Coffee Gorilla

Philip the Pun just came back from his East Coast vacation. While he was gone, I visited his condo, watered his cat, fed his plants, played with his Star Wars LEGOs and did some laundry, since the Landlord's washing machine was broken. Unfortunately, I got the dishwasher soap and the laundry detergent mixed up. My Landlady hasn't yet noticed how squeaky-clean all the clothes are, but she has mentioned something about the "shine" that makes me think she's getting suspicious.

At any rate, Phil showed his appreciation for all my hard work by bringing back for me some Gorilla Coffee. Like me, the coffee is Mighty Strong:



It's a Full Pound (though I'm sure I weigh much, much more, albeit not as much as Brutus):



And it's Not Wimpy:



Thank you, Phil. You're very generous. (I almost feel badly about the hair-trim I gave your cat. Then again, she wouldn't have needed the hair-trim had I not given her bubble-gum. I only had the bubble-gum out because I had to fix your broken LEGOs with something. They would never have broken if it hadn't been for the cat jumping up on the ledge to escape from the attack of the finger-puppets.)

Grudge Match Puppet Show

Boxing Day Grudge Match 2005

Disclaimer:
All the world's a stage
and all the men and women mammals,
avians and reptiles merely players puppets.
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man gorilla in his time plays many parts...
--Eddie

P.S. My Landlady took the pictures.
P.P.S. Click on the "slideshow" option to view the puppet-show properly.

Boxing Day Grudge Match

Tune in tomorrow, December 27, for the results of the Boxing Day Grudge Match. I know I had promised to post the results earlier today, but I am verbally sparring with my Landlady over which version I'm going to show. I want to show only the edited version, and she wants me to show the full, uncut version. The uncut version is too shocking, too harrowing for general audiences. Besides, the Grudge Match didn't turn out quite as I had anticipated. Everything was fine until the end, and then things got really embarrassing.

Flashback

Happy Boxing Day!

Traditionally, Boxing Day was the holiday when lords and ladies gave presents to their servants. Over the centuries, it turned into a big shopping day. Now, I am proud to announce that for the first time ever, Boxing Day has nothing to do with shopping and everything to do with sparring. My Landlord is going to host a big Boxing Day game-session in the basement. All of his buddies think they're coming over to play his new board game, Orks Go Berserk on Pretty Ponies, but really, they will have to pummel each other until someone agrees to go upstairs to get more beer.

What will be more interesting is Brad's Boxing Day Grudge-Match held upstairs in the living room. My Landlady doesn't know about it yet, but she'll find out sometime before it starts, if not immediately thereafter. Fear not, I'll post photos of the event. In the meantime, I am enclosing a snippet of my life culled from the pages of Hitman J's Weekly Word Verifier contest:

The word-verifier jumble "cbies" reminds me of my childhood, when I rode in my mother's truck and played with her CB Radio. My mother, I think I've mentioned, was a big-time activist in her day. She was always lobbying for gorilla rights, and communicated with her cohorts primarily by CB Radio. (This was in the day way before cell-phones were anything but daydreams for the common primate.) My mother was always using special codes on the radio, and I wanted to do the same. The trouble is, I didn't know what any of the codes were. I got us into trouble sometimes. For example...

*
Young Brad on CB: Chocolate pudding on banana sticks straight ahead!

Real meaning: The elephants are stampeding the marketplace. Send reinforcements immediately.

Young Brad on CB: I'm smoking 12 stinky cigars!

Real meaning: Please send 12 dozen pizzas to the mayor, and put them on his bill.

Young Brad on CB: Underpants! Hankie! Flush the toilet!

Real meaning: All members of the liberation squad immediately report to the ice-cream stand and await further instructions.
*

As you can guess, I spent a lot of time in the Uncooperative Chair.

Holiday Card from Brad, Fred and Charlotte

Monkey, Monkey, Monkey

My Landlady features Monkey in her post today (despite the fact that she said she wasn't going to do any more posting for the rest of the week).

Poem and Chocolate for Nonny

HEY nonny no!
Men are fools that wish to die!
Is 't not fine to dance and sing
When the bells of death do ring?
Is 't not fine to swim in wine,
And turn upon the toe,
And sing hey nonny no!
When the winds blow and the seas flow?
Hey nonny no!

--16th Century, author unknown

My favorite part of the song is about swimming in wine, although I'm sure Mr. Pudding would prefer to swim in beer. Of course, I don't really want to swim in wine. I can't even swim (though when pressed, I can doggy-paddle).

