Posts Tagged With: drop bear

Death to the Monkey King

It has been a number of weeks since the Monkey King has posted on WordPress. There are some good reasons to this. And it falls to me – a talking, computer literate monkey –  to narrate the story.

This is the story of the fall of the Monkey King.

Read it well:

It’s tough to describe the character of my former lord. Some describe him as a tyrant. To others; a simpleton. An Australian disillusioned by the wealth, pretension and grandeur in his country. I don’t believe it. To me, he wasn’t a friend, a kind soul, a saviour.

He was my boss.

So I hated him. Even though he liked me.

“You’re my favourite monkey, Mojo! You’re the pick of the litter,” the Monkey King said over and over (sorry to the monkeys who are reading this, I guess you weren’t that important in the MK’s eyes. He never mentioned you to me at any rate, so you couldn’t have been important).

But I had to tell the fool that all the monkeys in the forest weren’t related, so they couldn’t be in a single litter. Besides, monkeys aren’t puppies. Or cats. They are monkeys. I don’t believe monkeys relate to litters. Unless the monkeys are throwing bananas and rubbish on the ground. As in; “stop littering, you stupid monkeys!”

Some compare the Monkey King (our lord Chewbacca) to looking like Jim Morrison.

Jim Morrison

Nah. That’s not true. Jim Morrison has sex appeal. Not that I was sexually attracted to Morrison. It wouldn’t work out. He’s a human. A guy. And he’s a musician.

Never date a musician.

Oh, and I’m quite sure he’s dead. I read somewhere that he was dead.

The Monkey King had blue eyes. Everyone talked about his blue eyes. They startled a person and you had to avoid staring at him because the intensity of his pupils scared you. It was embarrassing to make eye contact. There was something deeply personal about the transaction. All the Balinese locals spoke about his eyes. They said “the Monkey King has blue eyes. Lovely blue eyes. Beautiful blue eyes. I wish I had blue eyes.” In fact, the vendors in the marketplace bought fake eye contacts as deep blue as fake plastic sapphire. To sell them, the vendors pitched them to potential buyers as “Monkey King eyes.”

“Ay you, want eyes like Monkey King?”

Nobody wanted eyes like the Monkey King, it turned out. Not for 70,000 Rupiah anyway. The eyes were too deep set, they made him seem crazy.

Chris Bitstrip

But it wasn’t his eyes that made him crazy. It was his actions.

Sure, in his blog he blamed the craziness on the monkeys, but we just obeyed his orders. He was insane.

And through his insanity, dis-contention began among the ranks.

-He’d play his trumpet in the early morning, waking us up at 5am to When the Saints Go Marching In.

– He burnt down Rafiki’s treehouse while we were having a onesie party. What an evil thing to do.

Having fun. Ha ha ha ha ha, see?

Having fun. Ha ha ha ha ha, see?

– He refused to marry and produce heirs. He broke the heart of our lovely Scar-face. Toyed with her emotions.

Scar-face-web-quality

-He endorsed slave labour.

– He kidnapped a drop bear from its native country, and released a white tiger, using them to spread fear among the monkeys (who are terrified by them). He’d say “if you don’t do what you’re told and work 15 hours a day for free, then the drop bear and white tiger will get you!”

-He made us watch Gossip Girl and Neighbours. It was never the good shows. I still haven’t caught up with Game of Thrones.

-And, I’m pretty sure he ate this monkey for breakfast last Sunday

Chelsea Suzanne Photography

Why would you eat such a cute little thing? What a monster!

– And so, you might be tempted to think of the Monkey King as a martyr, a kind man, a nobleman, a hero of sorts, especially when you learn what happened to him.

But actually, he was just a man. A monkey man. As cruel and as deceitful as the rest of us.

I continue soon.

Categories: Humor, literature | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

Monkey Forest is my home

THE  taxi driver laughs non-stop during the drive from Denpasar airport to Ubud.

“Get this off me, it’s boiling in this!” the drop bear, Garrett, grumbled about an hour into the drive. So I helped him take off the dog onesie (which I put on him as a disguise to get through customs).  It took fifteen minutes before we realised it would be easier to unbuckle the seatbelt first. Rocky Balboa – the driver – was still cackling.

“Ah ha ha ha. Hee hee hee. Ah ha ha ha. You Aussies funny.”

“Stop laughing. I hate you,” Garrett said.

“Hee hee hee.”

“Yeah, this isn’t funny,” I agreed.

