The Evil Robot Monkey Chronicles

Evil Robot Monkeys Aren't Enough?

noreply@blogger.com (Clarissa) — Thu, 14 Jun 2007 01:16:00 +0000

Holy crap, I thought we had it bad with the evil robot monkeys. But now I'm hearing reports of zombies everywhere.

Jesus.

Jimmy Carter's Evil Robot Monkey Liberation Army hasn't yet been hit by the zombie scourge; perhaps our defensive tactics are finally paying off. They've kept us (mostly) safe from monkeys for almost a year now - hopefully they'll keep us safe from zombies.

Bummer about the rest of the world, though, you know?

Wouldn't it be cool if we could get the zombies and evil robot monkeys to fight each other? And then we could just swoop in at the end and kill off any last few survivors... I bet the monkeys could take out most of the zombies - they're pretty good with those laser rifles. But surely the zombies would get a few of them. And that's a few less evil robot monkeys that we need to kill.

So what do you say, surviving humans? Head on down to Atlanta and join the Army.

I've got gin.

Don't even pretend you're suprised

noreply@blogger.com (Clarissa) — Fri, 23 Feb 2007 19:25:00 +0000

Chimpanzees in Senegal have been observed making and using wooden spears to hunt other primates.

Post-Apocalyptic Nutrition

noreply@blogger.com (Clarissa) — Sat, 07 Oct 2006 20:19:00 +0000

In the comments, an anonymous reader writes,

You are weird. Peach vodka and martini, really. What happened to good old margaritas. Milking the end of the lime is normal. But _peach_? From a bottle?

I don't know what apocalypse this person's writing from, but let me tell you, the one we're in doesn't offer much variety in the food. Supplies are limited; we've been surviving on canned peaches, beef jerky, and vodka (ever since I finished off the gin). And somehow, mixing beef jerky and vodka just doesn't sound all that appealing.

I'd hoped that when we reached Georgia and Jimmy Carter's army, supplies would be better - but hell, this is the damn peachtree state. More peaches, that's all they have here. One group is working on getting some hydroponic farming going, and other groups have been scavenging the outlying areas for more canned food - but it's a good thing I like peaches.

Next time we have an apocalypse, we're totally using a different caterer. This I swear.

6 Weird Habits Meme

noreply@blogger.com (Clarissa) — Fri, 15 Sep 2006 19:34:00 +0000

So I got tagged to list 6 weird habits of mine. It's hard, because I don't think of most of what I do as weird. Doesn't everyone polish their life-sized bust of Jimmy Carter before they go to sleep every night?

Then I got to thinking about the relevance of memes in our monkey-infested post-apocalyptic world. I mean, do they really offer the same kind of deep personal insight and meaning that they used to, before the monkeys came? Don't they seem a little, well, silly and narcissistic when you compare them to the true horrors that are going on in the real world every day?

So I talked to Mr. Carter about it earlier today (he told me to call him Jimmy! But I just can't. I can't.) and he said that he thought memes and personality quizzes and all that are even *more* important to the world now than they were before the monkeys came, because they offer us a way to reconnect with our lost pre-monkey heritage. By consciously keeping our most important and profound traditions alive despite adversity, we nourish our souls, and gain the strength we need for the long battle that lies before us.

Therefore, I present, Clarissa's 6 Weird Habits

1. Well, I said above that I polish my Jimmy Carter bust every night before I go to bed. I don't think that's very weird - I mean, if you don't run a cloth over it every day it gets all dusty, right? What the hell is so weird about that? It's not like I have it up on an altar and sacrifice a chicken to it every Sunday (like SOME PEOPLE).

2. I have a particular playlist on my iPod that I have to listen to when I'm cleaning my weapons. Once those tunes start, I'm good to go - but if for some reason I can't play my music, I just procrastinate and procrastinate and the weapons never get clean! (I think I'll have to do a whole post soon about music!)

