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[maunuwrites]

Nothing Rhymes with Orange

Prompt: You are a pirate. Describe your perfect day.

After three and a half months at sea, the crew was worse for wear. We were all tired all the time, and so irritable that there would have been skirmishes daily if not for the whole being suuuuuuper tired thing. Our legs felt all out of sorts and we were reduced to scooting around in our turtle shells.

We had little to eat aside from turtle meat, ever since the turtles got into the twinkie stash. Those twinkies were supposed to last us at least the 6 long months it would take to get to Pangea, but the Great Turtle Escape of April left us up the aviary without a cracker.

On a related note, the turtles had also released all the parrots on board, but that was probably for the better, since they were becoming rather mutinous.

In any case, Pablo was less than thrilled when we told him we’d have to eat the turtles now. Luckily, his gums were too swollen to argue, and he was forced to look on, his yellow eyes watering, as we drew up a turtle consumption calendar.

Two weeks later, all seemed lost.  The loss of Pablo’s turtle circus had led to quite the drop in morale. I was in the middle of my shift in the crow’s nest, dreaming of turtle clowns long gone, when I saw it.

Land!

Land, at last! I could see the palms from here! We couldn’t be more than a few hours journey away!

“Land!

Land, at last! I can see the palms from here! We couldn’t be more than a few hours journey away!” I had to verbalize my thoughts for the captain to set the course.

We had landed and hobbled off the ship within three hours. We were greeted by the smell of…boiling shrimp? We did our best to seem menacing, but the orange, leathery, oily people continued to nibble on their spongecake. They regarded us with a lazy curiosity while imbibing their icy yellow drinks - always gingerly licking the rim before. What a curious place this was.

After walking around a beach positively covered in these human seals, I decided to engage them in a decidedly non-piratey way - I asked them how it was going.

“Are you a parrothead?” Asked the sentient walrus-man, not removing the dark guard around his eyes.

“What? We lost most our parrots a few weeks ago. You know how motivated turtles are by their sense of justice…”

The man made to cock his head, but gave up half way through, laughing. “It’s five o’clock somewhere!” He exclaimed, unbidden. “Marge! Get this lady a margarita! …And maybe some food, ya’ll don’t look too good.”

Within a minute, a young Mexican cutie was at my side, offering me the same icy yellow beverage, this time garnished with a thin slice of fruit. I stared at it, then her, then back at it. The fruit was calling me in a way that fruit never had before. She insisted I take the drink, so I ate the reddish yellow fruit and then drank from the chalice.

The soreness in my joints seemed to dissipate immediately. I gazed up at the rest of my crew, who were making their way into the jungle, and gazed back at my drink.As I cast my eyes across the beach, I decided the pirate’s life was probably not for me. Marge brought me another goblet of delicious slushy nectar and a shaker of salt.

[maunuwrites]

Things I Think About Sometimes pt. 1

Hmm Hmm Hmm

Hmm Hmm Hmmmmmmm

HM HM

She hummed and stomped around the break room. At 4PM, the late afternoon ennui had set in. Her soda sat on the table and demanded a straw. “Bendy”, preferably. She rummaged through the silverware drawer. At the bottom lay the remains of an IKEA straw bag. She grabbed the only straw left in the SODA bag, a white one.

Hmm Hmm Hmmmm

Halfway across the break room, she had the urge to drink from the straw. As she sat down next to her soda with her SODA, she laughed at her own foolishness. Drinking from the straw, she really was out of it.

She hesitated before inserting the SODA into her soda. No one will see anyway…she thought, as she put the straw into her mouth and drank.

She drank her soda, but the straw was not in the soda. Her eyes widened as the cup’s volume receded despite the lack of contact between soda and SODA.

She pointed the straw at the other items on the table - she still couldn’t drink the biscotti or the muffins, but she did get a good gulp of chili garlic sauce, followed by some sriracha.

Hmmmmmmm.

She went over to the sink and pointed the end of the straw at the closed faucet. The water was refreshing and confusing.

Straw in mouth, she walked back to her desk, tentatively sipping at things she saw, some coffee, some soylent (which had to be blown back out), and some mini m&ms. No matter the number of barriers between the straw and the object, they came.

