I apologize for the lack of posts in the last few weeks.
Unfortunately, I have no defence other than the fact that I am an extremely lazy person with a contempt for writing for my readership and that you are not important enough for me to spend an hour typing on my computer for.
That’s right, Pokemon-hentai-seeking reader. I do not care for you.
It is most regretful that I have to break it to you this way, but I do not see any alternative, since I bear no wish to meet Pokemon-hentai seekers in person.
Oh, and I have also been nursing an injury from a monkey bite in recent times, which you can read about further down.
In concluding, let me say that I have things sorted out somewhat and that you can expect more posts in the coming months. To my readership that does not consist of perverse-cartoon-animal-lovers, My sincere apologies and I hope I can draw you back into the fold with my semi-humourous drawings of violated cartoon animals in the future.
With warmest regards
Alrighty – that’s over. And now to recount the events of past weeks before I forget entirely what has happened in my life.
First off, I’ve signed up for French classes at the Alliance Francaise. Their placement tests indicated that I should be placed at an intermediate level of study, where I now struggle with strange grammatical forms with names like Subjonctifs and Conditionnels. It strikes me now that despite my conceit of possessing an above-average standard of the English language, I never consciously learnt the syntax rules, which is contributing to my slowness in learning French at the Alliance.
My French teacher, an Indian national (you can outsource ANYTHING to India) tends to rattle on about some technical grammatical form and then try to relate it to English language forms, such as “…and that would be the equivalent of the English past-participle blah blah”, to which I nod sagely but in truth I have no idea what a “past participle” is. This is terrible to me because, as a programmer, it is ridiculous to try to learn syntax without knowing the meta-syntax, and I find it incredulous that I could have learnt to speak and write without knowing the meta-syntax of English at all.
I blame it all on having an English-language teacher for a mother, who has managed to instill in me the (entirely false) certainty that knowing not to split your infinitives is about as important as eating your vegetables, or brushing your teeth after meals, or doing homework.
I was also in Bali last week, where I got bitten by a monkey (no doubt divine retribution for having a blog attracting perverts who sodomize cute cartoon animals).
It was up in the mountains of Uluwatu where I got bitten – a temple famous for it’s beautiful sceneray, towering cliffs, magnificent waves and monkeys. To be fair, my guide had warned me that the monkeys would steal my glasses, but I hadn’t quite expected there to be quite so many monkeys, or that it wasn’t so much that they might steal my glasses but that they would-with-a-certainty-rating-of-100%-cross-my-heart-and-hope-to-die-you-stupid-tourist-better-listen-to-advice kind of thing. I was admiring one of the above-mentioned scenic cliffs overlooking some above-mentioned magnificent waves when a shadow flitted past me and suddenly my sight was gone. One of the damned simians had appropriated my glasses, and had parked himself on a tree with them, tantalizingly out of reach of my short human arms.
Those of you who know me better will know that I am short-sighted in the extreme, to the point that my spectacles are necessary for me to tell apart human beings (unless said human beings dress in garishly bright colours, giving me the benefit of colour-coding). So of course I had to get them back, a process that involved several temple-dwellers throwing fruits up at the monkeys so that they would eventually drop the glasses (which cost me US$5) and several other tourists standing around snapping pictures of my misfortune. In any case, I got the glasses back and this time stuffed them into a pocket, safe from simian hands (and feet – those guys have pretty limber feet).
Just as I had taken such precautionary measures and the crowd of photo-taking tourists had started to dissipate, another simian stole my water bottle. It parked itself right beside me, in obvious contempt of my impotency, and proceeded to chew the bottle-cap, in an effort to get at the juicy goodness of plain not-even-Perrier mineral water inside. It was really just a very worthless bottle that was only a quarter full anyway, but I was feeling rather anti-simian and feelings – deep and terrible feelings inherited from my ancestors – flared up inside me, that overwhelmed my brain and said HOW DARE YOU TAKE MY MY MY BOTTLE, YOU LITTLE MONKEY ONE QUARTER MY SIZE AND WEIGHT WHOM I CAN EASILY CRUSH WITH A SINGLE POWERFUL BLOW and I reached out to take my bottle, my righteous property, my sovereign claim back.
And of course nature showed me that quickly that it isn’t quite so easy to crush a little monkey one quarter your size and weight, because the monkey bit me, and ran off with the mineral water.
So the end result of my battle against nature was:
Monkeys – now with their hands full of fruits, courtesy of my US$5 and my mineral water bottle.
Me – too scared to put my glasses on, half blind, standing in the middle of a temple couryard with blood dripping down my arm, a little poorer and bereft of drinking water.
Of course the tourists came back with their cameras, and I’m pretty sure one of the little girls (or boy, I couldn’t tell without my glasses) started crying (no doubt in shame for the pathos of her species). To my credit, I didn’t scream or cry, though I was of half a mind to pursue the monkey (though I couldn’t see it).
Being half blind is actually a pretty good state to be in when there is a large group of people standing around you, pointing and taking pictures.
My guide hurried me away to a public toilet, dripping blood all along the way. Despite my injury, I was culturally sensitive to ask him if it was ok that I was dripping heathen blood on holy temple grounds, which he didn’t answer but if I’d had my glasses on I am sure I would have seen a look of amusement on his face. I washed the wound, which was rather deep and wouldn’t clot straight off, and my guide would have liked that I’d gone straight to the First Aid station, but I was determined not to allow a monkey one quarter my size and weight to destroy my trip and insisted that we continue our tour of the temple. So we walked around, me half blind and actually pretty much oblivious to the beautiful sights that he pointed out (I can only guess – he could have been pointing out overweight walruses mating and I wouldn’t have been able to make them out).
We turned back when he warned me about an area that might contain snakes.
The monkey bite took about a week to heal (I think it’ll leave a scar) and gave me a bit of a rabies-scare when it swelled up and I got a little feverish, though I should have known that monkeys that eat expensive fruit and drink mineral water should be pretty much disease-free.
Sadly, the monkey-bite is probably going to be the most vivid thing I remember about Bali, though the rest of the time I spent there was amazing. Bali is one of the most beautiful places I have seen (when I had my glasses on), blessed with nature’s bounty in a way that makes the rest of South-East Asia look like runners-up in the Who Does Nature Love More competition (of which I am an early loser). I wasn’t there quite long enough to fall in love, but given some more time I’m sure I would.
And in other news – I tried to quit and my boss is trying to get me to stay with a raise and other assorted incentives. Rather, he completely ignored my resignation, steamrolled over my personality and told me to set my price. I should have seen this coming, since I can’t even stand up against a monkey. This story is unresolved, though it will hopefully work itself out in the coming week.