Posts Tagged With: Indonesia

Monkey Prison

YOU’VE probably assumed I’m dead in Bali somewhere. Probably when Mojo posted Death to the Monkey King so you’d forget about me.

I have a highlighter and a square of toilet paper, so I’ve little space to write. I’m exiled in Monkey Prison. Yeah, it exists. It’s like Monkey Hell but without the sulfuric acid. We have knife fights and the guards bet on the winner. We live in a pit underneath a tree. There is a window at the top of the pit, between the roots of the tree, and some of the brave monkeys climb up the pit to escape.

“MATI APAAN KEPALA!!!” we scream and chant from the bottom of the pit as we watch the monkey climb. “MATI APAAN KEPALA!”  when the monkey inevitably falls and dies.

Dark Knight Rises

The sunlight shines down. It gives us hope to mess with our minds.

Apparently that’s what it does, but actually, I appreciate the sunlight. Every little thing is a blessing.

I have become a new person. A little more spiritual, a little more humble. When I was Monkey King I wanted something every day. It was a new throne room, a slippery slide down the tree, monkeys to die for my amusement, Bitey the white tiger to stop biting. And when they exiled me by throwing me in a hole in a Borneo rainforest, all I wanted was freedom.

But now I’m not bothered. What would I do with freedom? I would waste it. Now I wait in this slag heap in the bottom pit of the tunnel.

The entrance into the prison. They throw you in and leave you to die.

The entrance into the prison. They throw you in and leave you to die.

 

The first few months the monkeys beat and broke me. I crawled down in the far caverns to hide where the worst of the chimps stayed, because most of the monkeys avoided the place. It was dark and muddy, but I healed from my injuries.

Last week one of the larger chimps we avoided came to me. I thought it was going to stab me with the knife it was holding. “Are you the Monkey King?” it asked, and before I said yes it handed me the muddy piece of toilet paper. “Your manifesto changed my life. I was full of resentment for the humans – and my hate led me in here – but your 300 page essay changed my life, it taught me to transcend beyond hate. I owe you everything I became.”

The chimpanzee’s name is Cujo, and he has promised a way to get my message of hope to the outside world.

I promise to escape this prison, defeat the monkey who stripped me from the throne, and regain my title of Monkey King. Don’t delete this blog just yet.

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

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

(part 2) Six ways to reject an infatuated monkey

IN THE previous post I mentioned that a monkey called Scar-Face proposed to me, and is expecting me to give my answer this week. She has threatened me with physical abuse if I break her heart.

Scar-face-web-quality

You know, this whole thing is absurd. I don’t want to marry her. Even though she is sort of nice. Look at her! But I also don’t want to get beaten up. So, I have six ways to tell a crazy monkey that I’m just not into her, with estimated percentages of success :

1)      It’s not you. It’s me!  44%

How you would probably go about it: “You’re a beautiful monkey, with a scar that has disfigured your face so that you have three nostrils, but it’s just not the right time for me! Even though my advisor wants me to get married, and even though I have no heirs… Please, stop stabbing me!”

2)      We’re not the same species!  78% before Avatar came out, currently 34%

An obvious but popular favourite. The problem is, is that I’m king of the monkeys. I’ve sort of been adopted into the tribe, and I can’t use “I’m a different species” to escape the advances of suitors. Also, I complained to Abu that I couldn’t date a monkey. And he said; “Haven’t you seen Avatar? Where Sam Worthington becomes a big blue alien and gets to have a hot blue chick princess if he so wishes?”

Damn you Hollywood! You’ve made it socially acceptable to marry a monkey. Don’t you have any morals whatsoever?

3)      I’m scared of intimacy!  12%

Oh yeah? And what if she says, “I’m sorry  I’m so insensitive,” and cracks onto me even worse! The last thing anyone needs to see is a sleazy monkey in lingerie touching people in inappropriate places, like on the knee! No. NO! NOOOOOOO! I won’t even chance it.

