Hey there, clubbers. Meaning that, if you are reading this, you are at least peripherally a member of the club. You know, not meaning that you go out clubbing on the weekends or anything. I mean, sure, you might do that, it’s none of my business. It’s just not what I’m talking about. And you, that one guy out there thinking you’re funny; you shut up. I didn’t mention baby seals for a very good and tasteful reason. Some people, geez.
So, this week, we have had several meetings here at the club to decide what the story was going to be about. Then we remembered we don’t plan the stories in advance and just went out clubbing instead. But, since we are listening to James Horner’s “Mighty Joe Young” score right now, we may as well write something about monkeys. And pan flutes. And just to mix it up, I will guarantee you at least one scene of a man and woman drinking coffee. And something will be on fire. Okay, I think I’ve given myself enough ridiculous variables; on with the show.
THE FIRE-BRAND GUARANTEE
Thursday dawned bright and clear that week, and Milo was awake with the dawn. “Hey,” he said to himself, “the author used the word ‘dawn’ twice in one sentence. Isn’t that a poor writing choice?” Well, whatever, that nimrod was talking to himself, what does he know?
Preparing to meet his fiend, Andalusia, for coffee, Milo donned a suit of armor. What, did you think it was a typo? Nope, Andalusia wasn’t his friend, she was a fiend. A horrible monstrous hybrid of several different species of monkey that had been genetically fused with a human woman and an avocado. The result was a hideous creature that enjoyed shopping, eating bugs off of people, and the song “It’s Not Easy Being Green.” Since Milo was the wacko scientist who had created her, he felt it his duty to have coffee with Andalusia once a week and try to help her fit into civilized society. The suit of armor was because she would often use her claws to try and tear Milo limb from limb. I mean, he turned her into a hideous, hairy, green creature; what would you do? The odd thing is that Milo’s experiments had proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that all her violent tendencies came from the avocado. Who knew they were such vicious little fruits?
So, properly attired for the meeting, Milo headed off to the local Starbucks. As he walked in the door the manager, Michelle, turned to him and said, “Oh, hi, Milo. Meeting Andalusia this morning, I see?”
“Yep,” Milo said (and it sounded all echo-y and metallic inside his helmet). Michelle nodded and immediately went into the back room and put on her own suit of armor. Rob, the barista for the day, asked if he could have a suit of armor, too.
“Don’t be silly,” Michelle replied, ” you’re only part-time.”
“But part-timers get benefits at Starbucks,” Rob whined.
“Not if I keep you under 20 hours a week, sucker,” Michelle replied, and went into the back room make phone calls and count stuff.
Rob sighed and asked Milo if he’d like the usual. Milo said yes, and they engaged in some boring small talk. I could go through that with you, but it’s all stuff like Milo asking, “what’s the music we’re listening to?” and Rob replying “it’s our newest CD – Zamfir performs the greatest hits of Hall and Oates” and Milo asking who Zamfir is and Rob explaining that he’s the master of the pan flute, but honestly you don’t need to hear all that except to know that I am fulfilling all of my promises of content from the intro.
SO, anyway, after about five and a half minutes of this, Andalusia came bursting through the front door, her long-green hair flying behind her. “Where’s my coffee, you apron-wearing bozo?!?” she shrieked at Rob, who immediately burst into tears.
Milo turned to her and said, “now, remember, my dear; ask nicely and people will respond in like kind. Apologize to Rob, please.”
Shuffling her feet a little, Andalusia said, “sorry, bozo. Can I have my coffee now?” So, Rob made her a pumpkin spice latte (they kept the pumpkin spice around all year to keep Andalusia from getting too pissed off) with skim milk and extra whipped cream. Which is kind of a funny drink, if you think about it.
Sniffling a little, Rob handed Andalusia her drink. “Here you are, Andalusia,” he said, trying to smile. She snatched it gruffly from his hands and sneered at him.
Seeing Milo’s furrowed brow, she quickly said, “thanks, bozo,” picked a bug off his head and ate it, and trudged over to her normal seat. Milo sat with her and they drank their coffee in silence listening to the mellow, flute-y strains of “Private Eyes.”
After about 10 minutes, Andalusia set down her cup and asked Milo, as she often did, “so, tell me one more time: Why did you cross me with several species of monkey and an avocado?”
And Milo, calmly sipping his coffee through a slit in his face-mask with a straw, replied as he had so many times before, “because I am insane.”
“Well,” Andalusia replied, pulling a piping hot fire-brand from her back pocket, “that’s just not good enough anymore.”
Milo was dumbfounded. After a moment of sheer dumbfounditude, he said, “where did you get a fire-brand from? Your back pocket? Do you mean to tell me that you’ve had a flaming stick in your back pocket this whole time?”
“Yeah,” she said, standing up and raising the brand above her head. “What’s your point?”
“Holy crap!” Rob cried suddenly from behind the counter, “your butt’s on fire!”
Andalusia turned and tried to look at her own butt, but it’s hard to do that without a mirror, so she just started turning around and around like a dog chasing its tail.
You think your life is weird? Try going into your local coffee shop for your morning cappuccino and seeing a monkey-avocado woman chasing its own flaming butt while a pan-flute plays “Kiss on My List” and a crazy guy in a suit of armor laughs so hard he cries. That’ll make you think twice about where you get your coffee.
Well, I’m pretty sure I kept all my promises in writing the story this week. Good thing I never promised a story arc or resolution or anything.
See you in seven,