DAILY MONSTER 51
Good morning! How are you? I hope you’re having a good weekend so far. Of course, the monsters do not rest regardless of the day, and neither do our brave and dedicated correspondents in the field:
Give a warm welcome to Monster 51. Why would anybody with such a spiffy hat have reason to be upset? Is 51 angry? Scared? Trying to get the attention of the game warden? Or did he simply eat something that was altogether too spicy? What’s your diagnosis?
I hope you’ll have a mellow, beautiful Sunday.
Do remember, won’t you, that 344 LOVES YOU
So on Monday morning, I opened the clinic, like I always do. I had no sooner grabbed my coffee when this guy comes in and starts gasping something about a zucchini.
And I thot, “oh sure, and me without the squash extractor even set up yet.”
This creature is not sad in the least, but is at the GTA, the Green Tongue Opera, that is. This is the soloist, the revered “fat lady” at the end. Now she sings the aria (sp?) and the several thin windows around the place are being blown out. Those architects must have been extremely incompetent – putting windows in an opera house!
Meet Dominick, he’s the world’s smallest watchmaker. Most people think he’s Swiss, but I know the real truth. He grew up in south Chicago, took a few classes on watch making, and just went with it. He’s only about a foot tall, so his wee little hands can get into some small places. His metal of choice used to be copper until a fateful smelting accident that left his tongue horribly disfigured. Its solid copper now, and colored green as a result. Poor Dominick. Luckily, he’s a great craftsman.
“Man that game was just insane! Was that not the best game you ever saw?” Patrick stared at Henry with wide-eyed excitement and anticipation at, what he considered to be, a pat response to a rhetorical question. He continued, “I mean wow. Just wow! Gotta say it backwards: WOW!”
Henry slurped up yet another cup of gelatin and glared back at Patrick. “Yes. Riveting. Sports are so very intellectually stimulating.” His long moustache lapped at the cup’s rim. Patrick eased back into the couch ready to watch the post-game show. His mind clearly on his own personal highlight reel of the game’s greatest moments. The commercials flipped past one after another without any concern to their promises of weekend sales or the importance of such-and-such device for this-that-and-the-other needs. The News’ interstitial flashed up on the screen and a particular blurb caught Patrick’s attention. “Yo! They’re gonna talk about that serial killer tonight. Check it!”
“A new clue in the Downtown Dispatcher’s reign of terror. The latest victim scrawls a message to authorities. ‘Green tongue’ seen at the scene. News at 11.”
Patrick sits there in utter silence. Everything around him gets quiet. Everything except the finishing up of some tasty gelled treats that Henry just can’t get enough of. Patrick slowly turns to face his roommate to discuss what he just saw. Henry warily looks back, barely raising his eyes to meet Patrick’s.
“Well now… that is a problem, indeed. You don’t even fit my M.O. in the slightest. I suppose that would only confuse the police. But you’re a heavy fellow. It won’t be easy to drag your corpse downtown.” Henry sets down his green desert, puts on his feathered fedora and leaps towards his latest victim, his tongue waggling in all its maniacally green glory.
Most of the gumshoes at Tattletale PI prefer grape popsicles. But Florentine here prefers lime-wasabi. Flo is suffering from brain freeze sinus ‘splosion, having just gobbled a six-pack. (suffering is actually a misrepresentation….Flo derives great gustatory pleasure from these made-to-order confections)
wow you guys! your stories really ROCK.
Nice new welcome sign Stefan! Like how you keep things fresh around here. The whole drawing upside-down bit is so cheeky cool too.
“Hello, my name is Barney and I’m alcoholic *buuurp*”
This monster looks something like Barney from “Simpsons” 😉
Ehcuse me. I hab a cold. *sniff*
Herr Gamspichler, Vereinspräsident des alpenländischen Jodelclubs ist in grosser Sorge über die Grünfärbung seiner Zunge. Als Essiggurkenliebhaber neigt er zu übermässigem Konsum der sauren Dinger. Das wäre ja nicht weiter tragisch, denn sauer macht ja bekanntlich lustig, und grün soll erst noch beruhigend wirken. Aber Herr Gamspichler ist weder lustig noch ruhig.
Als erster Vorjodler, steht er an der Front. Die grüne Zunge wird für jedermann gut sichtbar sein. Ganz schlecht für den guten Mann…
In den politisch eher konservativen Bergregionen käme das schon fast einem Gesinnungswandel gleich. Das wäre sehr schlecht für ihn als bodenständigen Jodlermann.
Nun trägt er sich mit dem Gedanken seine Zunge mit Randensaft umzufärben.