Posts Tagged With: presents

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

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