Read part one here.
The pungent smell of the German’s burnt equipment was stinging my nostrils like a thousand invisible bees. But in my time in this vast maze of hallways, I had learned that just about anything could be used for survival. So here I was, pawing through the remains of the scientist’s last experiment. And for the past few minutes I have become acutely aware:
Something is following me.
The signs aren’t exactly subtle. The smell of feces and mange floats through the air, stabbing me in the nostrils like a thousand invisible knives.
Fuckin’…why the nostrils today? Nostrils? Really?
Anyway, the smell was covering up my own body odor, which reeked of a thousand vomit-soaked floors in a thousand shady frat parties. So I was cool with it. However, after my discovery of a mad German scientist with a working lightsaber, I was starting to think that just about anything could happen in this place. The thought of something stinky following me therefore filled me with apprehension. It could be just about anything: zombies, mutants, Jeff Goldblum. ANYTHING.
So you can imagine my surprise at what did come out of the woodwork. Something fell in the darkness of the lab. I whirled around and sliced through the dark with my flashlight, searching for the noise’s origin. More sounds echoed off of the walls, coming from everywhere, nowhere, and the smell of mange grew closer. Like a rising tide, I could feel fear filling up and falling into the crevices of my mind, clouding my brain as I feverishly searched for the creature in the darkness. Images flashed through my head: Every horror movie I had ever seen came to mind like lightning striking my brain despite my attempts to remain calm. As the noises grew, and the smell came closer, I was about ready to scream like a girl and hightail it outta there.
And then, what should hop into my flashlight but the cutest little monkey you EVER did see!
Let me make one thing clear right now: I loves monkeys.
This was shown in my outburst of relief and delight: “Baseedah…AAWWWW…Eesjusta liddle monkeeeeeeey…. Come here, monkeeey…” And I opened my arms in a gesture of friendship, acceptance…and love.
The monkey was not amused.
My affection was met by a hail of steaming feces. I remained calm, pausing only to remark, “My eyes, my eyes, why oh why in the eyes…my God, you have forsaken me…”
After a blind, stumbling trip to the emergency chemical wash, I returned only to find that my furry little friend had deserted me. I could feel the blackness of despair welling up in my heart like a-bubblin’ crude. My loneliness at this point was so crushing that even a friend who flung feces was better than no friend at all. So, I searched, high and low, for my poop-shooting friend.
I didn’t know much about catching monkeys, but I had played Ape Escape, so I knew a few things. A: If there’s one nation that knows about catching monkeys, it’s the Japanese. B: All monkeys have bright-red ambulance lights on their heads. Unfortunately, this monkey defied rule B, which brings rule A into question. Hence, I was back to square one.
So I devised a cunning, multi-tiered plan to catch the puckish primate. I asked myself: “If I were lost in Tech (which I am) and I was a monkey (which I am not exactly), what would I want?” The obvious answer: food.
So I set about foraging for delicious monkey treats, and I assembled some traps. I didn’t know what foods the monkey liked, but everybody loves nachos, and everybody loves hamburgers, QED, everyone loves nacho burgers. Tracking my quarry was no problem…I just had to follow the feces. Finally, I came near, and with my makeshift net at the ready, I carefully laid out a big, warm plate of nacho-burger goodness. Because the best way to start ANY friendship is with the bait-and-trap maneuver. At least, I think.
***
I’ve been here a while.
I waited for what seemed like eons…the halls were quiet, but the stench of my prey betrayed him…I felt like a jungle cat, hunting on smell, running on instinct. I was wedged into the overhead ventilation shaft, ready to spring on my quarry when he stopped to munch down below. I turned to look at the net on my waist to check that the spit, mucus, duct tape and chewing gum was still holding it together; not an easy task in the cramped ventilation shaft. Try as I might to stay silent, I made a considerable amount of noise in attempting to move in the ventilation duct. Having finally made sure of my net’s condition, I turned back to look at the food. Every muscle tensed up and despair shot through me.
The food was gone.
I pounded my fists on the sides of the ducts, and flung obscenities down the cold, metal shaft. To my surprise, my swearing was greeted by a low, primal growl, and upon looking down the shaft, I came face to face with my monkey prey. His face was contorted into an angry expression, and he was baring his teeth at me menacingly.
I decided to try an icebreaker to defuse his hostility: “Hey, monkeeeeeey! You wan’ be my friiiiiiend?”
The monkey responded by inflicting several deep and jagged wounds on my head and chest. Now, I’m not exactly a monkeyologist, but I’m pretty sure that’s a friendly greeting in Monkeyland. That’s common knowledge. But for some reason, the monkey departed, leaving me bleeding profusely from the eye sockets and neck. I can only assume that he had a fear of commitment, and was not willing to take our relationship to a more serious level at the time. I’ve gone through this experience several times before with women. As they have with men. Truly, we are all monkeys in a way…both genetically and emotionally. Wait…what was I talking about?
Um, yeah…the monkey. I, uh…I seem to be having difficulty keeping all of my mental faculties in order as of late. I’ve noticed a lot more floating food items, like cheese sandwiches and the like. Aw…I remember cheese…cheese was the shit. Now, it is only a rare delicacy when I find it in the break rooms. Occasionally, anthropomorphic cheese appears in the classrooms to taunt me in my moments of extreme hunger. Sometimes, I’ve even fantasized about the monkey being covered in cheese. He’s a DIRTY monkey.
Wait, what? No…okay. Back on track. It’s taking more and more effort to keep my mind in focus. I yearn so much for companionship…anything to stop the downward slide into insanity. God, I wish there was anything human in this place. But I guess I’ll have to settle for animals. If…if only the monkey could make cheese. God, if I could milk that little fucker, it would make my fucking month. Note to self: experiment with options for monkey milking…but what if it’s a he?