By the way, I know Nonny expressed some skepticism over the chocolate fondue fountain. However, once she sees that I have dipped roses in chocolate using the super chocolate fondue fountain, she'll change her tune. I just know it.

Brad Rose

Ladyhearteater, I'm sorry to hear that you're sick. I know you wanted Elvis flowers, and I said I'd get you Elvis flowers, but as it turns out, it's too close to the holidays to get Elvis flowers. No matter! I've gotten Charlotte and Fred to get to work in the greenhouse and create something extra special for you. They've been working hard all morning on this particular flower. And now, for the first time ever in the history of horticulture, I am proud to present

The Brad Rose:




I'm giving Charlotte and Fred the rest of the afternoon off.

Scotch Eggs

For Charlotte, the initial thrill of Seattle has worn off, and now she complains about missing her friends in Glasgow. She is doing quite well for a beginner in her internship here at Bradley Enterprises, and someday she may rival even me in terms of grouchy bossiness. Fred, on the other hand, is a mellow sort of chap. He’s always trying to do kind things for Charlotte. Charlotte thinks Fred is babyish, and so she turns up her nose at his efforts.

Yesterday morning, as I was making eggs sunny-side up, Charlotte stomped to the breakfast table and said, “Eeew. I hate runny eggs. I only like meatless Scotch eggs."

I figured Charlotte could take care of her own breakfast. I don't know if you've ever had a Scotch egg, but nothing will harden your arteries faster, unless you count Charlotte's other favorite snack, the deep-fried Mars Bar. However, as I began to grind the coffee-beans for my first cup of coffee, Fred asked Charlotte, “Would you like an omelet made with Smart Bacon and bread-crumbs? An omelet isn't a runny egg."

"No!" Charlotte replied. "I said I didn't want any eggs that weren't Scotch eggs. I'd rather just starve."

“You don't need to throw a fit," I told Charlotte. "Fred was trying to help, which is more than I would do for you in the temper you’re in.”

“Fred is just a smug do-gooder,” Charlotte said. "He doesn't understand what I'm going through."

For those comments, I had Charlotte clean all the toilets in the house. In addition, she had to do something nice for Fred. She hasn’t done it yet, but she’s not getting her weekly stipend until she cooperates.

I have a headache.

Brad's human avatar

Nonny and Lady Hearteater were sad because the whole Yahoo Avatar fol-de-rol setup didn't have a primate option. I was disgruntled as well. (Some people think that humans are primates, but as stated in an earlier post, I am writing a monograph refuting such a preposterous notion. Deep down inside, everyone knows that humans are really monotremes).

You'd think that Yahoo would have gotten it by now that the internet is an interspecies information highway. No matter. I designed a human transformation a la Shrek 2. Now, you all have to make avatars so I can see how you would look as gorillas, bonobos, chimpanzees, or orangutans.

Brad Stays

Mr. Pudding,

Your complaints reached the right officials, it seemed. When Ulric’s neighbors found out that Ulric was bringing two gorillas to his apartment (or two and a ½, if you count Fred, who is part chimp, part gorilla), they raised a ruckus. “No gorillas in Queen Anne!” they cried. I had to calm them down using buckets of water and dirt. The superintendent finally reached a compromise whereby everyone agreed that one gorilla could stay in the apartment. Everyone took a vote, and Brutus won. (I think they were still mad about the water and dirt.) So, Brutus is moving out with Ulric, and Fred and I are staying in the Landlord’s and Landlady’s house. It’s just as well—Charlotte has been making a mess of the place, and the Landlady said, “I’m already cleaning up after a toddler. Cleaning up after a toddler and a teenager is just too much to ask of me.” I told the Landlady that she could make Charlotte clean up after herself, but the Landlady scoffed. “Who has ever successfully made a teenager do anything?” she asked. “They have to think that the things they do are their own ideas, or nothing ever gets done.”

I conceded her point.

Nonny, I am granting your long-awaited wish. Here is a family photo of Fred, Charlotte, and me in the fruit-basket:

Moving Out

It's official. When Ulric moves out of the house this week, I'm going with him to his new apartment. My Landlady said that Charlotte could sleep in the Landlord's daughter's room. They're going to take Ulric's room and turn it into an entertainment center-- the Landlord will use it for role-playing games, and the Landlady will host her sewing circles (also known as the "Stitch and Kvetch"). Since I will be paying for Charlotte's room and board, I shall still refer to the Landlord and the Landlady as such. However, "Landlord's daughter" is getting to be a bit of a mouthful, so I shall refer to her as "Lucia, the Landlord's daughter."

