Some People Have No Shame

I got this e-mail today:

STRICTLY CONFIDENTIAL.

You may be surprised to receive this letter from me since you don't know me personally.I am Miss Juliana Maneti,the eldest daughter of Late Patrick Maneti,who was mudered by evil robot monkeys recently in Zimbabwe.

I did not know your person but I relied on faith to see me through.Before the death of my father,he had deposited the sum of US$20.5Million (Twenty Million Five Hundred Thousand Dollars),in one of the private security companies in Johannesburg,as if he foresaw the looming danger from monkeys in Zimbabwe. This fund was meant for the purchase of new weapons and research to fight monkeys in Swaziland.

A lot of people were killed because of the monkeys which my late father was one of the victims. Based on this,my family were scattered. I am staying here in Italy as a refugee while my mother and my younger ones are staying in South Africa
as refugees.We decided to contact you to assist us in transfering this money to your country for buying weapons.The monetary/investment Law of South Africa and Italy prohibt refugees(assylum seekers) to run bank accounts or be involved in any business transaction/investment.It is on this that we contacted you hoping that you will assist us with the fight against monkeys by the name of God.

As the eldest daughter,I am saddled with the responsibility of seeking a genuine and an honest person who will assist us in transfering this fund out of South Africa without the knowledge of my country(Zimbabwe)government who are in league with the evil robot monkeys who are bent on taking everything that my late father had after confiscating all his farm lands and investment in Zimbabwe.We are left with nothing here.

For your kind assistance my Mother and I are offering you 20% of the fund after the succesful transfer of the fund to your account.5% will be set aside for any expenses that might result in the process of this transaction,while the remaining 75% will be for my family which will be used to fight monkeys.

Contact me with this e-mail ( julmaneti@netscape.net ) if this proposal is of interest to you, while I implore you to maintain absolute confidentiality required in this transaction.

Yours truly,
Miss Juliana Maneti.

More about Miles

So, where was I?

The next day, Miles took me back to the microfiche room and showed me his stash.

Holy crap. I guess the Monkey Wars haven't been so bad for him. He has suitcases full of stuff - just an amazing array of pills and powders and herbs and paraphenalia. I didn't even recognize a lot of it but he was happy to explain and offer samples. I declined, and not just because DAISI was sort of growling at me.

"Where did you get all this?" I asked him.

He looked a little sheepish, and told me that he's been going around to houses and sort of exploring them and taking what he wanted.

"You steal drugs from dead people?"

"No! It's not like that."

"Yes, it is."

"Well, they don't need it any more, do they? Besides, where did all your gin come from? All those canned peaches? The surveillance cameras you ripped off from Radio Shack?"

"That's different."

"How?" he said, all defiant.

"Shut up," I explained.

"But-" he said, but he did shut up when DAISI went on alert and glared at him. Those two don't get along at all. He just can't believe that she's really not evil any more. I guess I can't blame him but I do wish those two would get along better. Would it kill her to have one of his special cigarettes?

He told me he's been burying the bodies he finds in the houses. But sometimes the bodies are just too awful, or there are too many of them.

He burns those houses down.

Well, that was kind of an awkward moment, so we had one of his special cigarettes and relaxed a little. It still wasn't funny but it didn't seem so bad any more, you know?

"Seriously, though," he said after a while. "Why aren't you on your way to Atlanta to join Jimmy Carter's army?"

He'd said something about that the other day, but I thought he was just making stuff up. "I love Jimmy Carter," I said. I'd never heard of Jimmy Carter's army but damned if I was going to admit that to some stupid stoner. "But where did *you* hear about the army?"

"Duh," he said. "It's not a secret."

Oh.

"I know that," I said. "But where did *you* hear about it?" Awkward pause. "Because I'm interested in seeing how information travels in the post-monkey-apocalypse world," I said. "I'm interested in how new social networks develop under these conditions. What new information pathways develop? Can we learn anything about the regenerative properties of neural networks and chaotic systems?" I have no idea what that meant but it sounded good, and I was betting that Miles wouldn't know what it meant, either.

