It had been an off-hand comment. Passionate, but completely unrehearsed.

They’d just finished watching the opening show of the new Mad Men season, and Bob turned to his wife Janice, and said, “you know, I really don’t think you could improve upon this show. This really is the best thing on television right now. No scratch that. The best thing NEAR television. There’s no way you could make it any better. I mean, it’s historically accurate. It’s dramatic. God-damned it Janice, it’s just fucking exciting. It’s the best thing ever, I tell you!”

Grinding her teeth, Janice thought, “Wait ’till you get back from work tomorrow … I’ll show you exciting…”

Alltop and humor-blogs.com think Joan is hot. Photo via Strange Ink.

Founded by Jesleyan Fortran Jessup, the Jessuptians, a Puritan sect similar to the Baptists, but less fun, would have become a major influence in Colonial politics.

If they had understood how boats worked.

Alltop and humor-blogs.com think that all-in-all, it’s just another brick… Photo via Postaltrice.

This story has been published a few times: first in Trunk Stories #2 (Dec. 2004), and then it was reprinted in Broken Pencil #29 (2005) and most recently in Yareah Magazine, (Feb. 2009). I thought I would repost it here in it’s entirety and add this is audio version, as a bona fide of my long obsession with monkey-related fiction.

Here’s the audio:

Audio clip: Adobe Flash Player (version 9 or above) is required to play this audio clip. Download the latest version here. You also need to have JavaScript enabled in your browser.

And a link to the file if the embedded player doesn’t work properly — The Monkey’s Tail … by Mark A. Rayner

The Monkey’s Tail, as Told by Marcel Duchamp the Day After Charles Lindbergh Landed at Le Bourget Field

by Mark A. Rayner

I had this friend who was obsessed with having a monkey tail grafted to his ass. Actually, to call him a The Monkey’s Tail….friend is stretching the truth. Toulouse was more of a colleague. An ex-colleague, if you get my meaning.

He went to great lengths to achieve his ends. At first, he was convinced that it would be possible to grow a tail. After all, we used to have them: they are part of our vestigial anatomy. He knew a biologist from Pigalle who was willing to help pull out his tail bone. Not literally. No, he would attempt to stretch it outwards by digitally manipulation.

Oh yes, it was quite painful, but Toulouse was bent on it. He was mad for the monkey tail, wasn’t he?

Eventually, Toulouse accepted the anatomist’s ministrations were not going to work, and went in search of other answers. He tried occult methods: spells, potions and unguents. It was about this time people started to avoid him. The unguents were too pungent by far. Yes, even for Paris in summertime.

Finally, Doctor V moved into town. You must know him. The one who grafts primate glands into the body cavity. Yes, for men unable to … I see you’ve heard of him. His cure was often worse than the disease, if being unable to . . . could be called a disease. It could be restful. Several flaccid gentlemen died, but septicemia did not frighten Toulouse.

He asked the surgeon to graft a tail to him. The tail? It came from a monkey — a Barbary Ape, if you must know the details.

Yes. Yes. It did come from Gibralter. Normally Dr. V. worked with chimps, which have no tails, so he had to find a species with a tail, no matter how underdeveloped. The poor beast had been living with Madame Sélavy, the noted philatelist and prodigious eater of *cerveaux de chèvre*. Hmm. Yes, nasty, I agree. Cow brains are better. In a fit of whimsy she had named the creature “Alonsy.” The little beast was adept at licking stamps and quite useful. So Dr. V. returned the creature to its mistress after he’d removed the small, pathetic vestigial tail. Covered with wiry brown hair it was.

Oh, yes, Toulouse was ecstatic when Dr. V showed him the new appendage prior to the operation. I imagine the Russian must have looked like some demented maître d’, presenting the severed appurtenance on a silver platter. Yes. Yes! The ether was the wine and the surgical tools the cutlery!

By all accounts the monkey was happier after this interlude. (Though they are called Barbary Apes, they are really monkeys you know.) Yes. Yes. Alonsy flew into paroxysms of monkey song, chattering gleefully; he moistened postage with aplomb and joy thereafter. He was much improved.

My ex-colleague did not fare as well, but such is the price of progress.

The End

Originally published: Trunk Stories #2, Dec. 2004
Reprinted: Broken Pencil #29, 2005, Yareah Magazine, February Issue

© 2004, Mark A. Rayner

Alltop and humor-blogs.com find blue pills more effective than chimp bits. Thanks to R@PP for the monkey pic!

There was no doubt about it, Max’s favourite activity at Camp Oonaway was archery.

There was nothing more satisfying than getting help with his stance, finding the right way to draw, keeping one’s fingers firm, yet loose, while lowering the bow into position. The delicious twang and thwap as he released the shaft.

And don’t even get him started on how exciting it was to hit the bulls eye.

Alltop and humor-blogs.com both enjoy fletching. Photo via Retrozone.

[phone rings]

Sumiko: Soto Noodle — you will want to suck them fast!

Godzilla: So you serve noodles?

Sumiko: Yes sir, we are noodle shop.