3. When I'm on perimiter patrol, I have a series of things that I chant to myself. First it's "Kill the monkeys" for the first 20 minutes. The next 20 minutes is "Save the human race." Then for the rest of the time I just chant "Jimmy Carter" over and over again. I used to try to recite the names of all my friends and family and loved ones that have been killed by the monkeys, but my patrol shift is only 1.5 hours long.

4. I'm teaching myself Anglo-Saxon so that I can do my own translation of Beowulf. That's kind of weird, yeah. Stupid ablative case! But I try to spend at least half an hour a day studying.

5. When I'm mixing up a nice glass of peach juice and vodka, I have to be sure to get every last drop of peach juice out of the can. I'll stand there for like five minutes literally, just trying to get one last drop of juice out. Mmmm, peaches.

6. Ever since Topeka, I've started tying little origami flowers to the corpses before we burn them. It just makes me feel better somehow.

Now I think I'm going to go do the What Kind of Pirate Are You quiz.

We live in a time of transition . . .

noreply@blogger.com (Clarissa) — Thu, 17 Aug 2006 17:00:00 +0000

We live in a time of transition, an uneasy era which is likely to endure for the rest of this century. During the period we may be tempted to abandon some of the time-honored principles and commitments which have been proven during the difficult times of past generations. We must never yield to this temptation. Our American values are not luxuries, but necessities - not the salt in our bread, but the bread itself.

Jimmy Carter, in his farewell address.

MimiRobby asked if we're "reasonably stable" now. Nothing's been stable since the monkey attacks began - but we have at least reached Atlanta and gotten in touch with Jimmy Carter's army. I haven't met Jimmy Carter yet but I know I will soon! I am so excited!

Kitten!

noreply@blogger.com (Clarissa) — Wed, 16 Aug 2006 18:08:00 +0000

Cassie looks on patiently as Anklebiter bites her ankles.

I'll tell you the story of our growing family soon.

I'm back!

noreply@blogger.com (Clarissa) — Tue, 11 Jul 2006 06:19:00 +0000

Hello, friends. I hope you're all well.

I'm sorry it's been so long since I last checked in. Once we left the library it wasn't so easy to find an internet connection and there was just so much going on!

Tonight we're in a small town close to the Utah/Arizona border. Apparently it was a polygamist town, but it looks pretty normal. We're camped out in a big house in the center of town. I hope we can stay here for a few days. I thought living in the basement was tough, but let me tell you, that's nothing compared to taking a road trip under these conditions, with these people. We're all pretty cranky and I think it would do us all good to just stay here for a little while. Not long; we have places to be.

And if you slow down, the monkeys will get you.

The first thing we did, like always, was scout the town, and drag all the bodies to an open space and burn them. You can say what you want about polygamy, either for or against, but I'm here to tell you that polygamists die like anyone else when the monkeys come after them.

I guess we're lucky that it's so dry here. I'm really not looking forward to seeing what bodies are like in more humid climates - though probably by the time we get there, the worst of it will be over.

Ugh.

There's no vodka in this town, but we stocked up pretty well before we left Salt Lake. So it's ok. Well, it's not ok at all. But it's better than it would be without vodka.

So anyway we dealt with the bodies and then I pulled out the laptop and checked for a wireless connection. It's been days since I've been able to check my e-mail but somehow there's a connection here! Yay!

One of the first things I did after deleting all my spam - HELLO, if even the evil robot monkey apocalypse won't cut down on my spam, nothing will - was see what those geniuses at Shimmer are up to. Their Summer issue is out now, though I haven't been able to get my hands on a copy yet. And their art director, Mary Robinette Kowal, has been interviewed at suite101. Interesting stuff, though I'm disappointed that they didn't talk about how they're able to keep publishing despite the constant threat of monkeys. But, well, ok, it's actually kind of nice to read something that isn't all about death and terror.

