a collage collaboration of proverb, saturday a.m. via AIM by marv and joey:

I just found this story, languishing in obscurity on a website that few could ever find. I think Randy (a friend from college), wherever he may be, would be happy that this piece has a new audience, albeit the small one that visits this blog. Randy had red hair and could recite Matthew McConaughey’s entire monologue from the final courtroom scene in A TIME TO KILL with complete aplomb. He loved Elton John and could grow a full mustache in a single day. Last i heard he made his way to film school, and with writing like this, im sure he ended up making good things. Llamas are funny. El Caminos are cool. Enjoy:

Captain Monkey’s Last Stand
by Randy Waldrop

Steam hissed from under the hood of Harry Twinkle’s dusty Volkswagen Rabbit as he rolled to the lone gas pump of Captain Monkey’s Last Stand. The desert stretched to the horizon on all sides except the east, where Harry passed a line of sandy cliffs twenty miles back. The ribbon of asphalt continued straight ahead until it fell off the earth. Harry dumped his 289 pounds out of the driver’s seat and squinted into the sun. His tiny, round glasses slid to the tip of his nose.

The filling station blended with the desert, as the same pale dirt that coated the Rabbit clung to the walls and windows of the small building. “Captain Monkey’s Last Stand” stood out in dull red letters in the center of the front glass. Harry stepped forward and a shadow fell across his face. He looked up to see the sun blocked by the hind quarter of a stuffed llama standing in the back of a beat-up El Camino. The vehicle rested atop a fifteen-foot pole protruding from the roof of the building. Harry repositioned his glasses and continued inside.

Behind the counter sat a short, brown man wearing a backwards ballcap and a Hitler mustache. He held a fan of cards in his hands and stared through his Coke-bottle glasses at an orangutan sitting across from him. The man slammed his cards to the counter. “Gin!”

The red-haired creature threw its cards to the floor, made a sputtering nooise with its lips, and flashed a wide grin at Harry.

“Howdy hombre,” said the man. “What can we do you for?”

“I just need some water. I think I overheated. Nice monkey.”

“He’s an ape, damn it!” The ape began screaming and waving his hands in the air. “Settle down, Carlos. Man didn’t know better. Go get the fella a hose.”

Carlos lowered himself from the counter and toddled out the door. The man gathered the stack of cards, tapped them on the counter, and slid them into a box.

“Overheated, huh? Well, it happens. Hot as el Diablo in the Pope’s panty drawer out there. Name’s Captain Monkey. Friends just call me Captain.”

“Nice to meet you. Harry. Say, if you don’t mind my asking, what’s that llama doing in that El Camino up there?”

Captain Monkey lowered his head. He disappeared below the counter and popped up with a small eight millimeter projector with reels attached and the film loaded.

“Sit down there, Harry, and let me show you something.”

Captain Monkey started the projector and an image appeared on the cinder block wall. The little man was behind the wheel of the El Camino. A huge green bow clung to the roof and the llama stood alive in the back. THe vehicle turned circles in the grass of some backyard and a banner hung from a tree that read, Happy Birthday Horatio. A red, hairy hand waved from behind the camera. As the truckcar made a hard left, the llama suddenly fell out and a wheel ran over its neck.

The film ran out of the projector. “And that’s how we lost Horatio. Carlos thought a simple memorial was best, so we stuffed the poor amigo and there he stays.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “Sorry to hear that.”

Carlos and Captain Monkey waved as the Rabbit kicked up a cloud of dust and tore down the highway.

i’m just home from the premier of DANIELSON: A FAMILY MOVIE {OR, MAKE A JOYFUL NOISE HERE} that was celebrated with an appearance, performance and reunion of sorts, of the Danielson Famile at the Silverdocs Documentary Film Festival. and yes, you know who Danielson (Daniel Smith) is because Pitchfork just gave him a 9-point-something for his latest and greatest record (and certainly deserving of the high-marked review), SHIPS. the film was great- fun, funny, informative, and of course included brief moments featuring everyone’s favorite folky christian interstate love song writer and former danielson protege, sufjan stevens. the audience seemed to hang on suf’s every word, which is unfortunate because if youve ever heard sufjan speak you know he is not nearly as eloquent nor poetic as he is in lyric and song. and while i knew Smith and his label Sounds Familyre did a lot for sufjan (they were the first to publish Michigan and Seven Swans, and Sufjan recorded Swans with the help of Smith, in Smith’s parent’s basement), i had not ever realized the extent to which ol’ suf had bogarted Danielson’s gig. from taking Smith’s ideas of performing in costume, singing loud choir-like celebratory choruses, to writing orchestral-pop records with wide artistic concepts and allegorical spiritual themes tied to often arcane and obtuse references, Sufjan stole it all. or maybe danielson gave it to him. i’m certainly leaning one way, but the film doesnt actually push the audience to either conclusion. instead, its left open to interpretation or guesstimation or supposition or whatever you want to call it. and so, despite how great the film was or how much fun the exculsive danielson post-film concert was or how daniel smith seems to not be affected by sufjan’s popularity, i am kinda bummed because not only have i missed out by overlooking danielson’s music for a number of years, but i have instead been enamored by his prettier, more appealing, better marketed, easier to digest doppleganger.

oh well.

a collaborative collage by Marv & Beverly, after a week of mucho meheekun deeners.