I Am Warrior (Hear My Song)

I am a simple warrior-monk. I roam the earth in search of…the perfect frozen margarita.

My warrior-code binds me to the vow of non-violence, contemplation of illusory truths and celibacy. Unless you are really hot, in which case IM me.

My weapons are the highest expression of compassion. I wear them to transcend petty anger. And because they come in five colors to match just about every outfit I own.

I rise each day at dawn before battle to write my “death poem”, well knowing life is fleeting and each moment is already gone:

Crimson Sun
Sparrow In Flight
I Bought These Sunglasses
On Sale

And no, I am not wearing a “skirt”. It is a formal Samurai dress~and I gotta tell you it keeps you looking slender after a long night of Sake-bombs and smoked eel.

Believe me, you do not command respect on the battlefield (or the dancefloor) if you show up looking like fat Elvis.

When Monkeys Go Ape

“MICHIGAN CITY, Ind. - A spider monkey used a garden hose to scale the wall of a moat at a Michigan City zoo before being captured at a nearby boat dealership”.

Do you think the hippos and rhinos were back at the zoo, watching the pursuit on COPS? Whispering under their breath "Go Stan...go".

Man, must have been a moment when he made it to the boat dealership. Whaddya think he was going for, maybe a sweet twin engine outboard? 650 HP of man-thrust. Dual beer-holders in the captain's seat.

Probably had his little hand on the wheel before they got him.

I'm sure the zoo went quiet. Giraffe probably snubbed out his cigarette, hoofed back to his pen, "Knew he wouldn't make it".

Little furry guy will be back at the zoo by the PM feeding. There'll be a few quiet "Hey Stan's". No one will mention the "incident".

Life will return to normal.

Show's over, back to your cage.

But not for Stan. It will be different, now. The bananas won't taste as sweet. Picking fleas off his pals won't be fun. Not the simple distraction it used to be. Tourists will come by, snap pictures. Sure he'll throw in a "Woohoo aaahhh", but his heart won't be in it. Not anymore.

They'll run tests. Wonder if he has a low-grade virus.

He doesn't. He has something else. An itch he can't scratch. A dull headache where his heart used to be.

Some nights, Stan can feel the wind in his fur. He's on the water. Throws the throttle forward, the boat skims over an ocean so blue you'd think Monet painted it.

For long seconds at a time, the boat goes airborne between swells. And Stan's flying. His little Captain's hat snug over his ears. The sun's low on the horizon. He steers towards it.

Then, he wakes up. He’s in the zoo.

He sees his friends, monkeys. They jump from one branch to the next, happy. So they think. Zookeeper throws a handful of peanuts over the gate. They scramble over, grab at them like children. Not Stan.

He looks out, sees the sun setting.

Sees the last of the tourists snap a bored picture of him. He doesn't even raise his arms up over his head.

Watches the people as they leave. Sees the attendant let them out of the park.

And next to the park's exit, by the door, Stan sees something. A simple garden hose. Forgotten. It snakes up the wall, to the roof. To the ocean. To the wind.

And for the first time in weeks, Stan smiles.

Go Stan…go.