"Dude," he said. "That's so cool. Chaotic systems - you mean like the thing where a butterfly flaps its wings and then the velociraptors get loose in Jurassic Park?"

"Right. Just like that."

"That's so cool."

DAISI piped up. "Neural networks not that! Chaotic not --" but I kicked her and she shut up.

"Don't mind her," I told Miles. "Programming, you know how it is." I rolled my eyes and he rolled his companionably. "So come on, where did you hear about the Army?"

And he told me. Then we got another Molly Ringwald movie to watch, and as soon as he fell asleep, I went over to the computer and looked it up.

Holy crap. The stoner was right. Jimmy Carter's calling all the survivors to make their way to Atlanta to join his army.

It will be magnificent. I guess I'd been so busy studying Anglo-Saxon that I hadn't been doing much networking. But no more. I was on top of things again. I was back in the loop. I know what's been going on, and I knew that it was time to get out of the library and get back into the Monkey Wars.

It will be magnificent.

I'll start packing in the morning. But first, I finished off Miles's cigarette and watched the end of "Sixteen Candles."

Some Monkeys Have a Problem

Chris posted a link to an article about monkeys and alcohol consumption; give it a read.

Monkeys drink more alcohol when housed alone, and some like to end a long day in the lab with a boozy cocktail, according to a new analysis of alcohol consumption among members of a rhesus macaque social group.

DAISI refuses all offers of gin. Maybe she can't consume alcohol (as I said earlier, evil robot monkeys don't eat bananas), or maybe she's just more of a tequila girl. I'll have to ask her.

I'm reminded of this quotation from a New York Times article about the Robert Blake trial, back BM. I swear to God that I am not making this up:

Earlier in the trial, a professor from the University of California, Los Angeles, testified as an expert witness about the psychotropic effects of cocaine. He said that he had smoked crack cocaine himself and sat in a cage with monkeys to teach them how to smoke cocaine as well.

Maybe tonight we'll try to get DAISI to smoke one of Miles's special cigarettes, and then watch Pretty in Pink with us.

A Conversation With Miles

sorry, sorry, now I'm weeks behind. I am trying diligently to get everyone caught up, I swear!

OK, so, after I kicked Miles's ass at Scrabble, I was feeling pretty mellow. He took his loss well - he's a good loser. He said some crap about just enjoying the game and not being particularly concerned about whether he wins or not, but I wasn't really listening.

After Scrabble, we went down to the DVD collection and picked out a movie to watch on the big-screen TV in the Young Adult section. I really really hate picking movies. "What do you want to watch?" "I don't know, what do you want to watch?" "How about The Terminator?" "No, that's stupid. How about Pride and Prejudice?" argh.

Finally I just blindfolded Miles and turned him loose on the DVDs and told him to pick one. I couldn't stand it any more. He didn't mind; he's actually turning out to be pretty easy to get along with.

So that's how Miles and I ended up watching The Breakfast Club.

And you know what? It was pretty fun. That night might be the first time that I really relaxed since the night the monkeys came.

About halfway through, Miles got out one of his special cigarettes. He offered to share it with me. At first I said no, no, I've got my gin, but I have to admit, I was curious.

I'm not very good at smoking. I don't think it had much of an effect on me. But HOLY CRAP, The Breakfast Club is fucking HILARIOUS. We just laughed and laughed and laughed. I'm not sure I even heard much of the dialog because we were laughing so hard. I mean, Molly Ringwald! ahahahahahahahahahaha! And the party! ahahahahahahaha!

After the movie was over, we were pretty hungry, so I opened up a can of peaches. PEACHES! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! And the can opener! HA! Miles says, dude! It opens! The cans! and I just laughed and laughed and laughed.