“Heyyyyyy”, she thoughtfully called to her coworker.“I think…I think my straw in magic.”

Preoccupied with her Netflix, her coworker didn’t even take out her headphones. “Was it the last straw in the package?”

“…Yes?”

“Those ones let you drink anything. It’s a cool Easter egg at the end of each pack of straws - the very last one in the pack is an infinite straw.”

“Doesn’t that hurt business?”

“How often do people buy packs of straws? Most people get them individually, not in bulk.”

“Yes, but if you’re giving the people who actually use straws these ‘infinite straws’, aren’t you drastically cutting down your market?”

“Nah, you tend to lose them like pens anyway.”

“But my pen isn’t magic.”

“…Uh huh” The conversation got side tracked by some pretty little liar.

Alright then. It was almost 5 anyway, time to head home. She thought of all the possibilities for her new infinite straw. Namely, they were just things she could drink with a regular straw, but you know, from farther away.

As she returned to the break room, she absentmindedly threw the straw into the large trash can.

OH NO

She scrambled to retrieve the straw, but it had already been more than 10 seconds. The straw was irreversibly disgusting. Like Icarus, I flew too close to the sun, and now will remain just as dehydrated as usual…I guess.

Well, at least it was time to go home.

[maunuwrites]

The war between cats and technology was inevitable. The latter was used to worship the former, but when technology overstepped its bounds, the cats would definitively strike back. They had triumphed long ago in Egypt and were primed. And with one mouse scoot too far, the struggle for humanity’s attention began anew.

#bearyman#picture prompt#cat and mouse game

[maunuwrites]

Moose Speaks Up

Prompt: You are a loser who lives alone with a cat and have for quite some time. One day your cat can’t take it anymore and starts talking. What does it say?

Moose, what do you think of this sweater on me? I know it’s February and basically summer around here already, but I think I can pull off the warm and cozy look for another month at least. And look, this one has a fox on it! If you squint, it looks like it could be of the “Fennec” persuasion.

Moose unenthusiastically licked her front paw, staring back with her large, saucer-like amber eyes.  

Yes, I know the fox has Christmas lights on it, but I don’t want to wait a whoooooole year just to wear it.

This time, Moose didn’t even feign interest in her paw, choosing instead to stare straight into my eyes. I know, I know, anthropomorphizing a connection. But it’s just the way she keeps such prolonged eye conta-

“It would be a shame to put it away in the back of that overstuffed linen closet you call a wardrobe. For once, I agree. But you only have to the end of March at best. You can only pretend to feel for those sad-sack east coasters in their puffy jackets for so long before you acknowledge your Californian birthright.”

What? I turned to stare back at Moose, to make sure I hadn’t imagined the little gray tabby speaking just now. I realized that my head was tilted in a characteristic gesture of both confusion and sound localization. I picked up the Moose-ters and made sure my phone hadn’t cat-dialed someone while beneath her.

“Your phone is charging by the bed. Now can you put me down? I had the perch up to my ideal temperature and god-so-help-you if I have to prepare another spot.”

I replaced the cat, instinctively scratching her head and messing up her fur.

“PLEASE don’t do that. I always have to redo it after you mess it up even a little bit.”

You know that means I have to do it now, right?

“…Yes.”

Alright, now why are you taking? Talking? Wait, am I taking something? OH GOD I’M ON DRUGS I DIDN’T MEAN TO HOW DID THIS HAP-

Moose swiped at my forehead. “Alright, enough of that now. I could always talk, I am just an introvert. I even took this Buzzfeed quiz that rated me a totalintrovert. Total. Anyway, I couldn’t handle the blathering anymore, so I just said something. It’s not healthy to keep things pent up, you know. Even if it’ll take you another two years just to gather enough energy for the next 5 minute conversation.”

This is only a five minute conversation? So I don’t have to call the cops?

“Why on earth would you call the cops?”

I don’t know, would you rather I call those guys from Zooboomafoo?

“Yes, actually. Those Kratt brothers are delightful. But that’s beside the point. You need to go outside and talk to people other than animals. And not just people escorting animals, though that may be a solid place to start.”

But Buzzfeed said I was an introvert too!

“Only losers stay at home and take Buzzfeed quizzes while narrating their thought processes to the cat.”

