DAILY MONSTER 162
Good morning. How are you? Now that the lovely people at the Very Short List have brazenly mentioned the monsters in the same paragraph as Francisco Goya (!!!) I don’t know if the poor little inky beasts can fit through the door anymore, what with their grotesquely swollen heads. Add to that the fact that Natalia Ilyin wrote a very, very kind review of the book for the March issue of Communication Arts that puts Moomintroll into the mix… well, the monsters may inflate to the point of sudden joy explosion. Goodness! (Not that I’m complaining, of course. I didn’t say stop! :^)
Besides, the drawings aren’t where the action is. The action is in your stories, and there’s lots of it. You knocked ’em out of the park again yesterday. Please take a look:
Mind you, Monster 162 appears entirely unfazed by all the happy attention:
In fact, 162 looks a bit bedraggled. Glum. Possibly dazed. Is it because of where it’s coming from? Or because of where it’s going? Dark rings around the eyes can’t be a good sign, can they? Or is it simply that it’s Friday? What’s going on here? do you care to speculate? I really hope you will! Because I know that it’ll be good! If you can, please…
Lastly, if you have a full hour at noon PST, you can catch me chatting with Debbie Millman on her design matters program by clicking here. An archived version of the show will go online shortly thereafter, and I’ll post a link to it, but if you catch the live broadcast you can call in with questions.)
It’s Friday the 29th of February. We won’t see another until 2012.
It’s a day out of time. Whatever you eat today… no calories.
I didn’t make the rules, I’m just telling you. I hope you’ll mark
the occasion with great food and in fine company, safe in the
knowledge that 344 LOVES YOU
P.S. Today is, of course, the final day of February and with that comes the end of my promised month-long return to my monster-a-day rhythm. Next Wednesday I’m off to paint a monster mural in Seward, Nebraska, so there’ll be a brief interruption in service. Until then I hope you won’t mind that I’ll keep posting a few more Daily Monsters for you. We’re having so much fun. Why stop until we have to? 163 will be waiting for you right here tomorrow morning.
earlybird had a very long overseaflight, stormy weather was all around him. now he’s looking untidy and he feels dizzy.
only his glowing orange feet warmed him up a little bit.
Orvid suddenly remembered why his mother always had told him to “go” before he left the house…
What? Stop staring. Its too rude. OK, so my mom still gives me a bath. Just sometimes. Fridays. I admit it. You think tenth grade is too big for that. I don’t care what you think. Its nice. I get my head soaped. She holds me up right on top of the water. That’s how we do it. I just let go. When do you get to let go? Just asking. And this time she drops me. She’s on edge. We’re selling the house. The tub goes too she says. She’s thinking about the bank she says. The edge was slippery. She went in, I went in. All the way. Deep. That’s not how we do it usually. The water was cold. What’s with that? My claws feel like twigs of ice. We don’t have time for a blow dry, she says. I’m late for work. I can see you’re getting too thin. What. You don’t eat? Eat. And why do you have to wear black all the time what’s wrong with red, its good enough for me, you loved that red dress we spent all that money. I love my mom even when she drops me and I hate school and I hate leaving the house and I don’t want to move. Stop looking at me. And get out of my lane.
Flo continued her snap-jump-sail-thump journey. The worst, she knew, was not behind her. Spun out of a ruthless mid-country twister, she’d lost many feathers and her wings were almost non-existent. But, that wasn’t all… her hatchlings had been flung to the four corners of the globe and all she could do was hop pathetically, covering barely a foot with each effort to find them. And, find them, she must…
Why? Because of some super-motherly instinct? No way. If any of those hatchlings were to come in contact with humans, oh… the horror was almost more than a sane rubber-bandy leg could bear. Although, Flo was beginning to question her own sanity.
What did she care of humans anyway? It’s not like they’d gone out of their way to show her any sympathy. As a matter of fact, when the winds first died down, a burly Jack Elk-capped farmer had gone so far as to snatch Flo from his tractor seat (where she’d momentarily stopped to regain her senses), and tossed her, very unceremoniously, into a fresh cow pie. “Too scrawny even for the cat,” he’d snorted.