4)      You deserve so much better! 65%

How you would probably go about it: “I don’t know your real name, so I call you “Scar Face.” So I think I’d make a bad husband. But I’ll still make a good king – ruling over hundreds of your fellow monkeys.”

5)      I’m just not attracted to you. 80%

How you would probably go about it: “You’re ugly. Really ugly. Your face looks like a Mr Potato Head. You have so much fur I don’t even know if you have a belly button. You need to lose weight. You need to be a lot taller. I’m pleased you wear make-up, but it’s the same lot dabbed on from that visit to the animal testing facility. I might get over these issues if you were from Texas. I’ve always wanted to go out with a girl from Texas.  Are you from Texas? Didn’t think so.”

6)      I’m saving myself for someone from Texas 0.5%

No offence.

What would YOU choose?

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

Rabies from Scar-face

I’M SICK of being propositioned by suitors. In an effort to get me hitched, Jo-Jo (my Monkey’s Paw) has been encouraging  the many suitors to advance upon me. They would try to get to me at night if I hadn’t thought of fixing the walls and padlocking the doors of a local trader’s back shed in which I am currently residing in.

The most aggressive of them is a woman monkey I call “Scar-face”. She’s a bit suggestive.

"Hey beautiful"

“Hey beautiful”

I’m too scared to talk to her, and it’s not because I care what she thinks. Yesterday, Scar-face told me she had rabies, bit me on the neck, and offered out some sort of syringe which she said I needed to take as soon as possible if I didn’t want to die a most painful death.

“I’ll give it to you,” she tittered. “But you have to put a ring on it first.”

“I think we’re done here,” I said, climbing to the top of a tree and waiting for the first signs of madness. Or whatever symptoms humans get for rabies.

I’m not mad yet! And maybe I can fight the madness away by shrieking at the top of my lungs.

“Hey beautiful”
Categories: Animation, Humor | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Where I lay myself to sleep

WE ARE still building a throne room, and a slide, and a tree house. I have explained this here. What I haven’t told you is what I do to go to sleep at night.

Sometimes I sleep at the top of the tree. I huddle in a group of monkeys when they are feeling sweet and not particularly violent. But a few days ago a local vendor offered me his old shed at the edge of the forest.

DSC_0268 (2)

 

I stay in there and sleep on a little mattress. I haven’t told the monkeys where I go to sleep because sometimes you just need a nice nap without your hair being ransacked for bugs.

It does get lonely sometimes. There is a torch I use if I can’t sleep. I read a book  and then I think about how lonely I am. Then I promise myself to cut down on the alcohol because it makes me feel sad.

But the next morning I’m back with the monkeys and I’m happy again and we party on.

 

 

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

Celebrating International Mate Day

YESTERDAY Garrett the drop bear started crying while singing a variety of songs like Walzing Matilda and Down Under.

“What’s wrong Garrett?” I asked.

“It’s Australia Day, and I’m not there for it!” he said. Too right! How could I have forgotten!

My exaggerated accent returned. “Fair dinkum,” I said, “Too right ay?” and Mojo asked me why my voice went nasally. He handed me some cold and flu tablets.

That might help your blocked nose, Mojo said.

You beauty, Mojo!

Garrett was right. It was Australia Day, and it seems wrong for both Garrett and I that our feet aren’t on the rich red soil of our land, eating sausages and drinking beers and painting our faces and waving Aussie flags with kangaroos wearing punching gloves.

kangaroo flag

Or getting into a punch up at the beach after debating whether we call particular footwear “thongs” or “pluggers.”

thongs

Mojo laughed when Garrett and I told the others how to celebrate. “But thongs are ladies underwear.”

Shut your bloody mouth, Mojo!

So we decided to make a day of it to cheer up Garrett. But instead of making it exclusive by calling it Australia Day, we decided to share our love to all the Balinese by substituting it to International Mate Day. Sometimes our politicians between the countries fight and squabble with their little power trips and ego. And maybe we need to use our national holidays to embrace our similarities than to use it to encourage xenophobia. The Monkey King has spoken!