But…!

“But nothing! Yes, you got into school, and yes, you’re tired when you get home. But do those two unplayed ukuleles in the corner bother you at all? How about those pictures of all your friends outside doing stuff? And I don’t mean going-out-to-dinner-and-selfies stuff, I mean actual stuff. Are you going to be that loser that only has pictures from college all over her apartment since she was too ‘tired’ to do anything other than eat ho hos and watch Netflix every evening? I didn’t even know ho hos were still a thing, didn’t Hostess go out of business?”

Ho Hos are a San Francisco born pastry made out of love and chocolate and this white stuff and obviously no it didn’t cat

“Whatever. At least go outside and eat the ho hos in San Francisco somewhere then. Please just go outside and get some of that Mo’orea tan back, it’s getting more and more unbelievable that you were ever that brown and/or are at all brown.”

Cat, you are making valid points, I guess. For a cat, I mean. Especially an inside cat.

“I know. You could at least start cleaning up the place and get ready for that big move.”

But I don’t want toooooooooooo…

Moose held my gaze. After what felt like a long stare, she got up and daintily yet purposefully knocked over a small vase. She walked across the room and settled in for a nap on my pillow.

[maunuwrites]

Jake’s Stand

Prompt: Scene from life

Jake stood on the stump of a long-fallen canyon live oak, surveying his flock. The hungry wild turkeys were getting restless, uneasy. Jake mirrored their uneasiness inwardly. Normally he couldn’t stand the idea of the regal wild turkeys acting like a gang, like a rafter. That was beneath them. Wild turkeys are supposed to be regal, wise. But the turkey vultures had wronged them yet again.

At first, the turkey vultures came and overtook the wild turkeys’ territory. Jake had stayed his flock, opting to welcome the vultures as valuable contributors  to the community, keeping everything clean. When confronted with the vultures’ favorite habit of regurgitation, Jake shushed the bird-ists, chastising them for their xenophobia. At the advice of his squirrel friend, Chris, he had even reached out to a local kestral to give a lecture on the ecosystem and the importance of nutrient cycling (a kestral because they were both very smart and too small to prey on turkeys.) Dr. Sparverius was a hit. Chris was always great at managing the animals of the forest and keeping the peace, and also getting the good acorns down from the trees before the woodpeckers started hiding them away.

But then, the turkey vultures started emotionally assaulting the most vulnerable of Jake’s flock, those in molt. The vultures would fly above and make tell the poor naked bastards that they smelled too and that their feathers helped cover up how stinky they truly were. Chris always got cagey when asked about this, so Jake thought it best he leave the issue alone.The true “stink” of the matter could not be verified by any of the turkeys, obviously, and it’s not like it would matter to them anyway, but I’m sure it still hurt to hear it.

Most recently, the turkey vultures started encroaching on their sleeping trees. The California winter had been harsh, and a good sleeping tree was a godsend, especially during those 40°F nights. The thought of the younger turkeys enduring another cold night caused his feathers to ruffle involuntarily.

But they were turkeys! Jake thought, while he preened his feathers absentmindedly. They would just hunker down, literally for the warmth it would bring, and make due. Jake adjusted his wattle and let out an authoritative gobble to let the flock know he was ready to speak.  

“It has come time to leave this place.” The younger turkeys looked around, somewhat alarmed. “I don’t mean forever, I mean, for like, today. We have to forage, remember? We’re turkeys. It’s mostly what we do.” The younger turkeys calmed themselves and began foraging in place. “No, forage somewhere else, we just ate here yesterday, remember yesterday?” A few of the older hens clucked disapprovingly at the young foragers. “Alright then, now that that’s straight, let’s all cross the road. We haven’t been across the road to forage in a little while. We might even find some bird seed the hyoomans put out. And we can visit our friends in the West Egg flock.” The old hens clucked disapprovingly again, this time at Jake’s last sentence.