“I hate you too,” Garrett said to me as I managed to take the onesie off his pudgy hindquarters. “You blasted animal. This is kidnap! You can’t do this. I am a national mascot. You can’t remove national mascots from their country without permission. It’s international law.”

I ordered the car to stop at a supermarket. We walked in and I bought a few Bintangs, Cheese Tim-Tams,  and a fruitpunch flavoured Fanta (vile concoction that is the closest you’ll ever get to monster blood #Goosebumpsreference)

Garrett stopped complaining after seven Bintangs. “You know, buddy, you’re alright,” Garrett said. “Most people wouldn’t think of getting a national mascot drunk to cheer him up. You’re special.”

“We’re home!,” I said as we pulled up in the Monster Monkey Forest car park.


It was great to be back. I was excited. This is where I belonged. I told Garrett to wait in the car as I stepped out, examining the wall marking the forest. It was a busy day, judging by the number of tourists pouring out of the gates.

It had been weeks since I had been in the forest. I walked through the forest with a fresh eye. I saw the tourists of all nationalities walking in and out the gates, examining the cheap stores across the road, laughing at each other. I saw Sunny (monkey) walk a power line, flaunting as the Japanese tourists below hooted and took photos.

Two lovely ladies (I never learnt their names) guarded a store of bananas outside the gates. Inside the gate I passed two of the monkeys attending our store called Place You Can Buy Your Crap Back. A German with a thick moustache was yelling down at Oscar, the one with the fez on while pointing down at her passport.

“100,000! Unverschämt!” she screamed.

I passed a child eating an ice-cream. Another few trying to lure some of the younger monkeys in for a group photo. Mojo drove past me on his moped. “Monkey King!” he cheered.

“Where’s your helmet,” I reminded him.

“I broke it,” he shouted back as he puttered out the gate.

I passed the monkey trainer – Made – who smiled and gave me a thumbs up. He looked more exhausted than I’d seen him. “They out of control,” he said, “good you back.” As he said this I watched the monkeys in the top of the tree drag some cannons across a log bridge in the canopy. “Where the hell did they get them!” I said.

Meanwhile, Charlie, our arsonist, was lighting a fire down by the creek. Simeon sat nearby, offering cigarettes to some of the local children. As I went down to stop him, Bitey came snarling past with three toddlers on his back.

“Faster, Bitey!” one of the toddlers screamed, kicking the white tiger in the gut with a pink gumboot. “Faster.”

Bitey snarled again but did what he was told, pouncing at Made, who ducked just in time.

“I am the lizard king!” Abu said – from the top of a statue of me – as he cracked a whip down at an American couple. He flashed his butt at them just in time for them to take a photo.

Someone touched me on the shoulder. I turned to face the beautiful girl who was trying to catch my attention.

“You’re back,” Gina smiled, and for the first time, she seemed glad to be speaking to me. “These monkeys are insane.”

“I’ve missed them all,” I said. “I’ve missed my home. And I’ve missed you!” and she beamed.

“Believe it or not, monkey boy, I’ve kinda missed you too,” she said. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go meet my fiancé.”

“Good for you,” I said, scowling at the engagement ring, ignoring Timmy screaming that he was going to stab somebody. I watched a few other monkeys ripping apart a piñata with golf clubs. Mashed banana came bursting out of the paper mache donkey. Another monkey – with a blindfold on – was faced the other direction, whacking a tree trunk.

I climbed the rope ladder to the top of my tree and sat in my throne. I watched the chaos and I smiled. This really was my home. But I decided to have a sleep before I introduced a drop bear into the forest.

Categories: Humor | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

I captured a drop bear named after Peter Garrett

I am hungry for hot food, so I pull up at the drive through at a KFC in a lovely place called Beenleigh. To pass the time in the queue I turn the music on.

“What do you want?” I asked the drop bear I had captured in my back seat.

“Popcorn chicken thanks,” the drop bear said. “And Mountain Dew. Who would go to KFC and not get Mountain Dew?”

We don’t eat until we’re sitting under a bridge by the river. I drag the drop bear out of the car, but I refused to let him out of the net. He struggled for a bit but I said he wouldn’t get any more chicken unless it behaved.

He settled.

“So what do we call you?” I asked.

“Garrett.”

Drop bears are heavily into music. They listen to what they can. This is why Garrett speaks excellent English. Drop bears mostly attack hikers who have radios, stereos, and Ipods.

In drop bear tradition (apparently) it is customary to be named after Australian musicians. When I learnt this we broke out singing Blue Sky Mine (Midnight Oil). Garrett even pulled out a harmonica from somewhere and he wasn’t too shabby at it.

