A REMARKABLY CLEAN-MINDED FELLOW

When I came home the other evening, there was a monkey on my bed. Along with two tins of tobacco, and a box of briars. I can distinctly remember putting the smoking supplies there, but the monkey had been in the other room when I left. This is the same simian who accuses me of cooking and eating his missing leg.

It was the folks in Product Development at the old company.
They did it. They took his leg for a project.
And worse was to come.

Ralph, the demented bald dwarf in Marketing, re-purposed the monkey for a Halloween project, subjecting him to unimaginable terrors - gashed neck, fake blood, bondage, and a fearsome pumpkin -- and after the October Thirty-First shenanigans, he was left on the office kitchen table with the other traumatized pumpkin victims to languish, unhappily attracting fruit flies for the first week of November, a sad public spectacle indeed.
I rescued him before the garbage was thrown out.
Stitches and a bath; nearly as good as new.
Couldn't do anything about the leg.
He's been here ever since.

The only time he's on my bed is when he's trying to steal my wallet, or comforting the sock-sheep. Who suffers from potato-bereavement nightmares. Don't ask. It's a complicated situation.

I have a strong suspicion that he spies on me, to see if I bring home any floozies. If I do, he'll squeal on me for sure. So far, no floozies. Nothing that even resembles them. Nor any nice girls either. Nobody at all. I'm safe.
But my wallet remains in danger.


While I was speculating about the presence of the rambunctious furball on my bed -- an overcrowded divan, seeing as there are other creatures there, as well as dozens of books, AND pipe tobacco -- I heard a voice from the television room.

"Goh, she's got humongous tatas!"

It turns out my apartment mate was watching a true crime show on television. In which one of the suspects was a curvaceous redhead.
No, the tatas were not really humongous. Sort of average size. It was entirely the effect of wonderbra engineering that made them seem more prominent. There may also have been some judicious (!) padding involved, but I would hesitate to state that for sure. The tatas remained covered throughout the broadcast. The closest to nudity was the scene where the young lady takes off her blouse, and the viewer notices a mole on her left shoulder blade, along with black lacy bra straps.

Not that I was watching.

I'm not really into murderous redheads.

And, being a withdrawn middle-aged bachelor who is not at all likely to ever talk some wicked young thing into my evil embrace, let alone end up in a rewarding and conceivably passionate relationship with a person who shares my tastes and even half of my peculiarities, or with whom I have one iota of ideals and philosophical bases in common, I did not notice that the curvy suspect was wearing a pair of lavender panties.

Haven't seen anything like that in years.

I almost never watch television.
There's nothing good on.


My apartment mate had put the monkey on my bed. She felt that it was the safest place for him when there was a murderous redhead swanning about on teevee. He's young and very impressionable, there are some things he has no business seeing.

That kind of leaves me with a disapproving chaperone in my quarters.
A stern fur-covered protestant with a disapproving attitude. Who may ask all manner of inconvenient questions, and poke and prod and pinch.
I don't know what I shall do when that happens.
Perhaps put him in the teevee room.

He'd probably protest.
Nothing to watch.





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