The flock made its way towards the road with Jake at the helm. Jake and a few of the more precocious jakes were first to reach the road. As he began to brief them on proper road crossing technique, shadows passed overhead. As he moved from what a car was to how to listen for them, the shadows grew larger and larger, swooping in great circles. The younger turkeys looked alarmed, but Jake continued with his lecture at a steady and clearly rehearsed pace. Jake heard the vultures touch down behind him, apparently on the other side of the road. Jake continued with his instruction until he had completed the “tips for daytime crossing” and taken any questions. There were none, only wide-eyed stares. After the appropriately long awkward silence that often accompanies the inquiry into questions, Jake turned around in a way he hoped would convey calm, cool, and confidence. His wattle even swayed in exactly the fashion he wished.

“Why hel-Lo there Cath.” He was secretly furious at the inopportune moment his vocal chords decided to crack. “This is our side, we got here first, Jake.” replied Cath, firmly.

“All we’d like to do is forage for seeds and berries and maybe a bug or two."

"You common turkeys better keep to the East Egg, if you know what’s good for you. Jay wouldn’t listen to us either, when we so kindly offered him the same deal you have before you now.”

“I thought we could at least be civil, Cath. What does our foraging even matter to you? Your kind eat carrion.”

“We prefer the term ‘sun aged’, thank you very much. And it’s just a sign of the times, Jakey, we’re just the fittest.”

The jakes behind him were getting rowdy. And for good reason, thought Jake. Were they not turkeys? Should they not stand and fight for not only their flock, but all turkeys? How dare these birds refer to themselves as turkey vultures, they had none of the turkey values. What is in a name? Everything, for these maligned turkeys. But for no longer. Today, they would take back their forest, their courage, and their name. Jake stepped forward onto the pavement. “Oh-ho ho, what is this? Jakey is getting feisty. Alright boys, let’s give them the West Egg treatment.” Vultures began hopping down from the surrounding trees, assembling behind Cathartes.

Jake surreptitiously clucked orders to his flock and arrangements were made. The older turkeys and those with nests back home retreated to the back and out of harm’s way. The younger turkeys excitedly discussed the plan of attack amongst themselves.

There was a frantic rustling above them, in the trees, too small to be another vulture. Chris tumbled into the open, almost falling out of the tree and in between the two flocks of birds. The interest of the infantry vultures was piqued.

“No— no …fighting…!” the squirrel panted. “We—can—work this out!”

Cath laughed at Chris’ attempt to quell the turkey-on-turkey storm. “Little rodent, I’d eat you in a second…if you were already dead, ideally several days…anyway, move out of the way.”

Chris held his ground. Jake apprehensively sidled up next to the smaller-than-average Western grey. “Are you sure this is a good idea?” Jake hissed.

“Be cool, be cool”, was the only thing Chris could squeak out before Cath raised a lance-like talon and hit him hard in the side, knocking Chris to the ground and shedding first blood.

“CHRIS!” Jake squawked, rushing to the side of his friend. Cath was rapidly tweeting orders to her followers - she knew she had taken the first shot and had to prepare her flock to withstand the retaliation.

Jake held Chris as he lay bleeding. “Be cool, be cool, Jakey…” Chris kept repeating it, with his voice becoming weaker and weaker as his assurances grew higher and higher in number. “Be cool, you’ll all be saved…”

“Saved from what?! The vultures? We’re going to have to save ourselves and we won’t even have your help!”

“Nah bro, the Prius’ll save you.” And with that, Chris died, arms outstretched and perpendicular to his bushy tail.

Jake was mostly confused when he heard the car coming. A little silver Prius was rushing down the hill towards their stand-off.

“CAAAAAARRRRRR” Jake squawked. His flock shuffled back off the road to safety. Cath looked up just in time to yell at her fleet to take off as well. “We’ll settle this next time, you dumb turkeys!” Cath’s last words rung in Jake’s ears. It had been a long day, and it was only just beginning. As the car passed, Jake wearily ushered his flock to the other side to continue their search for better seeds.

[maunuwrites]

Chip Impala’s Big Break

Prompt: Write the lyrics of a rap song. They must include a cop, a bad drug bust, and a dog. (Source: 642 Things to Write About)

Alright Chip, this is it. This is how we’ll make our fortune - in the music industry!

Whatever you say, Tom.

You’ve got a ridiculous name, only befitting someone famous, and I have the business sense of someone who surrounds himself with people who want to be famous.

But I don’t want to be famous! I just want to write stories about turkeys.