“Who’s gonna save me!” we sang, just before Garrett howled, crying.

I felt sorry for him and I let him out of the net. “Sucker!” he yelled, and waddled away as fast as he could, a small packet of popcorn chicken in his paw. “I’m not leaving my girlfriend, Minogue.”

I shouted promises to Garrett to get him back. I promised him more KFC, a trip to Movie World, and then a holiday to Bali.

“I’m king of the monkeys, you know,” I said.

“Good for you,” Garrett said.  He wouldn’t come back, so I shot him with another tranquiliser.

Anyway, so now I’m on a plane back to Bali. It was a challenge thinking of a brilliant way to smuggle a drop bear out of the country. But I’ve worked it out.

Garrett is in a cage somewhere down in storage, unconscious, dressed in a dog onesie. I smile as a hot waitress serves me a ginger beer. I am thinking of the monkeys’ reactions when I return with a drop bear.

Categories: Australia, Humor | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , | 3 Comments

How to capture a drop bear

DROP BEARS are good singers. I mean, ridiculously good singers. I didn’t sleep a wink last night, resting in my sleeping bag, hearing a variety of Queen songs through the trees that could well have belonged in their Greatest Hits album.

At first I didn’t know it was the drop bears. I mean, I thought it might be ghosts singing. Or Snugglepot and Cuddlepie (never heard of them? That’s little Australians’ folklore thank you, look em up). Or maybe the mushrooms I ate a few days ago down by the creek were giving me magical powers, making me hear amazing sounds that really didn’t exist.

Magic school bus

At three in the morning – to the tune of Under Pressure – something rustled in the tree above me.  Whatever it was, it was heavy. Paranoid and starving  (my last mandarin ran out days ago), I stuffed my sleeping bag with the clothes I had been wearing, and slithered through some rocks, and waiting with my dart gun.

“Aha!” something roared twenty minutes later. A big furry thing jumped on the sleeping bag where my head would have been, and savagely mauled the canvas. I waited, and shot a dart at it.

I got it in the eye. I know this because it screamed, “Argh, argh! My eye!” before it fell asleep on my sleeping bag. I got rid of my cages at some point in my trek (too heavy) but fortunately I still had some nets in my bag, so I pulled one out and tied the drop bear into the net.

Meanwhile, the voices in the trees went silent, as if sensing that one of their own had been captured. I tied the net to a branch and left the drop bear hanging. Then I stood guard in the rocks, waiting to see if maybe another would come and rescue it.

This morning – when the light settled through the trees – I checked out the sleeping beast. It was about four metres in length. It was as grey as a koala, but looked more like a cross between Stitch and Oscar the Grouch.

Drop bears sort of look like this, but with longer ears (and not as green). Photo: www.fineonpine.com

Drop bears sort of look like this, but with longer ears (and not as green). Photo: http://www.fineonpine.com

I had given up on my quest to hunt a dropbear for a few days, trying to find my way back to O’Reilly’s carpark. As luck would have it, after dragging the bear a few exhausting kilometres, I found a path, and eventually a sign back.

“Ow,” it grumbled. “Ow. A rock. Ow.”

I checked to see if was awake, but it wasn’t. Finally, I emerged from the trees. Victorious!  A few campers heading to the trail I came from stared at what was snoring in the net.

“Um, what is in that net?” one middle aged hiker asked.

“Just a whole bunch of mind your business,” I said. Which was rude of me, I know. I got to the car and I shoved my prisoner into the back seat and buckled the seat belt around it.

“Where are we?” the drop bear mumbled but didn’t speak again until we were halfway down the mountain. “Damn, damn, this feels like a rollercoaster ride. Am I at Dreamworld again?” But I didn’t answer and then it stared screaming, yelling all sorts of swear words at me I do not wish to repeat.

Even a monkey wouldn’t have used the kind of words that drop bear did.

I was so tired I nearly had a micro-sleep, but fortunately the bellows of rage kept me awake. Finally the drop bear calmed down, and then it said calmly, “anything good playing on the radio?” and I said “I have Green Day on CD,” and it thought about my answer for a bit, and then said “their early stuff, or their new crap?” and I said their late stuff, and it said, “I can’t stand punk when I’m coming down from tranquiliser,” and that response just opened up a whole new round of conversation.

Categories: Australia, Humor | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 3 Comments

Lover Boy in the bush

About a day and a half ago I left the trail and got lost.