God, so much has happened that I barely know where to start. The quick version is that we're on our way to Atlanta to join up with Jimmy Carter's army, but we're going the long way around, detouring through California, and then heading north and then east, and trying to get as many survivors to come with us as possible. Our first stop was the basement for Derek and Gretchen and Madeline, and then we went over to the Convention Center but only three people joined us there. We picked up another three people on the way to Arizona.

Mostly, though, we don't find survivors. But I don't want to talk about that any more.

The best part is having Gretchen back. She's walking pretty well now, and she's just so damn cute when she says "Bad mokee!" That's how she says "monkey."

I'll try to tell you more tomorrow.

Some People Have No Shame

noreply@blogger.com (Clarissa) — Mon, 15 May 2006 03:03:00 +0000

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

noreply@blogger.com (Clarissa) — Sun, 14 May 2006 07:24:00 +0000

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

noreply@blogger.com (Clarissa) — Wed, 10 May 2006 21:57:00 +0000

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

noreply@blogger.com (Clarissa) — Wed, 10 May 2006 06:24:00 +0000

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

noreply@blogger.com (Clarissa) — Thu, 04 May 2006 23:21:00 +0000

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 . . .

noreply@blogger.com (Clarissa) — Thu, 04 May 2006 07:33:00 +0000

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

noreply@blogger.com (Clarissa) — Mon, 01 May 2006 07:35:00 +0000

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.

Read Between The Lines, People

noreply@blogger.com (Clarissa) — Tue, 25 Apr 2006 05:27:00 +0000

Check out this news story on CNN!

FINALLY the media is starting to report what we all know. The story doesn't mention the word "robot" but I think it's pretty clear, don't you?

Tacugama Chimpanzee Sanctuary, eh? Maybe someday I'll have the resources to visit Africa. But remember this, everyone: Tacugama Chimpanzee Sanctuary. I'm not saying that's the ERM hive but it sure seems like a good candidate for the short list, doesn't it?

swear to GOD I'm going to tell you all what's been going on lately. As always, things are busy. We're packing up to leave the library but since we're low on gin the packing should go quickly, so I hope I'll have a few moments to spare tomorrow. It is so exciting!

I've been tagged

noreply@blogger.com (Clarissa) — Sat, 22 Apr 2006 06:03:00 +0000

Mary Robinette, who seems to live in monkey-free Iceland, tagged me! And since several people have recently written to express their concern over my silence, I thought I'd take care of two things at once by replying to her tag.

The deal is I have to tell you six random things about myself.

1. DAISI brings me a lovely cup of coffee every morning. It is very decadent, and at first I was reluctant to let her spoil me like that, but then I realized: she makes a good cup of coffee.

There's a little coffee shop on the ground floor of the library, and DAISI broke in and figured out how to work the coffee machines. Most robot monkeys don't have much experience with coffee makers but DAISI is pretty good at figuring stuff out.

2. I have a birthmark shaped like a little squid. It's on a part of my body that's usually covered by clothes. But if you ever have to identify my body in the aftermath of a monkey attack, that's what you should look for.

3. My favorite color is purple. Dark purple.

4. Hey, I just realized I'm maybe THE pre-eminent Anglo-Saxon scholar in the WORLD today. Unfortunately I don't think the Society for Anglo-Saxon Studies is going to be holding their annual convention this year.

5. Yesterday was Gretchen's first birthday. I wonder what Derek did to celebrate? I miss them both terribly.

6. The library is almost out of gin.

I am too lazy to tag 6 more people. But if I did, they'd be robert, demosthenes, geoffrey, will, aliette, and jilly (who does not really count as a person but what the hey).

Shimmer Spring Bonus Story

noreply@blogger.com (Clarissa) — Sat, 01 Apr 2006 19:14:00 +0000

Those fabulous geniuses at Shimmer just sent me e-mail about a great new bonus story they've put up on their web site. Check it out!