Chip, that would be a waste of your name. People should see who Chip Impala is. All the time. For a hefty appearance fee.

Fine, fine, what do I have to do, Tom?

Well, we already have your name down. Your look is fine, but we can tailor that to the music genre. So I guess you have to write a song?

About turkeys?

Let’s keep that one on the B-sides. That one kid from Seattle…what was his name? Sharpeleless? Whatever it was, he cashed in on hitting stuff from the news. I guess right now we should write something about measles? Ebola? Measbola? Vaccines for measbola?

Tom, that doesn’t sound like the greatest idea.

Hey, you’re just the face of the operation, I’m the brains. But I’ll concede this, measbola was not my best work. Maybe something about cops? Are people still worried about that?

Yeah, I guess so. What kind of song should it be?

You’re getting ahead of yourself, the song part is easy, the words are the hard part. You know how long it took to write “Turn Down for What”? How many young linguistics consultants they had to bring in to get it just right?

Ok, so the turkey cop is going to deal with some jakes that got into some deep trouble with a tom dealing them black market cranberry sauce…

What is all that?! I said no turkeys!

It helps me to at least think of everything as a turkey.

Fine, fine. What’s with the names?

Names? …Oh, a tom is a dude turkey and a jake is a young dude turkey.

…

Another name for a tom is a gobbler.

…why do you know all this?

I like to be thorough.

Whatever. So the cop is involved in a drug bust of some kids. The bust goes bad when the drug lord shows up. Should it end on a happy note?

What, like they get saved by a dog?

That’s it! Exactly. Brilliant.

…

Hey, that’s my thing.

…

Let’s make it a rap! And let’s have wraps! Raps over wraps.

I don’t think I’d be good at rapping.

Chip, Chip, Chip, you don’t have to be good, look at that Antarctican rapper who pretends she’s so ornamental…

Where on earth do you get your pop culture intel from? It’s #flawless.

Let’s change her words first, then we can work on the music and looks later. Here’s my first draft, it’s not much…

“First things first I’m a cop (not a turkey), drop the heroin and let the whole block know it (that you dropped it) And I’m still in the police business. I’m such a great cop, you don’t even know. I’m bus-ting all the kids, cause heroin is baaaAaaaAd. I’m such a great cop, and woah it’s the king pin, GET DOWN Remembered my dog, sic em pup I’m such a —”

ALRIGHT I got it. Are you sure you even need my name, Tom? With…words like that, you can get by on…talent alone.

You, know what, Chip, I think you’re right. I’ve thoroughly enjoyed our partnership, best of luck with the turkeys.

You too, Tom Wattle, you too.

[maunuwrites]

Ode to the Butt

Prompt: Something you had that was stolen (Source: 642 Things to Write About)

My dearest butt, my sweetest butt.

I had adopted you accidentally, but on purpose. You were an afterthought, put aside while the flashiest pieces got their due attention. Termed a mere “accessory”, your importance was unspoken - we both knew that you were the only one who could make everything work as planned.  

My hardworking, faithful butt.

You put up with my daily indifference, always working so hard to keep the energy up. Only receiving attention just when you had unplugged, to be rewarded with verbal abuse for being so hard to reach, for not working fast enough. Your work was thankless but essential. You knew this innately, you held yourself to an impossibly high standard.

My naïve, trusting butt.

Finally, you would be out from under the bed, out from behind the nightstand. You were going to work! You were going to be an emergency butt, always available for all the workers at the office. The whole concept seemed too good to be true - just sit and wait for someone to require a little boost of power? To be seen and respected by all who passed the bookshelf?

My lonely, lost butt.

I miss you. Were you taken? Taken and never brought back? Do you lay empty, forgotten in a corner? If you are not forgotten, if you have found a new person, I understand, I undervalued you, I didn’t appreciate your power enough. If you have been stolen, I will avenge you. Aggressively, passive-aggressively, your probable captor will pay.

My respected, loved butt.

I hope you are well and this does not weigh heavy on your prongs.

Note: My coworker refers to the wall charging bit of her phone charger as the “butt”. And it was stolen <unsubstantiated>. By a dickhead <substantiated>.