Dammit, I’m doing it again! Jesus fucking Christ, if I don’t find somebody to talk to, I swear to God I’m going to fucking lose it…
FUCK…
Okay…okay. After my friendly encounter with my simian friend, I decided other methods would have to be applied towards wooing the monkey. STEP ONE! Procure boom box from a professor’s office. STEP TWO! Make Peter Gabriel mix CD from professor’s iTunes. STEP THREE! More food. Obviously, the monkey liked the meat and nachos. Unfortunately, I couldn’t track down more…I had to go with whatever I found, which happened to be bratwurst, from one of the break rooms. This time, I stood at the ready around a corner from the bait, with the boom box and Peter at the ready.
I smelt his mangy musk as he made is way to the bratwurst, and heard him let out a delighted “Ook!” An ook…that melted my heart. I turned the corner, staring longingly into his monkey eyes. And to my immense delight, he stared back.
He sat Indian-style on the cold linoleum, staring intently at me and my boom box and munching on his bratwurst like a beaver munching a log…a log of meat. God, I haven’t been laid in so long.
I put such thoughts out of my head, and let Peter Gabriel say what was inside my heart.
I thrust the boom box to the sky. “In Your Eyes” flowed down the corridors, like a passionate scent from a lit candle. The monkey let out a confused “Ook?” It seemed I had found my way into his small, primate heart. He slowly advanced toward me, as my eyes teared up, and I CRANKED THE VOLUME. We shared…a moment of togetherness. Of friendship.
Then “Shock the Monkey” came on, also by Peter Gabriel. I think he got confused. He started backing away. I desperately tried to soothe him, and I put down the boom box, moving toward him. I could feel the moment slipping away, and I clawed with both hands to keep us there. I reached out to the monkey, trying to grab him. He took offense, and clawed at me, scuttling off down the corridor. I couldn’t lose him…not now, God, not now. I gave chase down the hallways, screaming for him to come back, that I didn’t mean anything, it was just a bunch of different songs, but my pleas fell on deaf monkey ears.
The monkey twisted and turned through the hallways–he was a fast little beast. I can’t believe something with such short legs could move so fucking fast. I was having trouble keeping up. My chest was heaving like a blast furnace, and my legs were like pistons, pumping harder than they ever have before. But fire was welling up in them. I wouldn’t last much longer.
Suddenly, the monkey stopped. He stood before me, tense, ready to defend himself. For the first time since the chase began, I started registering my surroundings. The monkey had stopped at a door marked “Fire Command Center”. I saw that the hallways, too, were different…a warm, inviting mahogany hue, so different from the cold corridors I had lived inside for so long. I had wallowed in my own filth for so long, I broke down to tears at the site of such warmth, such hominess…and then I saw it.
The entrance of Tech.
Words didn’t come, only a gushing outpour of relief, of ecstasy. This monkey before me was my furry savior. He had delivered me from my solitary anguish; my private linoleum hell. I couldn’t say anything to thank him…I just moved to hug him, shouting incoherently with joy and madness…and then the Fire Command door slid open with a “whoosh.”
The “whoosh” was followed by the sounds of gun hammers cocking and the smell of gun oil. The door slid back to bring me face to face with four German rifles, held by four German Nazis.
“Oh, shit.” The poop came out, let me tell you.
I said the first witty comment that came to my mind. “Uh, sorry… wrong door. Maybe?”
I turned to bolt, only to feel German arms like steel coils grab me from behind, holding me fast. I heard a deep, rolling German burr bark , “Not so fast, Amerikaner…zer vill be no escape for you!”
The soldier reached down to the monkey, who scrambled onto his shoulder. “Excellent verk, Klaus…ze Commandant vill be most pleased.
My soul burned with the fire of betrayal. “Et tu, Monkey?”
I was prodded into the Fire Command Center with the butt of a rifle towards a large, grimy-looking elevator. One of the Nazis flipped a switch on the wall, sending sparks flying from the ancient lever. As we descended into the bowels of Tech, one of the Germans smugly remarked “You look tired, Amerikaner…why not have a nap?” A rifle butt pulverized the back of my head…and everything turned to darkness.
TO BE CONTINUED…
***
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And now, a very special message from Charlton Heston:
Good afternoon…I’m Charlton Heston. I don’t know necessarily where I am or what I ate for breakfast today. But I just want to tell you, make it very clear, that what you read today is a prime example of the single greatest evil that faces our nation: monkeys.
All you need to know is this…the cute exterior of that fuzzy simian friend belies a heart FULL OF MALICE!! Oh, I KNOW about MONKEYS…one day, they’re wearing a fez and dancing in the street, playfully flinging their poo, and the next thing you know, they’re on HORSEBACK chasing you with RIFLES!!
If there’s one single greatest justification for the 2nd Amendment, it’s to keep the Apes down, in their rightful place at circuses, zoos, and cosmetic testing. By God, if we didn’t have guns, those apes would be running the show right now. Don’t tell me I’m crazy, I’ve seen Congo…that ape could TALK for Chrissake! Those damn dirty apes would be buying newspapers and signing mortages, and marrying your daughters before you know it if we didn’t have the firepower to keep ‘em down…Die, die, die pig, die… I remember when people read newspapers every day when they’d come home from work…’twas a simpler time back then…you knew who the enemy was. In this case, it was apes and godless Communists. But really, what’s the difference?
I’m telling you right now, if I see either one, I’m blowing their flipping balls off so neither one can reproduce. That’s strategy folks…and now, you know. Charlton Heston, signing off.