Not stuck on an island with an insane smoke demon sort of lost. Almost as bad though.  I’m in the middle of a rainforest which has the most reports of fatal drop bear attacks in the world.

There is no reception, so I am writing this on paper and hoping to transfer it to a digital form when I have survived (if you read this, hey! It means I’m okay now!). I’m starving, I’m cold, and I hate the stupid mozzies.

Worse, for the last few hours I’ve been hearing singing. Long, drawn out sirens through the trees, as persistent and as hidden as buzzed out cicadas.

I’ve recorded the music,  and it is disturbing when you are a lone, young and vulnerable man stuck in the middle of the woods.

The voices are scattered through the bush. I’ve been walking towards the noise but it proves impossible to track. When I get near the source of a voice it stops and I walk towards another voice without realising until it is too late. So I’ve been walking in circles.

I almost didn’t pay attention to my bearings, and I nearly fell off a cliff. One of my cages fell crashing down a hundred metres. The voices stopped a few minutes. I could imagine the malevolent thoughts surrounding me, wondering why I had disturbed them.

But they started singing again. It’s the same song, and they sing it over and over again.

Lover boy

The bush voices are singing Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy.

QUEEN?!? And where the hell is the piano?

It makes no sense whatsoever.

It’s disturbing when you’re alone in the bush at night – with no tent cause you forgot to pack one – searching for drop bears, hearing tributes to Freddie Mercury in the dark. In a campy gothic sort of way.

And I am freaked out. In the context, this is one of the scariest songs I could be hearing.

Categories: Australia, Humor | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 8 Comments

Bear hunt in Lamington National Park

I’m in Lamington National Park, preparing to go on a bear hunt.

Queue relevant music to set the mood. 

Lamington National Park is a mystical place. It is unexplored territory of rugged mountain scenery, waterfalls and thick impenetrable rainforest. It is remote because the road up Mount Lamington is difficult and windy.

Most people never leave the trails. Some are foolish to do so. Most of these people are those who have been attacked by drop bears.

Map of part of the national park. The dots you see are locations of reported attacks.

Map of part of the national park. The dots you see are locations of reported attacks.

I am here to capture a drop bear. I have spent the last few days gathering materials needed to capture a bear, and have decided where I need to go. What I intend to do is walk the trail until I come to a creek, and then I will follow it.

I am at the O’Reilly’s camping ground now, going through my stock. I have:

X3 underwear

X1 sleeping bag

X1 protective helmet with sharp pieces of metal and glass stuck on the top.

X1 monkey onesie (maybe I can reason with a drop bear if it thinks I’m an animal)

X2 recording devices

X2 cameras (if we count my mobile phone).

X2 mandarins

X3 packets of two minute noodles

X4 two litre bottles of water

X6 horse tranquilisers

x2 steel cages

x1 banana boat sunscreen

X1 dart gun

X1 backpack bought from Army disposal place

X1 map

X1 compass

x1 bird whistle

X3 homemade nets (mostly made from hammocks, plastic bags, and hay bale twine)

X1 towel

I’m as prepared as I’m ever going to be. It is time to enter the forest, now. There is no reception in there, and so you will not hear from me until I come back with a drop bear.

Categories: Australia, Humor | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , | 3 Comments

Hunting for drop bears

This week I intend to hunt and capture a drop bear.

I wrote a list of 24 things to achieve before I turn 24 a few months ago. Well, I turn 24 in a few weeks, and I’ve only crossed one thing off that list. And that was to buy a toothbrush.

So it’s high time to cross off a few more difficult things off the list.

In order to do this, I need to leave Bali and go to Australia for a week or so. The monkeys refuse to join me. Jo-Jo says the land down south is a cursed land. In Monkey Latin, Australia is known as Terror Australis Incognita Monstro.

Drop Bears. Reliable eyewitnesses believe they wear war paint before a hunt.

Drop Bears. Reliable eyewitnesses believe they wear war paint before a hunt.

Monkey legends from as long ago as the formation of the Ramayana tell of a monster that lurks in the eucalypt forests of the south. Monkeys throughout the world have avoided the Australian phantom.

But I am determined to return with this monster, so that these monkeys can see there is nothing wrong with drop bears. Perhaps then, the monkeys will visit the home land with me. I will show them where I grew up, my local Woolworths, where I often got my hair cut, the town swimming pool, Uluru even, if we have time.