Charlotte is arriving tonight from Glasgow. Since Ulric doesn't yet have his new car, I shall have to borrow the Landlady's car. I won't actually ask her, as she would just say, "No, Brad, you can take the bus." She keeps rubbing it in that I don't have a license. I'm a gorilla. Gorillas don't need drivers' licenses. We instinctively have a feel for the wheel.

Genetic make-up

I admit that I was skeptical that actor Andy Serkis could play a good Kong. You know how I feel about humans playing gorillas. There are perfectly good gorillas out there willing to act for big budget films, especially when they're paid properly. However, my initial reservations have given way to confidence that old Gollum-face can actually act. Here is the article that convinced me:

Handsome Beast

Initially, I scoffed when I read these paragraphs:

Serkis is something of a gorilla expert now. Humans, he says, differ only about 3 per cent in genetic make-up from simians. To get in touch with his inner 97 per cent, he studied gorillas everywhere, from his local zoo in London to the mountains of Rwanda.

He must have done well. The story of his interactions with Zaire, an older female gorilla at London Zoo, could have pushed Brad and Angelina off the front pages.

"I spent a lot of time at the zoo before I went off to Rwanda and I began to realise she recognised me," he says. "Then she would start beckoning me and, yes, flirting."

I don't know what the author was talking about with this "Brad and Angelina" business. Perhaps they meant "Brad and Jen" (we're just friends, remember), but still, someone needs to proofread these articles in a more professional manner. I don't know anyone named Angelina, unless you count the dancer, Angelina Ballerina. Really, we've only met twice, so I hardly know her. (Remember, gorillas are more of modern-dance and jazz fans.)

When I read this paragraph, I was convinced that Serkis was the right actor to bring authenticity to the film:

Serkis became an on-set gorilla advocate. When the script called for Kong to chow down on a vanquished tyrannosaurus, Serkis pointed out gorillas are vegetarian. The menu at Kong's victory feast thus features a medley of giant bamboo shoots.

Thank you, Mr. Serkis. It's about time. I cannot imagine anything more unappetizing than a "vanquished tyrannosaurus" (unless you count Ulric's peanut-butter in canned mushroom soup fiasco).

P.S. On a whim, I've lifted the ban on contractions.

Grammar Gorilla

Some time ago, I came across a website called The Grammar Gorillas. I said to Brutus, “Finally, the greatest of the great apes will banish the peccadilloes of the English language.” Hah! I was sorely disappointed. The Grammar Gorillas deal only with parts of speech. What would I do with parts of speech? If I wanted to talk about nouns, prepositions, or conjunctions, I would consult with Dr. Knickerbocker, my old Latin Professor. Five seconds later, I would fall asleep on top of his desk.

I have decided to take matters into my own hands. Henceforth, I shall banish contractions. Contractions are at the roots of so many problems. Consider “It’s” and “Its.” If you just write, “It is,” all you have to remember is that “it” never takes an apostrophe. “You’re” and “your” are similar culprits of confusion. Banish the apostrophe! “You’re” becomes “you are.” Worst of all is the they’re/their/there Triumvirate. Preposterous! First, remove the apostrophe, so that you have “they are.” To remember the difference between “there and their,” all you have to do is to put a “t” in front of “here” to get the opposite word. By process of elimination, "their" becomes the possessive of a group: "Their party is over there. They are having a great time drinking banana daquiris."

From now on, I will not use any contractions. They are bothersome, fiddly things that do nothing but cause perfectly reasonable people to worry and fuss.

Amendment: I have decided to retain one contraction for personal use: "Y'all." I would hate to see “Y’all” disappear from the English language.

The Rumor is Partly True

My Landlady blabbed on her blog about how I got kicked out of art school today. Hah! I didn't get kicked out. I quit. Who needs art school? Koko didn't go to art school, and the prints of her fingerpaintings sell pretty well. I'm considering ordering the print, "Pink Pink Stink Nice Drink" after I sell my own artsy photographs for a tidy sum. I had hoped to sell my couch-mural painting, but my Landlord threw the couch-cover in the wash when I wasn't looking. He said he needed a place to sit down more than I needed a canvas. And he thinks he's an artist. He jests!*


*Um, actually, he's pretty good.

