Wacky Racky

Anybody who read my monkey blog knows that growing up my family had some odd pets. They had some odd kids too, but that’s another story.

This fascination with atypical pets extended to a couple aunts and some cousins as well. One of these cousins (the same guy who had a weird fondness for sticking paperclips into electrical sockets no matter how many times it knocked him on his can—also a story for another time) had a pet raccoon named Racky. (I know, and all of you enthralled with that very original name please feel free to nik it.)

As far as raccoon’s go, Racky was pretty tame and mostly allowed the run of the house (though dangling your fingers over the side of an easy chair was an open invitation to get yourself nicknamed “stumpy”.) Racky had one particularly odious habit, however.

This raccoon, primarily a nocturnal poop like his bandits-in-arms, slept on my cousin’s bed. He’d stay awake till my cousin nodded off, then promptly burrow beneath the covers and whiz between my cousin’s legs.

Why? God knows how raccoons think, but I’m sure he got some maniacal pleasure out of the act. The sentiment wasn’t nearly as appreciated by the human members of the household, my cousin in particular, though he kept letting it happen so you have to wonder who was the smarter of the two.

Remind me sometime to tell you about the lop-eared bunny who used to let go on my pillow…. --H

Dark Bits

1) Today's tip: Make sure the frickin's switch is turned off before you poke your finger into what you think is a dead light socket. Trust me on this one.

You know that little metal goober deep inside the socket? Don't touch that. Unless you're into that sort of thing (oh, come now, I know some of you are!) Or it's 70s night at the local watering hole.

Remind me to tell you where paperclips do NOT belong next time...

2) You fat cow. How could you be so stupid? You idiot, you'll never amount to anything. Why do you always act so retarded? God, you're ugly. You talentless moron.

See how easy it is?

With a few simple words we can destroy a child's self-esteem or ruin another person's day. Sometimes it is done without thinking; sometimes it is done on purpose. But always it is so much easier to tear someone, adult or child, down, than to build them up. It is easier to snuff talent than to encourage it. It is simpler to hurt than to heal.

Take a moment this week and smile at someone you don't know (and not one of those creepy little smiles, either, as much fun as they are!). Tell a child they matter. Be sexy and sassy with one of your friends or loved ones. Let them know today's a day they are allowed, no, encouraged, to hope and to just be happy and important. Support them in whatever it is they long to do with a kind word.

Oh, and figure out a scandalous use for butterscotch ice cream sauce...

3) I mentioned a bit back that Moonstone Publicatons had aquired the rights to The Avenger and Captain Midnight (the first a 1940s pulp hero and the second a radio and serial hero), both of which I have written stories for (my Avenger story is called The Heart of the Crucible and my Cap Midnight is called Witch of the Waning Moon). Well, last week the publisher/editor Joe Gentile honored me with also writing the introduction for the antho. I turned it in yesterday. I think this book is going to be extraordinary for Avenger fans, and even for those who are not familair with the character (anybody wants a brief overview of the character please check out my blog The Greatest Crime-fighter of the Forties)

The antho should be out year's end or early next year, but as always from Moonstone you can expect a top notch production (check out their latest antho The Spider Chronicles, in which I also have a tale Death Reign of the Zombie Queen) The Avenger antho will also include excellent writers Martin Powell and Chris Mills, plus sci-fi writer Ron Goulart and Spider-girl writer Tom DeFalco

Don't Play with the Monkey!

We had monkeys when I was a kid. This was back in the 70s when they were still legal to own as pets. In fact, you could buy them in the back of magazines and comic books and have them shipped from Florida. My family had probably four or five, though not all at once.

Monkeys are an odd lot. They really are. This one in particular, a capuchin, we had was named Teekee and he might have been odd even as monkey oddness goes. He was kinda like the relative you had over for Thanksgiving dinner who seemed to think pulling out his dentures and setting them on the holiday table was really an ok thing to do. You know, the guy mining his nose for gems he could roll between his fingers for half an hour before dropping them on your floor or couch or flicking them at the cat. Yeah, THAT guy. Uncle Bert or some such.

Teekee was Uncle Bonzo in his unique furry little way. He had bad habits, as monkeys are wont to have. Oh, it wasn’t bad enough this little simian reprobate had the lack of shame to peel his banana in front of God and everyone. Noooo, that wasn’t nearly enough. Not only wasn’t it enough, but he saved it for those times you preferred he didn’t act up. My mother’s Lutheran minister, who visited every Thursday, learned pretty early on Teekee didn’t like him. No sooner would this guy walk by Uncle Bonzo’s cage than would the little devil decide to whiz on his pant leg. Or worse. This monkey was major league baseball material when it came to flinging poop.

But I digress.

At the same time we had this beagle named Puni. Now Puni was a kind, wonderful little bundle of duh. Not the brightest kibble amongst the bits.

And Teekee, that malicious poop-flinging, pant-whizzing little banana-peeler, knew it. Oh, how he knew it.

At the time the Purina company not only made dog and cat food. They made this noxious little nugget of goodness called “Monkey Chow”. Teekee liked Monkey Chow about as much as kids like lima beans. Or liver. Basically, he used it to bean the poor beagle in the tail end whenever the dog chanced to walk by the monkey pen.

You think that would have been enough to teach Puni to stay away from the cage. But apparently she couldn’t read the two-foot high Beware of Monkey sign.

Let me tell you one thing about monkeys. They like to torture you. If you show the least bit of fear they exploit it. If all your lights aren’t on they know it instantly and use it to their advantage.

As I said, not all of poor Puni’s lights were on.

Enter the Monkey Chow.

Teekee might not have much cared for those scrumptious little nuggets but Puni thought they were the closest thing to eating cat poop right out of the litter box. Teekee learned this quick. At nearly exactly the same moment, he learned beagles have big floppy ears that are loads of fun to pull.

Here’s the equation, which Teekee executed daily, if not more than that. One piece of monkey chow held out of monkey cage at arm’s length entices unsuspecting dog near cage. Dropping monkey chow makes dog lean in to gobble it up. Big floppy ears plus two dirty monkey hands equals tremendously loud squealing noise from dog.

Yep. Everyday we could look forward to that squeal. Teekee would grab both that dog’s ears and brace his monkey feet against the cage bars and yank. The whomp of the dog’s head hitting the cage was immediately followed by a yelping that could be heard for miles.

Teekee thought this was the bees knees. You could see the nasty little glint in his eyes and the smug toothy grin on his face. Of course, it would take a few moments to pry his greasy little hands off the dog’s ears. The dog would go running off, probably wondering why the hell she hadn’t fallen for the same trick for the fiftieth time. Teekee would keep on grinning that foolish monkey grin and chirp away as innocent as could be.

There’s a weird moral to this story. No, not Monkey Chow causes longer ears. Don’t keep doing the same thing over and over if it isn’t working, whether in our relationships, jobs or daily lives. Don’t sell yourself short and keep getting your ears pulled. And don’t eat monkey Chow. It tastes like poop. Don’t ask me how I know…