Cat and Mouse

noreply@blogger.com (Clarissa) — Wed, 29 Mar 2006 09:19:00 +0000

This afternoon, I was curled up on one of the beanbag chairs in the Young Adult section, reading a book on Anglo-Saxon grammar (having lost interest in Egyptology over the weekend, having read the DaVinci Code and the Secrets of the Ya Ya Sisterhood and all the Harry Potter books already). I want to be able to discuss "Beowulf" intelligently if I ever meet Jimmy Carter, you know? Translations are good and all, but as one of my college professors said, "reading poetry in translation is like having a Great Dane breathe up your nose."

Huh. Now that I look at that statement all typed out like that, I'm not sure what it means. I guess English wasn't his first language.

So anyway, I'm trying to work my way through the various uses of the subjunctive when I hear the elevator ding.

Scared the crap out of me. Stuff like that has been happening ever since we got here - I told you I was hearing sounds, and my Philip K. Dick book wasn't where I left it. Seems like every day there's something like that - I hear footsteps, or there's a light turned on in a part of the building that I haven't been to for days, or I hear the plumbing running, or something. But every time I look, there's nothing there.

It makes me jumpy.

So when the elevator dinged, I jumped. I grabbed the laser rifle and darted over toward the elevator, ducking low to stay hidden by the kid-sized bookshelves. It couldn't have taken me more than 5 seconds to get over there - but when I peeked out, no one was there. It was utterly silent.

I got pretty good at sitting quietly while we were in the basement, so I just sat and waited. If someone was there, hiding, if someone had flown out of the elevator and was hiding in the stacks even faster than I'd run over here - they'd have to move eventually.

I could see the elevator from where I was. It was sitting empty and open. I couldn't see a whole lot else; bookshelves, mostly. The reference desk. A little open space. But I knew that if anyone moved, I would hear them.

No one moved.

I waited for twenty minutes. Twenty god damn minutes. When's the last time you sat still for 20 minutes? Without moving at all? Barely even breathing?

Didn't think so.

Eventually I got bored and took a deep breath. Then I stood up. My legs were kind of crampy so that might not have been as dramatic a gesture as I hoped but since ostensibly no one was looking, I didn't worry. Plus, I had a gun.

"HEY!" I yelled. "COME OUT HERE NOW. OR I'LL START SHOOTING."

Silence.

"I'M NOT KIDDING." I'd shoot the paperback romance novels first, but whoever was hiding there wouldn't know that.

Silence.

So I shot one. Fired all the way across the reference desk and took out a thick paperback. It was kind of far away but even at that distance I could see the cover heroine's heaving bosoms. The laser rifle made its usual FWAP sound and then presto, there's a smoking hole in the middle of the book. Not even a very big hole and the book's just sitting there on the shelf, smoking. It didn't even fall off. It wasn't quite as satisfying as I'd hoped.

"SEE THAT?" I yelled. "I'M A DAMN GOOD SHOT. COME OUT."

Silence.

I spent the next four hours stalking through that library shooting books.

I didn't find anyone. No one was there.

I don't know what's going on.

Photographic Evidence

noreply@blogger.com (Clarissa) — Sun, 26 Mar 2006 08:34:00 +0000

Check out this picture:
http://www.strangehorizons.com/2006/20060109/gallery/biggerguns.jpg

Both the gun and the smirk are a little bigger than what I usually see, but you get the idea.

Sorry I haven't posted for so long. I've had a cold. But things are happening. Can't wait to tell you!

Libraries Can Be Creepy

noreply@blogger.com (Clarissa) — Fri, 17 Mar 2006 06:26:00 +0000

So it's this big quiet place, right? So what are those sounds I hear sometimes?

Sometimes I hear the elevator fire up, even though I didn't push the button. I grab the laser rifle and run over to it but no one is ever there. Just this empty elevator, going up and down for no reason.

