontrollably as he peered up at his captors. A swift backhand to his face reminded him, simultaneously, why he was there and just how cold he was. He yelled in agony between sobs. “Now – I’m aware that you were working under an alias with the Salto brothers. What might that have been?” Ronaldo’s question rolled out like honey. Just enough sweet to compensate for the sticky. Patrick’s face remained defiant, despite his anguish.
“Patrick, just tell him! My own kid brother… what could you have been doing with them?” Cid was in shock. He didn’t know whether to stop the boss or let the interrogation continue. Ronaldo idled up to the aquariums and lightly stroked the glass on one particularly large squadofin’s enclosure. He stared at the specimen and spoke with a relaxed demeanor, “These are very dangerous animals. Poisonous. Sharp-toothed. Violent. Ill-tempered. But they’re gorgeous. Especially when used to clean up a problem. Are you going to be a problem today, Patrick?”
Patrick panicked, “Saul! I told them my name was Saul!” Cid’s eyes widened, “no…” he spoke under his breath.
Just then, the big squadofin seemed to bend and flex behind the glass. Then the glass, itself, seemed to become distorted. Ronaldo backed away, more out of confusion than concern. The whole wall now seemed to twist and deform before their eyes. A tube stretched the center of the deformed space inward and the Saltos stepped through. Paul raised his dad’s gun and took two quick shots at Ronaldo, winging his left arm and then just under his chest. He turned just as quickly, pointing the weapon at Cid. Cid’s hands flew up causing the ledgers he was carrying to fall to the floor. “Sweet Baltar!” he screamed as Arthur undid Patrick’s restraints. He stood up from the chair and looked down at Patrick, “Let’s go, Saul.” “My name’s actually Patrick. I’m sorry.”
Paul started backing toward the worm hole when Ronaldo raised himself off the floor to look at them. “I’ll kill you both. I’ll kill your family. I’ll kill your friends. I’ll even kill whatever pets you have.” Paul turned his attention at the mortally wounded boss. “You take too long to die, y’know.” The last thing Ronaldo saw was the glow from the inside of the barrel as Paul squeezed the trigger.
The three made their way back through the worm hole with Patrick yelling back to Cid, “I’m sorry, Cid. I really am. Fourth drawer on the right, your study. All the books are there.” Cid blinked wildly as the worm hole folded back in on itself and revealed some slightly disturbed squadofins.
Arthur rushed over to where Snout was contently snoozing and hoisted him up with all his might. Carrying the animal back toward to where the worm hole would appear, Arthur barked to Paul, “Set it, and let’s blow this joint.” Paul pressed a number of buttons and audibly moaned, “Five years about to go boom. Best damn toy I ever built.” He concluded his statement by flipping up a clear switch cover and tapping the button beneath. “T-minus 2 minutes, and counting, to auto-destruct.”
The worm hole unfolded before them and they started to step through. “Where are we going?!” begged Patrick. Arthur didn’t hesitate as he stepped over the threshold of the swirling space, “C.O.R.E.” All three moved into the worm hole as the count sequence ticked down. One minute later, the room was quiet and devoid of activity with the exception of an audio count down.
As the device was announcing the remaining seconds a shadow loomed over the console. “10. 9. 8. 7. 6. 5. 4. 3. 2. Auto destruct sequence aborted.” Mr. Salto’s aged finger lifted from the termination switch. “No sense in destroying this fine piece of equipment. I’ll make sure it’s safe though. Good luck, lads.”
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That’s it folks. A week’s worth of monsters sharing one universe together. That was really fun. Thank you, Stefan. As always, your monsters are quite the inspiration.
The rest of these stories are truly great. Welcome to the newcomers and much thanks to the old hats for their creative writings. Not to be exclusionary, but Bill B. – your ‘commercial’ was hilarious. I chuckled for a good while after reading it.
Sorry to go blue, but I think he’s a sample from a monster infertility clinic.
