The Curious Incident of the Monkey in the Night
It’s a Saturday night and I’m posting a blog. Why? Because I’m in with stomach cramps.
There’s this word that describes the extent to which a person is willing to ignore reality/logic for the sake of fantasy. For instance, I was reading an online comic called PVP, and people were willing to except the existence of a troll, but not willing to accept that said troll could practice law with out a license. I’m starting to wonder how mine operates.
Picture this: Spring Time, Federal Way, 2008. A young girl who really likes the actor Kevin Durand decides to check out a movie he is in by the name of Who’s Your Monkey. Now I admit, I enjoyed the movie, a little grossed out by a few things so I’m aware that its not for everyone. Still, I think it was really creative about this one scene where they are trying to dump a dead body in the river while discussing sexually hang-ups. Lets face it, that’s just fantastic. The weird thing is, of all things I could have had an issue with and might not be willing to accept, (Like a monkey could jack off a dead body and only one person vomits, yeah right. BTW, if you reading this, make your own rigor mortis joke.) there really is only one thing: the Mini Reed drove around in. I refuse to believe that a man Reed’s size, a passenger, two dogs, a goat, a duck and a monkey could all fit into Mini. Hell, every time I look at one on the road I try to imagine how they could all fit.
In other news, my parental units actually sat down an talked to each other for the first time in eight years. They have not spoken to each other in at least eight years and I’m stunned that he even bothered. A part of me wishes I was there to hear the conversation because when he was reporting it back to me, he kept going on and on about how my mother hadn’t changed and how she was so wrapped up in her career and wouldn’t stop talking about it. At least that’s what I got from what he said. I’m ashamed to admit this but I’m finding it harder and harder to understand my own father’s accent. I think it’s because we really don’t talk anymore.
There’s this word that describes the extent to which a person is willing to ignore reality/logic for the sake of fantasy. For instance, I was reading an online comic called PVP, and people were willing to except the existence of a troll, but not willing to accept that said troll could practice law with out a license. I’m starting to wonder how mine operates.
Picture this: Spring Time, Federal Way, 2008. A young girl who really likes the actor Kevin Durand decides to check out a movie he is in by the name of Who’s Your Monkey. Now I admit, I enjoyed the movie, a little grossed out by a few things so I’m aware that its not for everyone. Still, I think it was really creative about this one scene where they are trying to dump a dead body in the river while discussing sexually hang-ups. Lets face it, that’s just fantastic. The weird thing is, of all things I could have had an issue with and might not be willing to accept, (Like a monkey could jack off a dead body and only one person vomits, yeah right. BTW, if you reading this, make your own rigor mortis joke.) there really is only one thing: the Mini Reed drove around in. I refuse to believe that a man Reed’s size, a passenger, two dogs, a goat, a duck and a monkey could all fit into Mini. Hell, every time I look at one on the road I try to imagine how they could all fit.
In other news, my parental units actually sat down an talked to each other for the first time in eight years. They have not spoken to each other in at least eight years and I’m stunned that he even bothered. A part of me wishes I was there to hear the conversation because when he was reporting it back to me, he kept going on and on about how my mother hadn’t changed and how she was so wrapped up in her career and wouldn’t stop talking about it. At least that’s what I got from what he said. I’m ashamed to admit this but I’m finding it harder and harder to understand my own father’s accent. I think it’s because we really don’t talk anymore.