DAILY MONSTER 69



Good morning. Thank you for checking in on the monsters. I hope you'll take a few minutes to read up on yesterday's monster. Once again our crack team of volunteer correspondents has come through with some fine reports:

Storiesabout68

Monster 69 is a cranky bird. Why is he grumpy? Indigestion? Aviation taxes? Problems with the ol' plumage? And why is he sitting on that branch? Doesn't he have somewhere to fly to? What is the story? I can't wait to hear what you think!

Postyourstoryhere

Have a great Thursday. If you're having Chinese food today, don't be surprised if the fortune cookie tells you that 344 LOVES YOU

13 Comments

  • Katy
    25 January 2007 6:06 am

    Grockers was a little freaked: he had thought it would be great to show-up his hot-shot older brother and fledge a full two days before the rest of the chicks. But now here he was, without his mother, stuck on this stupid branch.
    The reason his mother had been waiting to kick the fledglings out of the nest was because of the snap-freezes that had been occurring lately. Now here he was, frozen to a branch!
    Ah! He thought. I’ll just…

    Victoria – yeah, but you should see me by 10:00 at night! Oy!

  • 25 January 2007 7:33 am

    The Bush administration today released the new national symbol said to more accurately represent the USA to internationals than the defunct bald eagle.
    Don’t feel bad, in Canada we still have the Beaver.

  • 25 January 2007 8:12 am

    Ah, yes. Here we see the illusive black billed Mac. As you can tell by it’s wonderful plumage, it spends most of it’s time blending in with the mossy undergrowth of the Indonesian rain forest.
    It’s hooked bill is excellent for catching and prying open the hard shell of aquatic invertebrates. Mac has quite a refined taste for such delicacies!
    Unfortunately, this also means when he captures a bad one, he KNOWS it’s a bad one. Which is probably why he looks so distraught.

  • Aspid Istra
    25 January 2007 8:58 am

    This is Thigbert, America’s last remaining Purple Desert Condor.
    See Thigbert perch? Perch, Thigbert, perch!
    Why must you poop in public? Poop, Thigbert, poop!

  • Sabeyen
    25 January 2007 3:59 pm

    He’s grumpy because you drew him sitting on a branch. Why is it ALWAYS the branch? he wonders. WHY are birds ALWAYS drawn on BRANCHES?!
    Do they ever draw birds somewhere INTERESTING? No! You never see a cartoon bird at a nightclub, or in a rollercoaster car? Only on that boring old branch.
    Clearly you need to get over your predjudice image of birds, and BEG him for forgiveness.

  • monsterfan
    25 January 2007 6:03 pm

    Clearly, Fergus Fitz-Wallaby has had the shit scared out of him.
    He doesn’t realize he’s a monster, is the problem. And he is a monster — a Snorkorius Plumius, to be exact (a.k.a. Big-nosed Bird Monster with Fluffy Feathers). He thinks he’s a regular bird like all the other pigeons and grackles he hangs out with. He doesn’t know he has the power to shriek like a banshee and emit copious amounts of fecal matter in all directions, which is the special trait of the Snorkorius Plumius. He thinks his only available response to something scary is either to fly away or to lose control of his nether regions just a little bit.
    What has happened to frighten him is that he has just seen Angry Snarkus Head (monster #62) swimming past in the water beneath him. Instead of responding with a truly terror-inspiring grimace and monster pyrotechnics, he has said in bird language, “Augh, I don’t like it!” and let just a little bit slip.