Godzilla: Excellent, I’d like an order of noodles, shaken not stirred.

[pause]

Sumiko: I’m sorry sir, what you say?

Godzilla: No, wait I’ve changed my mind. Is your refrigerator running?

Sumiko: Of course it is sir.

Godzilla: Then you’d better go catch it! No wait, say “is your refrigerator running!”

Sumiko: Fuck uh you, sir!

[sound of Gozilla screeching in city-rending rage on other end]

Alltop and humor-blogs.com definitely have Prince Albert in a can! Photo via Postaltrice.

Okay, this one isn’t entirely original, but I have tarted it up a bit. Made me laugh because of its truthiness, and lest you think I am judging, I fall into the “bloggers” category too!

I found the original at The Atlantic here.

You may also want to check out another older one, Economies of Despair:

The commentary is a hoot.

Now, please help me prove this second one wrong by going to my publisher’s website, and buying a copy of Marvellous Hairy. (Only $16.80 Canadian.) Let me know you did so in the comments, and I’ll send you a bookplate (with my signature if you want it, just say so!)

Then you will prove the diagram actually looks more like this, and I think we all want that:

Alltop and humor-blogs.com form a Venn Diagram of Funny.

Find the video here if the embed thingy dies.

Alltop and humor-blogs.com run around in circles too!

Okay, I know this is an extremely immature video, and not up to The Skwib’s usual standards for immaturity, but it is funny.

(In an extremely immature way.)

Plus, it has a “laser”.

Click here if the embed thingy bites back.

Alltop and humor-blogs.com are also fascinated by shiny objects.

From the Book of Libations

Lo! The time shall come and the people shall not concern themselves with the Law. And in this dark time, the people shall crave the flesh of the pig, and many will not care that it is Forbidden.

Verily, many shall be law abiding, but still ingest the unclean creature in a form most alluring. And this Savory Succubus shall take hold of the people, and there will be frying, and the power of the sky will be applied to these strips of meat, and the people will rejoice in the salty evil.

And they shall be called the Days of Bacon.

The Rashers of Lucifer will garnish all kinds of wholesome foods, and make them unclean with their cholesterol and deliciousness.

Hark! The people shall revel in their porcine pleasures, and they shall not be sated by the strips themselves, and they shall Cry for More Bacon. And they shall crave bacon with all. And the Anti-Christ will grin, and say unto the people, “I shall give you bacon in your hooch.”

And there shall be great rejoicing as the people debase themselves with Chocolate Bacon Martinis, and Bacon Rosemary Martinis, and something called an Irish Boar. And they shall wail with pleasure, especially when they taste the Bacon Bloody Mary, as the next seal is broken and the sky turns all stripy and sizzly, and let’s face it, mouth-watering.

The awesome web-based proof. The always-debauched Alltop and humor-blogs.com are waiting for veal-flavoured gin.

.

Thag was worried about the morale of the other hunters in the Thunka Grunka tribe.

As their leader, it was his responsibility to ensure they worked together well, and it looked as though he had misjudged things.

One of their youngest hunters, Donjuag, had been putting the moves on the mate of Thag’s second-in-command, the spike-haired Fonzag. Thag couldn’t really blame Donjuag for being attracted to the voluptuous and sensual Vunga, and he couldn’t really fault Fonzag for feeling a little jealous.

Donjuag and Vunga were much closer in age, but Thag had said it was all just youthful high spirits, and that Fonzag shouldn’t be worried about it: “Them not serious, Fonzag. Not worry you.”

And then Fonzag had caught Donjuag and Vunga making “lip smackies”, and the proverbial mammoth dung soiled the water hole.

Fonzag head-butted Donjuag, which was actually quite dangerous given Fonzag’s brutally spiked hair. Several other tribe members intervened before he could deliver a second blow.

“Heyyyy!” Fonzag cried. “I got a right to keep him away from my lady!”

“You not kill Donjuag!” Thag explained. “It uncool.”

“Heyyy,” Fonzag said contritely.

Vunga, who had the hips that launched the thousand facile thoughts in Donjuag, said: “it didn’t mean anything Fonzag. I was only kidding.”

Her kidding self, Thag thought, but he didn’t voice it.

“Really babe?” Fonzag asked.

“Of course, hon,” Vunga reassured her mate.

Fonzag looked at her, and gave her a kiss. “I believe you babe.”

Him kidding self, Thag thought, but he didn’t say anything.

Luckily, Donjuag was unconscious, so he didn’t hear any of this, but Thag knew they would have to come up with some kind of solution. He watched Fonzag and Vunga work on fixing Fonzag’s now badly bent hair spikes.

“Love triangle bad for Thunka Grunka,” Thag said to the shaman, Weasel-Scratch-Face-Brother.

“Oh, it’s okay,” the shaman said, “it’s sorted out now. The Gods have decreed it.”

“Foreskin-Face-Brother is fooling himself,” Thag told the shaman. “But not Thag.”

New Scientist story: Fooling yourself is an ancient and useful trait. Humor-blogs.com always plays the fool. Alltop too. Originally published 2007.