DAILY MONSTER 54
Good morning! Welcome once again to the Daily Monster. Yesterday’s creature brought forth a bumpercrop of cool stories from new voices and from returning masters. See for yourself:
When I sat down to film Monster 53, I actually made a little mistake. I brought forth another creature, but didn’t push record on my camera. So now we’ve got an extra monster. How did it form? We don’t know. There’s no record of it, but it still wants to say Hello. So please… meet Monster Not 53. (Looks like he’s not all that distraught about the lack of video. Sunny little bugger. Good for him!)
Now let’s take a peek at Monster 54. For some reason this one got a PG-13 rating from Revver. I’m trying to figure out why. Only now does it occur to me that he might look like he’s being choked by his scarf. Which wasn’t on my mind at all. Is accidental scarf-related asphyxia an image from which to protect the wee ones? I honestly don’t know. Might be a good talk to have. “Best not to tie that scarf on too tight, lest you end up with a purple tongue like Monster 54.” At any rate… proceed with all due caution.
What do you think is going on with 54? Is he, in fact, choking on something? Is he the Heimlich Monster from Chokeulon VII? Is he screaming, because he stubbed his monster toe on his new IKEA Mønstrår couch? Is he sampling the scent of the winter air with his hyperactive taste buds? Is he licking an invisible frozen lamp post? Let’s get to the bottom of this, shall we? What does your instinct tell you? Please take a minute and…
Thank you for coming to visit the monsters!
Have a brilliant day and remember: 344 LOVES YOU
Looks like this monsters eaten too many blue chuppa chups!
At some point it will become readily apparent that Thadeus Bluetongue should listen to his mother. First, because she always told him that if he made faces like that it would freeze that way, especially when raising his rat-tail in the sky. Secondly he will someday catch his death of cold by wearing his favorite scarf (what Thadeus calls his binky) but only with a t-shirt.
Halitosium Rex, or Hal for short, can stand completely still for hours waiting for the right tasty morsel to come along. His breath smells of rotting carion to attract flies. But he doesn’t eat the flies. Patience serves him well, as he waits for the flies to lay eggs on his soft, pourous tongue,where they hatch and become a delicious treat for Hal.
Hal lives only in Dade County, FL, where the flies are juiciest. So, why, you may ask, does he wear the scarf? The scarf is actually a clever disguise. Hal’s only true predator is the Stinkus Americus Eatimus, so he disguises himself as a Canadian, which the Stinkus finds too polite for his taste.
Fiskburn Neezlebut went to the market one day. One might wonder why there would be an open air winter market, but she lives in PottliPinkturn, so that should explain everything (obviously).
Fiskburn grabbed some Needler Radishes, Pickled Hams, Trophy Gumbats and a treat for herself – a Can of Whupass. Mom told her to quit it with the Whupass – she is a growing girl and needs to watch her figure. She was getting rather rotund.
She didn’t think it would be a big deal, just one can, she hadn’t been having too many recently anyway. So on her way back home she ducked around the corner of a building and was about to crack open the can. She didn’t notice the boys from school were following her, but when she ducked around the corner they did to. They started calling her “Nobbly Fiskburn” “Neezlebut got 2!” (trust me, tearworthy, both of them). Fiskburn reared back with the can, and threw it at one of the boys and hit him in the chest. He screamed and yelled that he had Cooties and led the parade of running boys down the street.
Fiskburn smiled, wrapped her scarf tighter, and went to grab the can. She paused for a moment and wondered if she really should have the contents of the can. Mom says not to waste! So she opened it up and got covered by the shook up whupass. She should have known.
Her whupass was no secret anymore. She was gonna have some ‘splainin to do to mama.
I love your monsters
As it turns out, Regigard WAS allergic to Dimetap.
(Hello all! I’ve been reading these since I discovered this blog on Cartoon Brew, but have kind of stayed behind the scenes – Just wanted to drop in, say hello, and congratulate everyone on their creativity!)
“DO you like grape popsicles?”
“I say, I say – DO YOU LIKE grape popsicles??”
“Raise your tongues then, if you do! And never mind the overbites!”
You know I had to indulge one more grape popsicle schtick.
….faces that freeze that way…oh gads I’m still chuckling over that one. You are all great.
Thanks for finally saying hi with that clever quip, out of the Blue!
Thanks for the bonus monster Stefan…at least it’s not like the socks in the dryer…now where did that monster go….ahhhh!!
Boss Ticantor and Cid Kyzicht were having another heated argument, ironically, in the cooling warehouse. Cid was of smaller stature, physically, than the Boss, but he never backed down just because of his size. The Boss, however, argued with people simply because he was bigger. And not in a muscular way. No, Ronaldo Ticantor was a portly fellow and Cid couldn’t even wrap his long, upward-flowing mane around the brute because of his sheer girth. Like most overweight individuals of considerable age and “hardship”, Ronaldo had resorted to something of a comb-over with the remaining hair protruding from the back of his head. No one would ever point out this hideous, fashion faux pas, however.