All the monkeys ran around trying to get everything ready for International Mate Day. Garrett stopped crying. He started singing a song I’d never heard of before, by an Australian band named Gyroscope. Chompy heard him and joined in, with his acoustic guitar. 

Some of the little monkeys found some paint and drew on our white tiger, Bitey. They painted his whiskers gold and splattered stars all over his body. He kept trying to lick the paint off and then they would draw them on again.

Mojo went to the shops and came back with some shrimp. “Now lets put these shrimp on the barbie!” he said with a wide grin.

Don’t worry, I made him take the shrimp back. He returned with a box of sausages. “Snags,” I reminded him. “We call them snags” And my little disciple said “you beaut! Mate, lets eat these snags!”

I told him we didn’t eat snags when they were raw. Fortunately, Abu and Timmy had been working on making some sort of barbecue (“barbie”) from all the spare scraps of tin they could find across town. Jo-Jo cleaned the grill and then we lit the fire and put the “snags” on.  The other monkeys, led by Benji, went to the nearby safari zone to borrow some kangaroos.

They had to drag a pair of kangaroos back in dog collars but when the kangaroos saw what we were trying to do, they were delighted to get involved. We couldn’t find some gloves but they had an exhibition match anyway in the middle of the courtyard. The monkeys and the local Balinese men – who raced down when they learnt what was happening – took bets on the winner. As the “barbie” caught on fire,  I wondered what sort of monstrosity we had turned Australia Day into.

“Yeah, I don’t feel it either,” Garrett said. “I think the secret to Australia Day is not giving a damn about it. And we tried too hard.” Then he handed me a pair of thongs. “Happy Australia Day, mate.” I put them  on my feet and I thanked him for the thongs.

“Thongs! They are pluggers!” he said, and he tackled me in the creek when I argued with him. “They are thongs!” I screamed, and the kangaroos jumped into the water.

“Ay, break it up!” the kangaroos said, holding both of us back from each other. “It’s not worth it, ay.”

“Snags are ready, get em while they’re greasy,” Mojo shouted.

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

Tree Force

AFTER spending a few weeks with Dad and six monkeys in a fancy villa for Christmas holidays, I’m finally back in the monkey forest. Dad dropped us off at the forest gates this morning and threw each monkey out individually.

“You have all been horrible,” he said to us as he rubbed Mojo’s bite mark on his forearm. “Good riddance,” he said as he slammed the door. The car screeched away.

Rafiki started crying. This was surprising. He puts on such an arrogant persona, hates everyone, that I hadn’t noticed until then that he almost worshiped my dad. Later, I heard him mutter that my dad should be the king, not me.

I was relaxing in my favourite tree after ordering one of the monkeys to bring me an ice tea, when Gina climbed up the ladder. She didn’t look happy to be in the forest. But her boss had ordered her to come and tell me in person – because I smashed my phone after Gina and I used Bitstrip photos to argue – that the television executives were hoping to use the monkeys for another television show. A BETTER television show than the last one, which is a relief because Big Monkey was a terrible idea.

This show will be called Tree Force.

So right now the monkeys are being taught by professional renovators the basics how to build and renovate. The idea is that the monkeys will work together in pairs to build rooms around the tree while they bicker and squabble and use power tools to hurt each other (which apparently makes good TV).  Supposedly, in four weeks we’ll have a super tree house.

Maybe like this!

images.businessweek.com

images.businessweek.com

But I have my doubts.

Have the producers forgotten these are just damn monkeys? What madness is this? Monkeys can’t build tree houses. I wouldn’t even trust the monkeys with a hammer.

At the moment Mojo is at the foot of the tree, working on the front porch. I just hope he knows what he’s doing with that chainsaw.

Categories: Humor, television shows | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

What monkeys believe is the meaning of Christmas

WHILE Dad visits the fancy resort’s golf course, the monkeys I smuggled into the boot of our driver’s car chill out by the pool with me. We have interesting conversations over Bintang, like about Nelson Mandela, and what Christmas is about.