Ornament

Dear Nonny,

Your Christmas tree is sparkly and festive, but it's missing something very important: the Brad Ornament! I shall remedy the situation immediately:



If anyone else has a Very Special Blogger ornament, please sent it my way.

Brad's Billion Dollar Blog

My Landlady's blog is worth a small chunk of change. I shall find out how much my blog is worth, according to someone else's arbitrary number-crunching:

My blog is worth $0.00.
How much is your blog worth?

I am shocked. This is obviously a mistake. I'll take the test again:

My blog is worth $1,000,000,000.00.
How much is your blog worth?

That's more like it! There is so much wisdom in these little blog quizzes.

Letter from the Queen

In the comments section, Mr. Pudding writes:

Have you got permission from Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II to display a British flag in the background of your baboon profile picture?

Funny you should ask:



P.S.

Mr. Pudding writes:

Lord Brad-Tarzan,
Please accept my sincere apologies for doubting your honour sir. As the letter is on butter-coloured parchment it is undoubtedly authentic. I will dribble with shame this evening as I guzzle a yard of Tetley's bitter at the local pub, avoiding the temptation to ask for a WEE "Scapa"! Funny how the Queen forgot how to spell her surname - WinDsor - but she is getting on in years now.

Of course I accept his sincere apologies. I am not completely without compassion. You will all note, however, that the Queen did spell her last name correctly. I cannot fathom why Mr. Pudding would have thought otherwise!

Republic of Cascadia

I am throwing off the yoke of oppression. Not only did I not win the mayoral race of Seattle, the government officials threw out my ballot! They said I'm not eligible to vote in the United States. What nerve. I've been voting for years, and no one's made too much of a fuss before.

Fine. The United States government won't allow me to vote, so I shall embrace a country that will recognize my rights as a free-thinking, political ape. I am now a proud citizen of the Republic of Cascadia. My Landlady claims to be a Cascadian fan (you'll see it in her profile), but never mind her Anglophilic pretentions and claims to be a citizen of the world-- she is a United Statesian at heart. You can take the real New York bagels away from the Landlady, but you cannot take the Landlady away from... oh, I guess the Landlord did that too. Never mind. To make up for it, he brings her coffee in the mornings.

In any case...

Cascadia!



Here is the anthem of Cascadia, written by Dan LeRoque (link has an mp3 file of the song):

Cascadia, Cascadia, of ever-present rain
Cascadia, Cascadia, the drugs help ease the pain.

We come here from Newfoundland, Quebec and Ontario
And call our folks in winter-time, to laugh cuz they've got snow.

Sang de revolte je prends partant mon grandpapa et pere
On viens ici pour faire squeegee et prendre le welfare

Cascadia, Cascadia, Oh faultline under me
You wouldn't want to be here when we fall into the sea.

Brad's Notes:

ever-present rain: Often a heavy mist, rarely an out-and-out deluge.

drugs help ease the pain: Lots of Cascadians are on anti-depressants. It's not that the PNW itself is depressing, but that the lack of direct sunlight in the winter months can have negative effects. Human beings need 20 minutes a day of direct sunlight (no sunscreen) in order to get the Vitamin D they need. Gorillas in the diaspora generally don't need to take anti-depressants, but during the winter, we do tend to write soppy ballads about how no one understands us. It's embarrassing! I usually burn all the evidence once spring rolls around.

laugh cuz they've got snow: Today, Seattle got snow. It was quite the event. Despite the fact that most of it has melted away, we're all still talking about it with much amazement.

Sang de revolte etc.: Of course there's French in our anthem. We're so cultured around these parts. There is no evidence whatsoever of an inferiority complex to New Yorkers. Or anyone else (especially those cities with great sports teams). Do you think I jest? Perish the thought.

You wouldn't want to be here when we fall into the sea.: So, what's the point? As Sufjan Stevens sings, "All things go." (I'm afraid that's what's going to happen to the gorillas too, and it makes me sad.) At the same time, I really wish we Cascadians would get it together so that we're earthquake prepared. I don't want to be anywhere near the Alaska Way Viaduct or the 520 Bridge when the Big One hits. Despite my surly exterior (and interior, for I am tough meat through and through), I wouldn't want anyone else to be there either.

I don't want to end on a dismal note, so I shall leave you with the inspiring verses of the Geoduck Fight Song.