“It’s simple, Cid. It’s my money and you’ll find a way to secure it. That’s what I pay you for. With my money.” Ronaldo pushed past some carts of chilled items, moving towards a large, metal door near the back of the warehouse. Cid followed alongside, and was fuming as he wrapped his scarf tighter.
His second foot tripped a bit on something covered in frost. He paid no attention to it as the other two recovered his balance so that he could continue debating the situation with the Boss. “You seem to keep forgetting the fact that there is no money to secure, sir. To be sure, you will have even less should someone actually fulfill the contract on Mr. Salto. Perhaps we should reconsider the mark, lest we be no better off than the frozen guests of this warehouse.”
Ronaldo stopped cold in his tracks to reply. “That boy cost me a nice chunk of change and placed quite a dent in the reputation of this organization. I can not afford to stand idly by. I must find retribution for his actions. If need be, I’ll kill him, his father and his petulant brother, Paul.” He yelled the last portion with enough anger to reveal his long, purple tongue – looking as though he was choking on the very mention of Paul’s name. Composing himself, Ronaldo continued, “It’s only a shame they have no other family to speak of. Until his head is accounted for, we must return to our standard practices. And that, my good man, starts with this young lad, here.” The metal door was swung open and inside sat a shivering individual that looked remarkably like Cid, his tail frozen and icicles dangling from his spire of hair. “Patrick!” yelped Cid.
“Tell me, young Kyzicht, what was your involvement with Arthur Salto’s little experiment?” Ronaldo spoke gently while the door was calmly closed behind them.
It would have been a shame for Monster Not 53 to never get a story.
nice job Terry…I specially like ‘spire of hair’.
so Stefan I was wondering yesterday if the pause in recording (after you drew the 3) was because you were making doubly sure of the monster # but maybe you were making sure the camera was actually on record! pesky technical difficulties any old way.
So young Harold was a little overweight, even for a monster. But he never asked for this.
One day when he arrived at school, all the kids were dipping their tongues into sandwich baggies of Kool-Aid. “Mmm, it’s good,” they said. “Harold,” said Sammy Ackerly, who had always been mean to Harold, “why don’t you try some?” He proffered the baggie with such an expression of open goodwill, Harold was warmed to his monster heart.
He took the baggie with a nod of thanks, and doing what he’d seen the other kids do, dipped in his tongue. Horror of horrors! It wasn’t Kool-Aid, but had been secretly switched to Maudie’s Bluing Powder, which was used to dye shirts but which also turned one’s tongue an unfortunate, lasting purple.
“Bleah,” Harold said when he tasted it, and the kids laughed and laughed at his poor purple tongue, now developing spots besides.
Thus began Harold’s formation as a Monster To Be Reckoned With.
It started out innocently enough. Peter picked a peck of purple pickles from his favorite Peruvian purveyor. What Peter didn’t know is that one pickle in the pack was planted to something. He pulled at the purple pickle, pursed his puckered lips and pounded the table when his hard work was not rewarded. What he didn’t realize was his purple prize was really the tongue of a Polish polka party monster, Petronela. He got his tongue stuck to the bottom of a pickle pan one day while perusing some strange Pyrrhic polka tunes he heard in a cucumber field. He was picked up by the tongue, placed in a pickle pack and popped into a pretty little peck basket. Peter rescued poor Petronela that day in the market, thankfully. Now Peter has his own personal polka performer whenever he pleads.
Good morning. I’m posting this on behalf of Victoria, who did another cool drawing of some of her own monsters: http://aimhleas.blogspot.com/2007/01/publisher-clearing-house.html
Thank you, Victoria. Very cool creatures!
Just wanted to post this comment: Sam B. — Brilliance! That was some of the finest alliteration I’ve read in a long time.
Primely penned prose perfectly portrayed!
hey, thanks Stefan.
I am agape at Sam B’s paragraph!! And I don’t know why exactly, but ‘pickle pan’ has me in stitches. Were you cracking yourself up while you wrote that? I wouldn’t be surprised.
Thanks for the props Terry and Victoria, I just saw your comments today. I had fun with this guy. I can’t say I was in stitches while writing it, but I definitely had a smile on my face thinking about poor Petronela and his (should have been her. Petronela is a girl’s name. Oops) predicament.
Mit seiner Gesundheit geht es langsam aber stetig bergab, seit er in der Vorkostabteilung des Schokolinsenkonzerns arbeitet. Anfangs hat er sich beim Zuckergusschlecken nur grün und blau geärgert. Alles halb so wild, Ärger runterschlucken und fertig. Ein bisschen lädierte Psyche, was solls! Als aber die blaue Farbe durch violette ersetzt wurde, kam es ganz schlimm. Nun hilft nicht mal mehr der liebevoll gestrickte Wollschal der fürsorglichen Grossmutter was. Irritiertes Immunsystem, violette, pustelige Zunge…
Er fühlt sich grauenhaft und hofft nicht auch noch rot vor Zorn zu werden. Er trägt sich mit dem Gedanken seinen Arbeitgeber zu verklagen und Schmerzensgeld zu fordern.