Since the monkeys have not celebrated Christmas before, and considering they live on an island of Hindus, their perspectives are interesting…and laughable. It’s like asking children where they think babies come from.

Here are six views about what Christmas is about. They cover religion, materialism, music, and family:

MOJO:Everyone knows that Christmas is a religious ceremony. Shrines dedicated to Santa are installed in the shopping temples. Ceremonies involve proud parents bringing their children to Santa’s altar, where he then judges to see if they have been naughty and nice.  He determines this by testing the children with this question; “and what would you like for Christmas?”

It is usually customary for Santa to return the children. Though I believe there have been cases where some children who ask for nuclear weapons or roofies are smuggled into a sack where they are never seen again.

rocket launcher kid

RAFIKI: Christmas is celebrated by Christians. They received gifts like tan lotion and bikinis and strut on beaches in the near nude and practice their infidelity.

(he didn’t exactly say it like that, but I hate Rafiki, and I want everybody else to hate him too)

cover-universe.com

cover-universe.com

ABU: Christmas is about presents!

The idea is based off an ancient teaching that it is better to give than it is to receive.

But I don’t think people are practicing to receive well enough. I’ve observed many receipients who get an unexpected present and say “you shouldn’t have!” like the person who gave it to them was improper to think of them. Others groan and look unhappy and say “This DVD has the wrong region code. It’s useless!”

Smile! Cause people love you so much that they feel obliged to give you stuff.

From craftinsurance.com

From craftinsurance.com

Simeon: Let’s break it down. What’s Christmas about? Um…Jesus?

What’s Jesus about? Um…love?

So that means Christmas is about love, right.

But where is the love? I don’t see it. Cause people are living like they ain’t got no mommas. Only attracted to things that bring the drama.

In conclusion, Christmas is about living through the teachings of the Black Eyed Peas.

From hpmusic.net

From hpmusic.net

JO-JO: Christmas is about having fun with the family.

Get them drunk. Stay back and enjoy the chaos. It’s magical.

From refinery29.com

From refinery29.com

CAZZA: Christmas is about…um…singing Christmas carols? My favourite is little drummer boy. Come they told me, rum pum pum, pum.

I like that song because the drummer boy is broke and destitute, and I’m pretty sure he’s a meth addict (read between the lines). And he doesn’t have anything to give baby king Wenceslas, who is prophesised to be the greatest king in history.

But the drummer boy realises that he can worship to his king through his ability to drum to Megadeth. In fact, I believe drummer boy’s real name is Joey Kramer, who played for Aerosmith.

From drummerworld.com

From drummerworld.com

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

The Monkey King’s daddy issues

SURE, you would think my parents could just be proud of me being a Monkey King. But they aren’t.

Dad warned me he was coming to visit me in Bali for Christmas. He was going to stay at some five star resort almost an hour out of Ubud and I wasn’t expecting to see him until tomorrow.

Except he walked into the forest. I saw him coming into the forest with a bewildered expression. I screamed “Nooo!” when I saw Mojo offer him candy (Dad didn’t want that candy, believe me).

Dad watched me disgustedly as I climbed down the tree. Examined my long hair and split ends. “Get a shirt on!” he said, wrinkling his nose. It is the first thing he has said to me in two years. He has never forgiven me for failing my Bachelor of Law. (read more about dad here). I remembered then I hadn’t had a shower since the day before yesterday. The humidity really does get to you as  well. I felt sticky and exhausted.

Davie-sketch-web-quality

He said he wasn’t going to take me to stay at a fancy resort looking how I was.

“Good, I’m staying here with my monkeys,” I said, and then he grabbed my arm and dragged me out of the forest. The monkeys howled and chased us and before you know it they had grabbed my dad and were tugging him in eight or nine different directions.

“Stop!” I said as dad screamed “my arms! My arms!”

“Let’s go away and have some family time without the monkeys,” dad said, and got up, dusting himself. He yelled angrily as he popped his arm socked back in. “I just haven’t got anyone to spend Christmas with, except you.” He looked so desperate and made me feel so guilty.