The more she thought (and sniffed) on it, the madder she got. “That’s it,” she muttered, “just let ‘em deal with two hundred and fifty baby rubber-bandy legs. See if I care…”
What the? Huh? Oh crap, not again! I wake up and everything’s different–styles change, old buildings are replaced with new ones. Makes me feel like Sybil without the extra personalities. And the hunger! I feel like I haven’t eaten for four years, which makes sense since I haven’t eaten for four years. It really sucks being a Leap Monster. Then again, I don’t have to worry about any pesky long-term relationships. Well, I’m off to find food and hopefully a one night stand. Maybe I’ll see you around in 2012, but I won’t hold my breath…
Moot spent the morning looking for the juiciest grasshopper he could find. Just as he thought he’d have to settle for a cricket, he spotted the biggest grasshopper he had ever seen and swooped in for lunch.
Just got my shipment notice from Amazon that the Monster book is in transit. Yeah!
Steve flew. Mind numb. Spindle legs barely curled out of the way of the tall grass that grew below. The pounding of his balding wings match the pace of his heart.
“How could she do this to me?” he thought.
His kind always mate for life. Or, at least, that’s how it’s always been. His parents had mated early,his Mom was only four and a half months, and his Dad, many days over five. But time’s were different and seasons change bring new ideas with each new brood.
His parents had warned him about Denise. She was passionate, yes. But such a trait isn’t highly prized in this breed. But, that was what made her stand out among the others.
Only days after choosing her, he found her making her nest for another fellow. His feathers much shinier and fuller than his own caused an immediate sensation of self awareness. He preened she shaggy few that God saw fit to give him.
“If only…” His mind trailed off.
He should’ve known better to take his hygiene the air, a thud echoed through his thin skull and the bird he collided with yelped in pain as they both fell.
Wings tangled, horizon and sky turning over and over. While he should have been panicking, he wasn’t. Lost in a search for who it was he had crashed into. By the size of the wings and the softness of the feathers he knew it was a female.
The impact of landing in a bush, twigs snapping, jolted him to reason.
“Are you alright?” He stammered. “I am so sorry.”
Her legs, a beautiful shade of salmon. Her eyes even beadier than his own. Her shaggy feathers, a soft and silky shade of gray.
She blinked. And smiled.
With a sob Professor Steinein ticked the box:
NOT mashine washable…
I listened in on the last half of your interview today. Very cool!
Since I had a three hour time difference, I forgot about it until it was half way through.
It was nice to put a voice to your face and words. Also to learn the correct pronunciation of your name 🙂
Tuned in today. It was good hearing both your and Sam B’s voices!!
felt like we were all having lunch together today Stefan..and it was, and you are, gorgeous. And to be blessed with a “mini” party (elevator to a higher ground) with Hunter S… wow…you know the unpredictable is so much better than the initial plan..
Monster 162 checks his email and sees something from Amazon.com. “Oh good,” he thinks, but we say “Not oh good”, because: “Hello from Amazon.com,” it says…
We’re writing about the order you placed on December 18 2007. Unfortunately, the release date for the item(s) listed below has changed, and we need to provide you with a new delivery estimate based on the new release date:
Stefan Bucher (Author) “100 Days Of Monsters” [Hardcover]
Estimated arrival date: 03/10/2008 – 03/12/2008
We apologize for the inconvenience caused by this delay.
WHY WAS THE DELIVERY ESTIMATE CHANGED?
You know how when you need to pee, and you can’t, but then you finally do, and it feels, like, really really good to pee? Like the sense of relief is almost preternatural? We’re basically trying to make you feel that way.
WHAT IF I WANT TO CHANGE OR CANCEL MY ORDER?
Before you ask that, let us first say that sometimes we tell people that their item is in transit, and then we send a follow-up email saying it’s not. Like this guy, Joerg? We totally did that to him. Tomorrow, he’ll get an email that says, OK, it was shipped, but it’s only readable on a Kindle. Then we’ll tell him the item exploded. Then when he actually gets the item without warning, he’ll feel like he is peeing preternaturally. So before you change or cancel anything, just know that we might be doing this to you.
WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS?
We’re bored. We blew £1.95 million on that Tales of Beedle the Bard thing, and it didn’t really do it for us..? It was good, don’t get us wrong, but more like “really big sneeze good”. We were hoping for something else. See above discussion on pee.
WHY DO YOU KEEP TALKING ABOUT PEE?
The name of our company is “Amazon” and we’re obsessed with a fish called a candiru that lives in the Amazon and can swim up your never mind. Never mind, let’s get back to your problem.