One day, in the squalid break room kitchen at Sturgram’s Insurance Adjusters, a stupendous but not so rare transformation occurred. And all because the poor, overworked, fluorescent-light-blinded folks at Sturgram’s failed to wash their workplace dishes.
This particular morning, Nelson Peevey made the coffee. Usually Kelly the receptionist made it, but she was out sick, so Nelson took over the task. The only implement available to spoon up the ground coffee was a cheap, white squared-off plastic measuring cup. Yawning, Nelson plunged the cup into the coffee grounds again and again, losing count around the fifth scoop. Finally he decided he’d scooped enough and just as absently dropped the plastic implement into the sink.
As the sleepy Nelson fitted the coffee-stained glass pot and poured water into the tank, in the sink, the little cheap plastic cup was undergoing its transformation. Unawares, Nelson had dropped it into a complex soup of workplace dregs:
Kelly’s bowl from yesterday filled with Spaghetti-O sauce, water, and her special illness germs,
Santiago’s little metal dish where he stowed his spent tobacco chew,
Felicity’s teaspoon that she had used to stir her Metamucil,
And over all of this, a fine sprinkling of non-dairy creamer (which, as everyone knows who’s ever watched Pink & The Brain, operates in ways incomprehensible to the human mind).
This complex soup in Kelly’s leftover Spaghetti-O’s bowl acted upon the little coffee scoop, which started fizzing and slowly changing shape, even as Nelson poured his first cup of coffee of the day. By the time he had left the break room, the scoop had fins, a finny flippy tail, and antennae.
This newborn Scooplet (for indeed, that’s the sort of monster it was) flipped its finny fins and investigated its environs. “Goody,” it said to itself with a grin, for it knew the sink would always be this rich with soupy soups just right for Scooplets to go swimming.
Fannie Fiala was out for a swim one afternoon. A bright young guppy full of potential, Fannie felt fulgent flashing her pearly whites amongst her fellow fishy friends. Though recently, Fannie had developed a case of yellow eye, visible only by viewing her through the eyes of a camera. Fortunately a picture of our good friend here was taken and diagnosis determined. Although cryotherapy is a useful method of treatment, our fish buddy Fannie might just find it a bit chilly for her taste. She has a date with a laser later in the week. Wish her well.
———–
There are some great stories today. I’m in awe.
This monster is my favorite so far, I love the fluidity and form of monster fifty six. Great stuff Stefan!
At long last, after a great journey through fluids of sewer and puss, he spotted it gleaming and pulsating ahead: a vein. His very own vein.
Daaaaaang, people!!!
…actually I this IS the asteroid Apophis, prior to when it became rubble-remains. Happy-go-lucky and affable, he was nonetheless voted ‘Most Likely To Achieve Extreme Effete’ by his peers in Asteroid High. Judging by the remains of moon’s moon Io, one could say he was extremely effectual. Or not, judging by the rubbly remains of his very own self.
Please check out this cool Monster toon from Ben:
http://www.deviantart.com/deviation/46508462/
Ferngesteuerte Kaulquappen sind der absolute Hit der Saison. Gartencenter melden bereits Lieferschwierigkeiten. Gartenteichbesitzer stürzen sich auf die pflegeleichten technischen Wunderdinger, aus denen sich garantiert nie Frösche entwickeln werden. Friede und Eintracht kehrt unter den Nachbarn ein, da kein abendliches Quakkonzert mehr die Nachtruhe stört.
Einen erheblichen Nachteil haben die mechanischen Quappen gegenüber ihren Bio-Gesellen allerdings, weil nicht aus stainless steel, sondern aus dem bedeutend billigeren Eisen, rosten sie sehr schnell. Das Knarren und die Quietschgeräusche liessen sich zwar durch ein paar Tropfen Öl beheben, aber ob dieses Öl aus den Teichfischen schmackhafte Ölsardinen macht, ist mehr als fraglich. Deshalb liebe Teichbesitzer, nichts überstürzen und lieber mit dem Kauf zuwarten, bis die rostfreien Modelle auf den Markt kommen.