“Alright, I’ll go with you,” I said. “Let me get some gear together.”

Dad walked to the car he hired and slid into the back seat. I told the monkeys they had to stay as I dragged a satchel of possessions into the boot. The driver got out of his seat to help me. I gave him money and he grinned and winked when six of the monkeys smuggled themselves in with the bag.

We shut the door and drove away. Dad didn’t even look at me when we were in the car. He was on his mobile phone. When I heard the monkeys make noises in the boot, screaming at each other that they were cheating at the monopoly game they were playing, I would clap or kick at the floor or fake cough. Dad would yell louder into the phone every time I would make these sounds.

Yeah, happy Christmas! I just wanted to be with the monkeys for Christmas and to teach them about this holiday.

Categories: Humor | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , | 5 Comments

Silly little dreamer’s birthday

My birthday in tropical paradise! I rise from my throne with a yawn and a wookie growl. It’s hard to tell whether it is the burn of the sun, or an orchestra of monkeys (and a drop bear) that wakes me from my slumber.

I leave the tree by sliding down the newly constructed flying-fox, which finishes halfway along Monkey Forest Road. It’s the best way to escape the forest without being chased by a white tiger (you sneak back in by hiding behind a tourist). Some of the monkeys follow but I kindly tell them to leave me alone for a little while. Cause I need ME time.

Bitstrip rainbows

I sit down for a refreshing ginger and apple juice at the Three Monkeys Bar. Get a massage. Ride my moped without a helmet on, dammit. Have a copper pull me up, and he recognises me and smiles and sings “Happy Birthday Mr Monkey King” in broken English, then asks for money.

I play soccer with a group of local kids in a nearby village, have Mi goreng for lunch, and get a tattoo of a machine-gun wielding monkey on my back.

I believe a birthday should be a celebration of life. Nothing planned. Nothing set. No sit down roast dinners. I think it should be doing everything on the spot. Laughing when you’re 80 and saying “See this shriveled tattoo of a monkey gunning down Nazis? My 24th! I know!” Waking up and running out of your home and facing the world and saying “I always wanted to do this, so dammit! This is my time!”

But I realised that I just wanted to be with my monkeys. I could imagine that they were sad and lonely, wondering why they couldn’t celebrate my birthday with me.

SONY DSC

Photograph by Carol Boaden

But no, when I got back I found the selfish bastards my friends drunk. It was too hot to dance. Most of them were just chilling on Bali lounges with tequilas and chatting up hot Swedish tourists. Moby was playing so loud on our collection of stereos that I could hear him from the other end of Monkey Forest Road. The traffic was hell, with most of the locals swarming closer, refusing to miss another monkey party. A bouncer (what the? Who hired him?) was blockading the gate, only letting in the chicks.

“You can’t come in!” the bouncer said. “I’ve been warned about you.” Then he chuckled and slapped me on the back and said “had you going.”

I entered, surveying the madness. I stepped over what I first thought was a mutated hedgehog (nothing like Sonic though) but was actually a stoned white tiger with an insane amount of tranquilisers pinned into the fur.

I grabbed a “cold one” from an esky and that’s when all the monkeys jumped up and ambushed me and lifted me. I crowd surfed all the way through the forest and was at last put down onto my throne. The monkeys handed  me presents and cards, blabbering I had to open theirs first.

Well, I couldn’t open everybody’s first, so they helped me do it. Mojo opened Timmy’s present, a Kris (Indonesian sword). “Oh boy!” Just what I wanted!” Mojo shrieked, and ran down the tree with it to show his friends.

Garrett the drop-bear gave me a collection of The Doors albums, Jo-Jo gave me a golden engraved staff and some socks, and Lucy returned my Gossip Girl DVDs.

I opened the cards last. That’s how I do things.

This was my favourite cover:

monkey king card

But wait! There’s more!

Monkey king card 2

 I couldn’t have had a better year, so thank you all for putting up with my eccentricities and crazy dreams. I love you all.

Categories: Humor, Party | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

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