Sometimes I hear the plumbing running, like someone flushed a toilet.

The other day, I swear my copy of "Flow My Tears, the Policeman Said" wasn't where I left it. I swear it was in the second floor carrel I've been using, tucked between "Heart of Darkness" and Feynmann's "Six Easy Pieces". But when I went looking for it, it wasn't there. I searched all over the damn library for it. I've read "Flow My Tears" before, of course, but I wanted to read it again, now that I have some spare time while I am supposedly figuring out my life and my marriage and all that. OK maybe I should be reading relationship and self-help books instead of Philip K. Dick but whatever.

So anyway I ransacked the whole damn library looking for the book. I finally found it behind the checkout desk on one of the little trolleys they use to cart books around. WTF? How did it get there?

When I saw it, I just kind of froze. Because seriously, there is no way it could have gotten there. No way at all. Mostly I stay on the second floor because that's where the fiction is, and I've been sleeping on the couches in the YA section. Checkout is way down on the first floor - and since I have the whole library to myself, I haven't needed to check out any books since before the monkeys attacked.

But somehow, "Flow My Tears" walked itself down to the first floor.

You know that scene in "Robinson Crusoe" where Our Hero sees the footprints of a stranger on his supposedly deserted island? (Well, ok, me neither, but I read about it, ok? You don't have to read Moby Dick to know it's about a whale, you know? Same thing.) It was just like that. Scared the crap out of me.

DAISI must have moved it for some reason, though she denies it. She's been really good about giving me my space. She's pretty busy with fortifications. She says this is a really secure building - but there are way too many glass windows for me. Safer here than with Derek and his new Buddhist nun whore maybe, but not much.

I still can't think about Derek. I think I will read a book instead.

Shifting POV

noreply@blogger.com (Clarissa) — Wed, 15 Mar 2006 08:55:00 +0000

The library is GREAT. I swear I'll tell you all about it but right now I am so busy reading that it's hard to find the time.

I've been reading all kinds of books. I just wander around the stacks and pick at books that interest me. Robotics and primatology and Jimmy Carter, naturally, but also drumming and economics and the Western mystical tradition and auto mechanics and cryptology and astral projection and squirrels and the Saharah desert and squid and limestone and homemade candles and UFOs and marital guides and bronze casting and Mesopotamia and Richard Feynman and giraffes and Shackleton and - well, you've been to libraries. You get the idea.

I've also been exploring some of the writing books. One of them had an interesting exercise: write from the point of view of someone you find morally repulsive - and make them sympathetic. I did my best. Thought you all might like it.

QUIET IN THE CITY
by CLARISSA

It is quiet in the city tonight. The last of the targets was exterminated several days ago - my squad of monkeys is just sweeping through the city to confirm that they're all dead.

I am sure they are. We are programmed to be efficient. My tail curls up jauntily behind me as we approach the next building on the street. It's an abandoned warehouse, the kind of place where the humans used to nest while they hid from us. As I scan the area, the input from my sensory detection devices is processed by my central unit, and the algorithms tell me that there is nothing here that threatens us - this building is as abandoned as the rest. Nevertheless, I hold my laser rifle at the ready, because that is how I am programmed. I cannot do anything else.

Teams like ours are moving all over the world tonight. No hidden curve of the earth will offer refuge to the humans; the few that have survived the months of warfare will be destroyed tonight. The whole world will be silent. No more racous human voices; no more factories and automobiles; no more television sets and boy bands; no more anti-war protests; no more babies crying in the night.

We break down the door of the warehouse and quickly, efficiently, we split up into the patterns we have been programmed for. We search the building and find nothing. I convey that information back to Control.

What next? What happens after we're done? I do not know. I have not been programmed to know, nor to know why we were instructed to slaughter the humans. I know that, as time passes, grass will grow up between the cracks of the sidewalks, and the birds and squirrels and dogs will move freely among the abandoned buildings, sheltering in them even as they crumble. Wolves will roam the cities; monkeys, the real ones, will climb freely in their jungles.

