DAILY MONSTER 150
Good morning. How are you? Has the weekend been treating you well so far? Thank you for yesterday’s excellent stories. You guys are very, very cool, creative people! I have written proof of it:
It’s time now to say Hello to Monster 150:
Monster 150. That took a while, didn’t it? The first 100 monsters appeared so quickly that it’s almost weird that I needed almost a year to get halfway through the second 100. But of course there have been many, many brilliant Open Source Monsters coming in from you, and the book, and more monsters are on the way, of course. So this is just another incidental milestone — the Monster Sesquicentennial. (Which, I’ll have you know I spelled correctly on the first try. I’m as suprised as you are.)
But enough of all that. What’s going on with 150? What’s it doing? Who’s that happy fella watching it? Mocking it? Egging it on? Encouraging it? Giving it directions? I have a strong hunch that you can listen in on the conversation. Would you provide us with an official transcript, please? If so, please…
I know I say this a lot, but it does bear frequent repeating:
You guys are brilliant and lovely, and none of this
would be going on without your kind and caring energy.
My hat is so very much off to you! Thank you.
Have a great Sunday! 344 LOVES YOU
‘Catfish-Scout cookies, mister! You wanna buy some cookies? It’s that time of year again!’
Deligia Pontusro happily bothered the folks in front of the Glomerstuuk Building downtown. She had fifteen baskets left of her troop’s cookies to sell, and was well on her way to get her Strongarm Solicitation Merit Badge by the end of the week, easily.
The cookies weren’t that great. Clutzy ol’ Ervixette had dropped a whole bowl in the parkinglot, and bits of gravel protruded from the ones that didn’t have the scorchmarks or the ones that messily seeped the mint-green butter.
‘Catfish-Scout cookies!’, Deligia screamed and grinned. Several of the businessmen flew past with confused looks on their faces.
Inside the Glomerstuuk corporate offices, Ingbel hung up his coat on the antlerish hatrack and waddled over to the window. He was stunned. That young fish-thing had stuck its head out of the water and deliberately had yelled something. It sounded like a vocal version of a culmination of humming and gargling. No sense to it.
He felt sorry for the obviously unintelligent creature, and later on, maybe during lunch, he’d make amends by giving some money to it. Or put it out of its misery, the poor, poor, dumb beast.
It was a calm day at the beach. The old fisherman sat on a rock and enjoyed both the warm rays of the sun and the nature that seemed to pull out its most beautiful surprises just for him to see.
When a big shadow suddenly darkened his stone, he looked up – just to see a pretty huge bird, black in colour, that flapped its rugged wings to stay into the air. It probably just had started from the ground and its skull that mostly consisted of an enormous beak with two bulging eyes pulled it to the ground.
Finally, it found the warm streams of air that pulled him out into the ocean. A fish stuck his scaly head out of the water. It almost seemed like he grinned to the funny looking bird. The latter ogled at the smiling fish, poked it with his beak and flew off.
The fisherman was so astonished and amused at the same time that he didn’t even notice his hat flying off onto the sand. A wave took it, then another one and they jostled the cap around until a bigger wave came over them and washed it away.
Lämmergeier, Hühnervögel, wohlbekanntes Flattervieh…aber Würmersegler?
Richtig gelesen, den Würmersegler gibts neuerdings auch.
Im Gegensatz zu seinen Mitflatterern lebt er gefährlich. Fliegt er über fischreiche Gewässer zieht er besser seine Wurmfortsätze ein. Auch Hühnerhöfe sollte er tunlichst meiden.
Vielleicht sollte ihm mal eine Gute Seele Socken stricken.
Geschenke in kräftigem Rot an: DAILYMONSTER/WÜRMERVOGEL