  • Bill B
    25 January 2007 8:42 pm

    The Early Bird gets the worm. The Early Bird gets the worm. Again and again Fisher repeated it to himself. The Early Bird gets the worm.
    Last night had been wild. Grub had thrown a bachelor party for Tweeters over at the Redwood Lounge. All the guys had been there, Cro, Bobber, even Scooter. They sang, they ate fermented berries, they sang some more even louder. Scooter had gotten so wasted that he flew into an invisble wall at one of the new square nests the two leggers build. It took all of them to carry him home. Fisher didn’t know when he finally got to his own home.
    BOOM! The morning sun had hit Fisher almost as hard as an invisible wall. BOOM! The noise was deafening. BOOM! BOOM! Wait, thought Fisher, the sun made no sound. BOOM!
    In the field stood a couple of the two leggers and they had sticks that made the terrible BOOM! Through blood shot eyes he watched as they pointed their sticks in the sky and made the terrible noise that hurt his early morning head. BOOM! BOOM! Fisher swore off fermented berries forever. Boom!
    One of the two leggers threw his stick to the ground in anger and stomped off inthe direction of his square nest. The other followed.
    The resulting silence was wonderful. Fisher shut his eyes. But the Early Bird gets the Worm, his mother had told him growing up. He was trained well. He sighed and flew off into the field to look for worms and shut his mother’s persistent memory up.
    He flew to where the two leggers had stood. The stick was still there where the one had thrown it. But Fisher opened his blurry eyes wide in astonishment. All around the stick were strange straight worms. They all had shells unlike normal worms. Fisher found one with a long pointed head. He grabbed it and flew back to his tree.
    The worm has hard, almost as hard as a stone. Fisher’s stomach rumbled. Last night’s drinking had made him hungry. With such a hard shell the meat of the worm must be very tender, thought Fisher salivating slightly and he bit down with all his hung over might.
    The explosion shook all the leaves from his branch but one.
    When Fisher was able to pry his claws from the branch and fly away he vowed never again to eat fermented berries, and never again to eat early morning worms. Especially if they had a shell.

  • 25 January 2007 9:25 pm

    Yeah, I’ll go with flatulence. Spanikopita, falafel, printen and grape slurpees do not a happy gut make, even a monster-bird-gut.
    What we don’t see is Theo here smirking proudly after the fact. Amazingly, he is still sitting securely on that cool looking branch you drew! I want to see that up closer, actually.
    Great stories everyone!
    Good night Thigbert, good night Fergus, good night Fisher, good night Grockers….GOOD NIGHT KATY! Get some goshdarn sleep!

  • 25 January 2007 10:13 pm

    We can see the specimen in this shot, in what some might consider looking a slight haggard. However, this proves to actually be a cunning means of successful attraction. The pelt about its body, with it’s intricate weavings, holds an appealing element not professed by most. Seemingly chaotic in its pattern; portions overlapping, even knotted together, perhaps even scratchy or unpleasant to the touch. As it turns out, it is an ideal coat for the species. Some exist with colorful verdure to attract and seduce. A subtle styling, but a means for survival and growth, nonetheless.
    In this particular photo, we are treated to the success of one very virile example. His covering delicate in its randomness, yet serving to also protect with it’s jagged edges and thick texture. It offers much to any taker, and several at that, if they so desire. Strength. Accommodation. Visibility. Perhaps even a bit of hospitality. Yes, this branch (if one would permit to use such a base term) with its single, alluring green leaf and exquisite bark has clearly been seen fit to perch on. With ample room for a lengthy courtship between two birds, its rough exterior dares for activity and laughs at the potential for slippage. It is surely the envy of the other limbs jutting from the tree.

  • 26 January 2007 8:36 pm

    A day late and a dollar short, but here it is.

  • Blue
    29 January 2007 12:18 pm

    Helsinki crackled and crisped, the shock still ringing in his ears. “Leaf on an open power line…very clever, Vanderblart…very clever.”

  • Blue
    29 January 2007 12:25 pm

    Bill B, you’ve done it again!

  • Sue Bebie
    29 April 2008 6:39 am

    Ausgezehrt und in der Mauser, steht der Tock-Tock-Vogel mürrisch vor sich hin grummelnd auf dem dürren Ast. All sein Bohren und Hämmern ist zwecklos. Weder Borkenkäfer noch Maden verirren sich in das vertrocknete Geäst; von den Raupen ganz zu schweigen, die tanzen lieber im saftigen Grün ihren Reigen.
    Ja er hat’s nicht leicht, der Tock-Tock-Vogel. So klapprig und ausgehungert, reicht die Kraft nicht mal aus, um auf das junge voll im Saft stehende Nachbargewächs zu fliegen. Jetzt heisst es geduldig abwarten und Schnabel aufreissen, um von den des Nachts schwärmenden Mücken ein Maul voll abzukriegen.

Leave A Comment