We ate that whole can of peaches, and then we started talking. I told Miles all about the night the monkeys came, and what it was like to live in the basement, and about Derek and Gretchen and how much I miss them, and about that buddhist nun, whatever her name was.

And he told me about his life BM, as he calls it - Before Monkeys. That set him off laughing for another 20 minutes but he told me about how he grew up in Chicago, and then came out to this state to do some environmental work with a hemp advocacy group, and all about biodiesel and the Grateful Dead and peace marches and all that crap. He gave me another one of his special cigarettes about then so I just sort of let him talk. The laser rifle was on another floor, anyway, so I am not sure how I would have been able to shut him up.

The day the monkeys came, he'd been in the microfiche room reading old newspapers and magazines. He was researching something about how the government was supposedly suppressing alternative fuel research or some crap like that, I don't know, who listens? That's where he was when the monkeys came. He heard the shooting and the screaming and he hid. He was lucky that monkeys don't read microfiche.

Once it was all quiet, he came out - and, well, you know what the aftermath of a monkey attack was. He smoked several of his cigarettes, and then, slowly, he cleaned up the library. He cleaned up the whole damn library. It was a Saturday afternoon and it was a popular place on Saturdays - but Miles cleaned up the whole damn thing.

I didn't say anything for a little while. I kind of felt bad about how he annoyed the crap out of me. He really was a good person, and had lost just as much as I had.

After a while he just sort of shook himself. He smiled at me, and then he said, "so, you're like this total badass monkey-fighter. Why haven't you gone to Atlanta to join Jimmy Carter's army?"

I just took another drag on that special cigarette. I laughed and laughed and laughed.

Good news, Bad news

Turns out Miles lied about his name. Stupid lying pothead. His last name isn't Long, it's Davenport. God, he laughed and laughed and laughed when he confessed. I am starting to hate him already, him and his stupid cackle.

What is so damn funny? Everything I say just makes him laugh.

On the plus side, stoners suck at Scrabble. WOO!

And the intruder is . . .

OK! So I said I was going to post yesterday. Or the day before. But I didn't. SUE ME. Ooops, you can't, because the evil robot monkeys said first, let's kill the lawyers. They are not stupid, you know. bwah ha ha!

Anyway.

After setting up the surveillance cameras, DAISI and I spotted someone coming out of the microfiche room. I kind of freaked out - microfiche? who the hell goes to the microfiche room these days? plus, well, it's creepy that someone else has been living in the library with us for all these weeks, sneaking around and stealing my Philip K. Dick books, etc.

but microfiche? WTF?

DAISI and I had a brief consultation, and decided to go down there and apprehend our visitor. We couldn't tell much about him from our little cameras - we were pretty sure he was a guy from the way he moved, and from his general body shape - but we couldn't tell for sure.

We each picked up a laser rifle. "Maybe not bad human is," DAISI said. I'm used oto the way she talks now, mostly.

"Maybe not," I said, "but he has no business sneaking around like that, does he? He's up to no good." DAISI was skeptical but I convinced her. She seemed to think that he was just as afraid of us as we were of him.

But we're not afraid of him. We have laser rifles.

So we headed up to the little microfiche room on the third floor. I'd noticed the room earlier, when I was exploring the library, but I never bothered to go in there. I mean, seriously, microfiche? I'd jiggled the handle on the door but it was locked, and I was positive that there was nothing in that room that I wanted.

DAISI and I crept up on the room silently. You should have seen us - it was beautiful. It was like something out of a ninja movie. We were shadows - shadows with laser rifles.

On the count of three, DAISI crashed the door open. The room was occupied - a young man blinked up at us.

"Whoa," he said.

I aimed my rifle at him. "Who the fuck are you?" I shouted.

"Dude. My name is Miles," he said. He was wearing a tie-dyed t-shirt and his hair was this monstrous mess of dreadlocks and braids. "Miles. . . " he hesitated. "Miles Long!" he said, triumphantly, and then he started to laugh.