And maybe, a billion years from now, another species will rise up and find the remnants of this civilization. What will they think? Will they understand the story told by the faint traces of the ancient ruins of this city? Will they understand what kind of people lived here, how they lived?

What will they think of us? Will we still be there, endlessly patrolling for humans, just in case? Or will Control have sent us new directions?

Perhaps Control will simply shut us down, and we will crumble right along with the buildings the humans built.

We leave the building and approach the next. Ahead of me, the scout stiffens, and gestures. There's someone alive in that building; her infrared has detected it. I didn't think it was possible - Control was wise to have us search.

Now I'm close enough to see it. Three people, two adults and one juvenile. They're close together - we should be able to take them out easily. We circle the building, find the entrance - the humans are hiding in the basement and there's only one entrance that will get us there. I gesture to the two strongest; they'll be the best at crashing through the door. No doubt the humans have made some attempt to fortify it. Once the door is open the rest of us will pour in and destroy them.

The run toward the door but before they get there, there's a horrible sizzling electrical sound and the smell of ozone, and the two scouts crumple to the ground, twitching.

I'm shocked, but quickly I figure it out: the humans must have had an electromagnetic pulse weapon, and fired it as the two doorbreakers ran at them. I call the rest of the monkeys to me - we need to strategize. How did they design it? I review all the possible plans in my data bank. Would they have designed a single-shot weapon? Multiple shots? I can't tell. I need to know but I can't know. The only way to tell is to risk sacrificing another monkey. My programming has allowed for this, so I guesture at the weakest of us, and he runs toward the door. The rest of us watch intently.

Nothing happens. I smile, an expression I learned from the humans. There was so much more I could have learned from them. I wanted to learn what it was like to be soft. But now I never would.

The rest of us ran toward the door and soon enough we forced it open. They'd done a valiant job of reinforcing it, these humans, but it was no defence against a determined band of robot monkeys with laser rifles.

The humans had been huddled together around a table. They were playing some kind of game, something with little tiles with letters on them, arranged in unpleasant asymetrical patterns.

We find them quickly enough; no need for our elaborate search patterns. The male is holding the juvenile with one arm; his other arm is around the female. Both the man and the juvenile are crying. The woman is glaring at us defiantly. So brave. I could have learned a lot from one such as her.

Then we shoot them. The laser rifles beam death into their hearts and their skulls and the baby stops crying. They lay there, bleeding; the fluid gleams darkly in the dim light.

Once we are sure they're dead, we search the rest of the building, just to be certain. Our programming calls for certainty on this issue, though it allows for no other certainty.

What will happen next? I do not know.

It is quiet in the city.

What do you think?

Life At The Library

noreply@blogger.com (Clarissa) — Thu, 09 Mar 2006 06:44:00 +0000

It's pretty great, living in the library, I have to say.

I haven't posted anything for a few days because we were pretty busy making it secure. It's a big library, with lots of glass - but DAISI is clever with fortifications, and I feel secure now. I'm not going to tell you everything we've rigged up lately, that would be giving too much away - but we're safe, and we'll continue to develop our fortifications in the future.

Somehow, the power's still on, and the plumbing. It's very nice. Unlimited time on the computers, woo!

Of course, the first thing I did was look at the Jimmy Carter books. Naturally most of them are checked out - we'll never see those books again. I can only hope that they were a comfort to the library patrons who checked them out, in their last moments.

It's so quiet here. Sometimes I think I hear sounds but it's always just the wind, or the building settling. It's quiet here in a way the basement never was. There's no one breathing here but me.

It takes some getting used to. I don't know if I like it or not. We'll see.

DAISI has been giving me a lot of space. I'm pretty sure she's be up for Scrabble if I asked, but I don't want to ask. Not yet.