[maunuwrites]

Pierre

Prompt: Weave a mini story using the following words in order: shell, comic book, discarded soap box, rubber soles, postcard (Source, #159)

Pierre reclined, sinking back into his shell slowly, deliberately. He put his foot up on the ottoman, a bottle cap. It had been a long day spent at the garden, attending to all the carrots and squash. Scraping the leaves was hard work that often left Pierre jealous of the hornworms and other insects’ mouthparts, they seemed so much more efficient than his little radula. Not to mention all those extra legs…he shook his eyestalks and looked around. It wasn’t a day to feel sorry for the lot he’d been dealt in life. At least he had his comic books to return to at night. He contemplated his bookshelf from his shell, settling on Batman #63. He was feeling rather nostalgic and The Origin of Killer Moth was one of his first and most favorite comics. The thought of even getting up exhausted him. While practicing his (nonexistent) powers of telekinesis, he drifted off to sleep.

Pierre awoke the next morning, comic book still on the shelf. After a few moments struggle extracting himself from his position in his shell, Pierre left the damp, discarded Dial soap box he called home to head to the garden. Dutifully trudging the same path along the road as every morning, he was startled when the ground seemed to be shaking. The pink rubber soles surrounded him before he could even begin to understand the situation. His foot was off the ground seconds later, flailing impotently as he was lifted by his shelf and brought to face level. A booming but high pitched voice exclaimed “I’ll save you from being squished, Mr Snail!” Then there was darkness.

The dark was moist and permeated with familiar smells.

Suddenly, it was day again. The mulch was that of the very garden he had been en route to this morning, maybe? Snails weren’t exactly known for their time keeping abilities. Pierre and the mulch were unceremoniously dumped into a small terrarium. Once he had successfully righted himself, Pierre saw the familiar fight of the garden below and attempted to continue his journey, only to encounter the cold plastic. A pill bug emerged from underneath a small lichen encrusted stick on the other side of the terrarium. “I brought you a friend, Domino!!” The high pitched pink voice screamed. “I’ll go get you guys more lettuce!!!” The voice yelled, now from a distance.

Pierre surveyed the surroundings. A few postcards were taped to the wall next to the window overlooking the garden. All featured different types of insects, some Pierre had encountered, like the monarch butterflies and Sphinx moths, and others he only knew about as legend, like the Hercules beetles. The pill bug has made his way over now. “New in town? As much lettuce as we can eat and no birds. Living here hasn’t been so bad.” Pierre sighed and turned to started scraping the lettuce.

[maunuwrites]

Gollum is Dobby on a Ring Bender

Why hello there Human, I was just on my morning patrol before returning to the business. Have you seen anything strange and rodent like a-foot? My business is looking to start a rodent-only pest control business, and I need to see if the market is right for that.

Anyway, better get back to…wait, what’s that? What are you taking out of your pocket? Could it be?!

Master has given Ferret an eggsies!

Master never gives Ferret eggsies. It took it out of its pocketsies and gave Ferret an eggsy, now Ferret will be a satiated ferret!

But Ferret cannot let other ferrets of business know about the eggsy. The eggsy is so…precious.

The other ferrets never let Ferret have the eggsies, never let Ferret have the golden yolky treasure. A treasure without hinges, key, or lid, just precious precious yolk…Eggsies are so precious…

Can it really be an eggsies? Ferret has never seen an eggsy this round. It does not wobble like an eggsy. If Master has given Ferret another clementine, Ferret will lose his shit. We hates the clementines, we hates them, we hates them forever! The precious eggsy will have to be inspected, yes it will. Ferret will roll eggsy somewhere safe to confirm or deny clementine-itude. Yes, that is what Ferret will do. Yes, yes…but where will Ferret take precious egg-but-not-egg?

Behind the fridge! Master cannot fit and the business will not come looking. Ferret will take the maybe-precious to the behind world.

But Master has seen Ferret inspecting the precious! Ferret must play it cool and moonwalk back to fridge with the precious. But the behind world is confusing, especially when walking from the moon. Risks must be taken, decisions made. Time is of the essence for the precious.

…

The precious will not roll as it should! Where will it lead us! The precious is confusing the way!

…

Losssssst we are behind the fridge, lost! Lost! Curse us and crush us, the eggsy is lost!

