Monkey Pickles – A Living History from Irrational Geographic

Monkey Pickles – A Living History from Irrational Geographic

Monkey Pickles & Me
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(Allergy Information : This article may contain nuts :D)

My first contribution to The Monkey Pickles Universe was a piece suggesting that its creator would merrily bounding around happily licking faces in innocent greeting & offer the quirky promise of a refuge from reality. Little did I know how right I was.

Before Monkey Pickles I was mildly enjoying a snowball fight in less sparkly group when Mr M.Pickles bounded through with his MP business cards ( written in Cheese Whiz on crackers ). I took one … & very tasty it was too.
Having washed it down with a scoop of snow I considered its message.
Don’t eat the yellow snow.” …. I probably should have thought on that sooner. … But there was also the invitation to this land of treasures.
” Yarrr !! ” thought I, duct taping a parrot to a shoulder & poking myself in one eye. “This be for me, says I to thee. Yarrr! ”

Further posts reported Bigfoot style sightings of Mr. Pickles, with his following of feral cats & his adventures  in staying one bound ahead of the befuddled authorities.

Still nothing bad happened to me and no men in black suits & dark glasses appeared at my door with a special pen that …………………………… sorry. … what was I saying?

…… Oh yes, ” How curious. ” I thought. ” At this point there are usually white coats & butterfly nets. It is almost as if I am being encouraged to express the side of me that one school report described as …. complicated.”
” Cool ! ” I exclaimed to my dog, which didn’t really appreciate my revelation or pass comment upon it, ” I think I could enjoy myself here. ”

And it was with the profile picture of a flaming cat that I discussed the topic “What would you do with the person above you?”… suggesting I crawl slowly across window sills pretending to be the sunrise while my accomplice set off a cockrel. This, too, seemed to go down well ( but not until sunset ) & again nothing bad happened. People continued to get up in plenty of time, continued to be friendly & welcoming & the sun rose as normal … & mewed at them.

There were fewer than 300 Monkey Picklers back then but like moths to a cat of fire ( Stoopid moths. I’m not The Moon. I’m a cat & I’m in trouble. Fetch help. No, don’t come closer yo ….. Well now you’re going to have to walk home, aren’t you? ) … more wonderful individual minds arrived to find that they too could ‘share’ without the fear of medical intervention.

And such adventures I had.

I invented the game, ” What’s The Anti-Matter? “. Created new species such as Soap Bubble Puppies & the Hugapotamus ... And became a King.
I even survived a challenge to my throne, tricking the simple turncoat, through his love for chocolate, into lordship of what was actually The Royal Kitty Litter.
” What has that to do with chocolate? “, you say.
Well sadly .. kitty isn’t in th best of health these days. But …shush. Don’t say anything because Lord Kitty-Litter is still really pleased that the chocolate isn’t fattening.

 

I now know the wonders of duct tape & of BRWBBs, have mastered the ninja battle cry of SPARKLES! I HAZ DEM, appreciate the value of the Wong answer and now realise that what is missing from a good snowball fight is a variety of interesting & suspiciously pungent soft centres. And yet there is so much more from too many under recognised brilliant minds.

The wisdom of your contributions simply cannot be measured.

And although it is wonderful exploring my imagination, getting lost & not finding my way out again … despite the trail of bread crumbs (very tasty) it is YOU, my fellow Picklers, that make it all possible. I have learnt & enjoy so much from you. My horizons have been expanded to such an extent that they contain shipping lanes.

Thank you all so so much.

(Compliments contain dairy product & must be consumed by egos within date)

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Nick Jackson was born in the UK, the land of gunpowder tea, but moved to America to escape exploding cups of tea. He now lives in Florida where he attempts come to terms with concepts such as how flat everything is and whether the alligator is a golfer's natural predator. Nick has written for Monkey Pickles from the beginning, as established in Cern, Switzerland, with the discovery of the long-sought Monkey Pickle Particle. He is somewhat "freaked out" by writing in the third person. Nick is motivated to write for the pleasure of the experience rather than to pay the bills, but he does recognize that pleasure is still not an acceptable method of payment in most respectable retail outlets. He hopes to raise a smile or two before being ejected from the store.