…aaand it goes on from there. It’s unclear at what point in the reading of this email, Monster 162 sort of gives up a little inside, but he does. It hasn’t been a good day at work, and this was pretty much the only thing he’s been looking forward to since December. But on the other hand, the book is probably still coming, right..? And maybe it will all work out..? Amazon hasn’t let him down before, and maybe they know what they’re doing..? We say, Monster 162: “hope is a thing with feathers”, and so are you mostly; and “gratitude is merely the secret hope of further favors”, which we’re not sure if that applies; and “hope is the shin splint of endeavor”, which we just made up, but still, there is hope, there is hope, Monster 162, there is hope.
Sadly, it is what is left of a very famous avian.
It’s Sam, the American Eagle after:
renditions, waterboarding, Abu Graive, anything Dick Cheney, Reality TV, supporting Musharif, Ann Coulter, wiretapping, Alberto Gonzales, WMD’s, Katrina and FEMA, Roger Clemens, continuous fearmongering, Global warming denyers, DRM’s, immigrant bashing, and George Bush.
While I’m not up to writing a little ditty to go along with all the other wonderful reads about monster 162, I just want to say how much fun your little creatures are! I read about them in the VSL newsletter, and was prepared to dislike the whole idea… I’m just not that into monsters… but I was pleasantly surprised! Loved watching the monsters “appear”, and loved the little drum roll at the very end… the whole package is a winner! A+!!!
Wiggle while you jiggle with the wiggle jiggle Jellobird. Stressed out due to the combination of being wingless as well as boneless, our friend here is on the verge of a full on mental breakdown. Luckily he’s wiggled into the hands of the Las Angeles Jellobird rescue mission. They’ll make his remaining days peaceful and enjoyable.
It was fun talking to you today on the Millman show. Too bad I couldn’t pronounce Ouzo when it mattered.
WRUNG WREN WROUGHT WRITTEN WRATH, the headline screamed in three-inch boldface fib. I knew better, and tossed the newspaper’s heavy weight down on the desk. That scrawny bird, the stern penman in an inkjob so sinister the dames on the wharf got spooked? I didn’t buy it, not even with the blank check that hung above my office door.
My former partner gave me that check, back when alleys were just a way to get to the street, not some place to get plugged full of perforations for a lousy sawbuck. I missed ol’ what’shisname, and drank to forget, to remember, and to forget again. I looked at the skinny loop of corn-juice left in the bottle, and tried to remember my place in remembering, when the horizon pitched up a new inning.
Someone had micked me a slippy.
I awoke to a microscope’s girlfriend’s-view of my own Weaseldown shag-rug, now looking more stained than ever. A gnarled shadow swam over me.
The Wrung Wren leered there, with gravel-fed gorillas in tow. He looked like something out of a bad dimestore novelette, the way he was smooshed so thin. I bookmarked my thoughts about his turkey-bone demeanour when he demanded justice, and how. The palookas scrambled at me with fists the size of unrolled quilts as I rolled up into a stand, something I learned in the dark jungles during the War, and snarled my piece into their starched expressions.
I had gotten the jump on them, and demanded answers, but not just to any old questions.
What had The Wren and his scarred-up tux-rentals warm from the clink meant when they asked me about Janine Steamhouse?
And had it been that long ago?
Hey, Patrick. Great timing for a quote from Emily D.
Seit Langem schon quält den kühnen Kuno diese, sein ganzes Leben einschränkende Flugangst. Das wäre alles gar nicht so schlimm, wenn er ein Bodenlebewesen oder ein Wassertier wäre…Aber ein Vogelmonster, dem die schwindelnden Höhen Schwindel verursachen, das ist schon schlimm, schlimm und einmalig. So einmalig, dass Kuno der Kühne zum Gegenstand verschiedenster Forschungen geworden ist. Dieser Umstand nun, lässt seine Augenringe immer grösser und dunkler werden und seine Füsse sich orange verfärben. Der nicht wirklich kühne Kuno wird getestet Tag und Nacht, in der Vertikalen und in der Horizontalen. Er wird zentrifugiert und seine Werte katalogisiert.
Die gewaltigen Zentrifugalkräfte haben seine verschiedenen Körperflüssigkeiten sich in den Füssen sammeln ( siehe Orangefärbung) und sein Herz im Hals schlagen lassen. Entwässerungstabletten und Betablocker helfen da nur bedingt. Psychologen haben ihm zur eigens für ihn entwickelten Windkanal-Terapie geraten.
1. Fliegen in abgedunkelter Röhre
2. Fliegen in Plexiglasröhre
3. Angeseiltes Outdoor-Fliegen
Ob die Flugangst tatsächlich verschwinden wird, weiss vielleicht der Geier…