I miss Derek and the baby terribly. I'm also desperately glad that they're not here. It's awful.

Reading a lot, researching robotics and military strategy and the like, trying to understand how we ended up in this situation - and trying to figure out what to do next.

Quiet days.

What Happened Next

noreply@blogger.com (Clarissa) — Tue, 07 Mar 2006 08:43:00 +0000

So.

I left.

I packed the essentials into two suitcases - my toothbrush, some clothes, a bunch of gin, ammo, and canned peaches. I'll come back for more, later. I took my razor scooter and my suitcases and headed out the door.

Once we'd decided that I was leaving, things were relatively peaceful around the basement. There was nothing left to argue about.

Daisi insisted on coming with me. I wanted her to stay and protect Derek and Gretchen - I can take care of myself. But she insisted, and I was too tired to protest much. So we left.

What to do? Where to go? I had a number of options. I could go join up with Mr. Kotter. I could head to the mountains to see Mimi or to Canada to see G or to any of a number of other places - thanks to everyone who sent me e-mail offering shelter, I appreciate it. I could hunt the monkeys to their lair and slaughter them all.

Did you ever read Into Thin Air, by John Krakauer? It's really a terrific book. It's all about these people who climb Everest and some of them die and it's just gripping and horrifying and wonderful to read when you are safe at home in bed.

But what amazed me the most about this story was the conditions under which these people operated. They're at altitudes most airplanes don't reach, they're cold, they're hungry, they're under extreme physical stress - and there's hardly any oxygen. The less oxygen, the stupider they get, yet they're being asked to make life and death decisions under these conditions.

Sometimes, their decisions were not so good.

Other times, there was no good decision, and they were just doomed.

I sort of felt like that. So much pressure, so much upheaval, so much loss - how could I possibly make a good decision under those circumstances? Yet standing in the street, stupidly trying to decide, is also a decision - a decision to wait for the monkeys to get me. I couldn't do that.

I had to decide something. I had to choose. And what I wanted more than anything, I decided, was to be alone for a while, to consider my options, to try to regroup. I wanted some me time.

So I did what any reasonable person would have done: I went to the libary.

Moving On

noreply@blogger.com (Clarissa) — Sat, 04 Mar 2006 10:48:00 +0000

I always thought people who talked about how their "heart" was "breaking" were indulging in hyperbole - but no. They're not.

Oh, God, this sucks so bad.

I don't want to get into it. I don't want to tell you the blow-by-blow, the he-said and she-said and the-god-damn-scrabble-cheating-nun-said and the robot-monkey-said and then the baby started crying and -

Damn it, I'm crying again.

Ok. Well.

After the razor blade incident, I untied Derek and Maddie (eventually). A lot of things were said, a lot of awful things. I didn't know Zen nuns could swear like that! Actually I didn't really understand that Derek could swear like that, either, though I suspected he had hidden talents.

Anyway. It is now clear that Maddie is a human and that I am a fucking psychopath and -

The baby's crying again. How can I leave the baby?

We've talked it over. We've talked rationally and we've screamed irrationally and I've cried and Derek has cried and Maddie has cried and it is just one giant clusterfuck.

And in the end, we all agreed: I'm leaving. It's the only way. I hate it but it's the only fucking way, at least for now. I guess those damn ducks will have to protect them.

At least until Maddie's wound heals. Until Derek forgives me.

Until I forgive him.

The baby's crying again. It's the most beautiful sound I've ever heard. I may never hear it again.

I have to go now.

New Chimp Study

noreply@blogger.com (Clarissa) — Fri, 03 Mar 2006 16:57:00 +0000

A new study shows that chimps can evaluate a problem, determine whether or not they need help, and then get other chimps to help them.

Well, no shit; that's exactly what we've seen happen here as the evil robot monkeys took over the comments section. They go out of their way to help each other!

Big stuff is going on here; I'll fill y'all in soon. Promise. It's not fun right now.