Besides, how could a drop bear be worse than our Timmy? (a crazy wild monkey that was “transferred” into our forest to be a part of the now defunct Big Monkey TV show. The zookeepers that caught him seem to have forgotten about him. Surprisingly, instead of running away, he stays in a tree far from the forest entrances, on the other side of the creek, carving words like kill and die king die and Megadeth forever into the bark)

“Don’t go to Terror Australis!” Mojo said. “Don’t go! There is nothing but death down there.”

I told him I had lived in Australia for 23 years, and that I had turned out okay.

“No you didn’t!” Mojo howled. “We’ve only just trained you to be socially acceptable.”

50 of them insisted on coming to Denpasar airport with me, as some sort of guard of honour, so we had to hijack 10 scooters so we’d all fit. Jo-Jo kept smoking while steering a moped with five others stacked on her head.

I am at the airport now – nervously hoping I will be allowed through customs. Technically I have overstayed my visit to Indonesia.

Categories: Australia, Humor, List | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

24 ridiculous things I hope will never happen (soon)

SEVERAL weeks ago, I wrote a list of things I wanted to achieve before I turned 24. Achievements  included capturing a drop bear, buying a toothbrush and partying with the Bundy Rum bear.

Even though I only have until early November to have a meaningful life – I haven’t fulfilled anything on the list.

So to help me feel better about myself, I am not going to try to cross things off the list.Instead, I’m going to write a more negative list which will suggest how much sci-fi fantasy has corrupted me. It will be a list of 24 things I hope will never happen.

Let’s begin:

1)  A respectable scientist (Stephen Hawking) announces that because of humanity’s irresponsibility to the environment, Drop Bears have become extinct. And that they are too dangerous to ever clone back to life.

Drop Bears. Reliable eyewitnesses believe they wear war paint before a hunt.

Drop Bears: Reliable eyewitnesses believe Drop Bears wear war paint before a hunt.

2)      Hollywood producers (Universal Studios?) ask me if the Monkey King wants to guest star in the upcoming Superman vs Batman movie. When I rock up to our first meeting in LA, they burst out laughing, saying “Who are you? Oh yeah. We were only playing.”

3)      Nobody comes to my birthday party. Not even monkeys.

4)      Aqua are paid to perform at my birthday party. Even they don’t show up.

Wazzup! We're here to partay!

Wazzup! We’re here to partay!

5)      The icebergs all melt. The sea levels rise dramatically, and penguins declare war on my Monkey Kingdom, which now has prime ocean views.

6)      War between monkeys and penguins (actually, that would be cool).

7)      Potatoes cease to exist. This means no chips, mashed potato, fried     potato, other forms of potato, or spud guns.

8)      I go on three dates with “the perfect woman” only to find she’s a male. And a monkey.

9)      The internet gets erased, making me realise everything I’ve done the last five years has been destroyed.

10)   Forced into a very public rap battle against Eminem. And he’s a dick about how much I suck.

11)   Hollywood makes a C grade movie called Super Monkey vs Giant Octopus.

12)   Dr Who regenerates into a monkey.

Doctor Monkey 2

13)   A super virus is released, wiping out 90 per cent of the world’s population. The remaining 10 per cent gather into two different tribes, where they then declare war on each other.

14)   A Back to the Future remake, with Doc reimagined as a Nazi scientist cryogenically frozen from the 1930s. The movie is set in modern day Tijuana (Mexico). Taylor Lautner stars as Marty.  (ACTUALLY…I wouldn’t mind this. Let’s just not call it Back to the Future).

15)   Aliens (Daleks?) invade and put humans into prison camps in the Asteroid Belt.

16)   Justin Bieber becomes a father (I’ve had enough of famous babies for this year).

17)   In the spirit of world peace, every country must give up two of their teenagers, who dress as superheroes and villains. They then fight each other to the death.

18)   Someone cuts the monkey forest down.

19)   A precious resource (unobtainium?) is discovered in Bali. High concentrates of the rare mineral is discovered under the monkey forest fountain. Robot monkeys are sent in from mining corporations to spy out our weaknesses.

20)   My parents buy a house next to the monkey forest and employ detectives to keep an eye on me.

21)   The Bundy Rum bear dies.

You will be missed, Bundy Bear.

You will be missed, Bundy Bear.

22)   Forced to work in a slave labor camp. Complete with whips, gluten free gruel, without internet access. The horror!

23)   A blue koala-gremlin drops into the forest, forcing the intergalactic emperor to destroy the planet with the Death Star.

24)   The monkeys watch Planet of the Apes.

Categories: Humor, List | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , | 11 Comments

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