(Obviously) Based on lines and dialogue from Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets and The Hobbit

[maunuwrites]

While identification of cat-chicken pox seems like a difficult hurdle itself, attempting to prevent scratching, licking, or any other pox aggravation may prove to be much more difficult, both emotionally and physically for both you and your cat companion.

Image Source’s Source  

[maunuwrites]

Parliamentary Monkey Business

Inspiration: Buzzfeed’s “40 People Have Been Hired By India’s Parliament to Act Like Langurs and Scare Monkeys”

Tell me about yourself.

My name is Khabi, I’m 14 years old, and I’ve been part of the Delhi Defense Squad for about 10 years now. I just became Lieutenant last year, actually. That was one of my big career goals…I don’t know why, but I really liked the title Langur Lieutenant.

Why did you join the force?

I never really thought about anything else, really. It was kind of a rite of passage in my troupe.  The moms loved to dress us up in little play uniforms and all the little langurs would play “Langurs and Macaques”, where we’d practice our screams and stick waving techniques. Plus there was the excitement of getting to go to  human city.

What had you heard about the city?

Not much, in retrospect. I knew a very select few would actually make it out of Colobus College and that they’d help the humans protect some building from the macaque menace. I guess that building is where all the dad humans go decide all the troupe rules? Humans must have giant troupes to have that many dads. In general I do notice way more dads than there should be, it’s almost like half the population! How are there so many babies still?

They aren’t “dads” in your sense, they’re representatives. There’s a few from each region and they get together and make rules for all the other humans to follow. And about half the population potentially are dads and half moms - our troupes are much smaller and usually one mom stays with one dad.

Have you ever thought about going back to be a daddy langur, or do you plan to remain part of the force?

Human dads sound like have it way easier. I never really considered going back an option, since there could only be one daddy langur, and the force seemed like a better option than going out and finding a troupe to take over. Troupe take overs are hard, especially as a new silver coat. It’s pretty obvious to everyone that your moms still groom your coat. You can always tell the difference between a mom groom and a subordinate groom.

Do you have a subordinate groom?

[scoffs] Obviously. Look at how clean I am. The moms used to always claim grooming was for bonding, but I don’t have time for that and keeping these unruly macaques inline. I need military anti-flea precision to stay this shiny.

It is quite the nice coat.

Thank you.

You’re welcome.

What do you know about the macaques?

Those mongrels are giving us civilized monkeys a bad name. They go around begging for chaat and biting people. Biting people! Granted, some humans are dumb and think Hanuman was just some rando monkey, but really? We langurs are literally called Hanuman langurs. the language could not be more clear.

But is that just because humans named you after Hanuman? If they’re mixing you guys up now who can say they didn’t when painting pictures of him?

Unclear.

What?

Unclear.

What’s unclear?

Humans.

Fair enough. You said earlier that you were guarding a specific building?

Yes, where all the…not dads meet.

Parliament?

Yes. The macaques have got the area overrun.

But only a few of you guys get through the academy in the first place. If the macaques have Parliament overrun, couldn’t more langurs be pushed through?

The academy is no laughing matter. It takes two whole years to get through. You learn how to scream and run, like in the games we used to play, but also more dangerous things, like learning how to ride a bicycle.

Bicycle? Dangerous? And you ride them?

Well, you ride with your person who is riding the bicycle.Your person tells you which macaques were bad. The hardest part is making sure your tail doesn’t get stuck anywhere.

I can see that. What do you think of the humans being hired in the place of langurs?

I hope they know what they’re up against. The macaques may be small and scatter pretty easily, but if they already are biting people, then they will bite more people. Cause that was a proven strategy.

You aren’t afraid of macaque bites?

Tit for tat, if it comes to it. [Khabi bears his teeth in a menacing smile, exposing some formidable canines of his own]

I’ve taken up a lot of your time here, so I’ll wrap it up with a last, kind of fun, question.What’s been a strange thing you’ve noticed while living in the human city?

Humans set all their food on fire before they eat it, and they like to mix everything together seemingly randomly. Mine likes to share something called “speenich” with me. The leaves are always so small and sad after being set on fire, which I guess makes sense.

Thanks for talking to me Lieutenant Khabi. keep up the good work.

Thanks for having me!