DAISI just looked at me. But I'd seen his type before. Fucking hippies. Smoking their pot and listening to their Grateful Dead records and having premarital sex. God damn. I couldn't believe that one of them had been smart enough to escape the monkeys.

I guestured to DAISI to lower her rifle. "He's no harm to us," I told her. She looked skeptical but obeyed.

"What are you doing here?" I asked him.

"Dude," he said, and he was still giggling a little, this annoying girlish giggle. "I was just here looking up some information on organic farming, you know? When the monkeys attacked." He looked sober for an instant, then his eyes glazed over again. I forced myself to lower my laser rifle. I could smell the pot in the air - why on earth hadn't I noticed it before? This loser probably smoked enough to fill the entire library with pot.

Maybe that's why I'd been struggling with the subjunctive in Anglo Saxon.

And then he started to cry. I patted him on the shoulder while he told his story. It's a common story: he was minding his own business, and then the monkeys came. He hid while other people died.

I don't blame him; there is nothing he could have done, any more than I could have done anything that first night. But that won't stop him from feeling guilty. It's human to think you could have done something more.

After he told his story, he pulled a packet of greenery out of his pocket and rolled a little cigarette. God damn potheads. I left him to his addiction and went back to the Young Adult section where I was camped out. I poured myself a nice glass of gin and thought about everything he'd told me.

By the time my glass was empty, it was clear. Human beings are pretty scarce these days, so we need to stick together - regardless of our differences.

I would have to befriend Mr. Miles Long.

We Capture the Intruder

Friends, I am truly sorry that it has taken me so long to find the time to update y'all on what's been going on. As always, things are pretty crazy and it's hard to find time, let alone an internet connection. But I've got a few minutes, so I'll try to catch you up. It will probably take me a few days to bring you all up to speed, though, so please be patient! I'm well, those I love are well, and life is good. I hope it's the same for you.

OK, so. Remember I was talking about how things were weird in the library? The elevator would run, I'd hear footsteps, etc? But we never saw anyone? After my last post, DAISI and I left the library and rode my razor scooter over to the mall - it's just a few blocks from the library, so we thought it was worth the risk. We made it to the mall without mishap - no monkeys.

DAISI spent fifteen minutes trying to pick the lock on one of the main doors, but folks, let me tell you. She may be good at Scrabble, but she sucks at picking locks, ok? Finally I got tired of waiting and kicked the damn door open. It's just glass, and I was wearing jeans - no problem.

Have you ever been alone in a mall after hours? It's creepy. Places like that, you're used to having people around, and it just seems wrong when there aren't any.

Well, there were people, but they weren't alive. God. The monkeys must have attacked this mall on a Saturday afternoon or something - corpses everywhere. DAISI and I dragged all the corpses on the first floor into the Foot Locker. Though they were kind of, uh, rotten. "Dragged" is not the best word. I don't want to talk about it.

Anyway. The Radio Shack was on the second floor. The second floor was as bad as the first. We put those bodies in Victoria's Secret, mostly, then put the rest in Borders.

It's just not dignified to leave them lying around on the escalator like that. I can't bury them but I can't just leave them like that.

God. Why don't they put liquor stores in malls here?

I didn't have the heart to go to the third floor. I'm sorry. I am so sorry.

Radio Shack was on the second floor. We got what we needed quickly, and came back to the library. DAISI spent the day installing surveillance cameras. She was kind of pissed, because back when she was an evil robot monkey, she was really good at sniffing out humans - but she hadn't been able to find whoever was in the library with us. She seemed to take it as a personal failure.

"It's ok," I told her. "You're just a robot monkey." She didn't seem very consoled, though. Bitch challenged me to Scrabble, and beat me by 300 points. And, HELLO, why aren't perfectly good anglo-saxon words in the Scrabble dictionary? They are so fucking biased towards Modern English. It just isn't fair.

After three days, our surveillance paid off. We saw someone going into the microfiche room.

Ooops, gotta go. Tell you the rest tomorrow.